Change is always on the horizon

Things just haven’t been the same since I saw a monkey in Walmart a couple of weeks ago.

That’s right. A monkey. A spider monkey to be exact. His name was Charlie, and he was only 16 weeks old. He was being lovingly held by his adoptive father, Brad Wilhite, while his adoptive mother, April, scanned their grocery purchases in the self-checkout line.

Charlie, comfortably wrapped in a blanket and paying no attention to the paparazzi (I took a photo of him, of course), seemed quite at home at Walmart, as if it was just another routine Saturday morning outing, “but could you hurry up with all the picture taking – I’ve got places to go, people to impress.” So, I waved goodbye and thought to myself, “Ya don’t see something like THAT every day! Nosiree!’

As soon as I got back to my car, I sent the following text to all the members of my family: “I’ll give $20 to the first person who can guess (within 10 tries) what I just saw in Walmart. Ready. Set. Go.”

Do you send out group texts to family members? I usually don’t. But I will admit it’s a useful tool when you’re needing to “spread the news” about whatever news you’re needing to spread – in this case, “I bet’cha you’ll never guess what I just saw.”

“Clown? Santa Claus? A giraffe silhouette? Yes, giraffe silhouette!”

Nope, try again.

“Ten snails? A duck? A lot of food? The governor of Kentucky? Seven swans a swimming? A whole family of raccoons?”

Not even close. Keep at it. I promise this will be well worth it.

“A dead body? A live body! Tom Hanks? A lot of food?”

No, no, no, technically yes, but no.

Nobody got it right. But when I sent the photo of Charlie to everybody, they all agreed it was well worth the wait. Charlie the spider monkey was so adorable.

The very next day, Dax showed up at our door. She wasn’t Dax at the time, of course. She was just some scrawny, little Rat Terrier who found our porch a pleasant place to explore, and maybe eat all the cat food.

“She looks so sad.” Ignore her, and maybe she’ll go away. “But she’s so cute.” As cute as that monkey? I don’t think so. “I’m going to feed her.” But… “I wonder if anybody’s looking for her?” I hope so. Just don’t let her… “Look! She walked right through the door as if she owned the place!” But we’re not dog people. We’re cat people. “She’s the same size as the cats, and look how happy she is.” But what if… “And the cats don’t seem to mind her at all.” But we don’t… “If we can’t find her owner, let’s adopt her. OK?” Arggggh!

When I asked the vet how old Dax might be, she said, “Let’ just say she’s been around the block. And from the look of her, she’s more than likely been a breeder at a puppy mill and outlived her usefulness. That’s probably why she was dumped in your neighborhood.”

As I’m writing this, Dax is slowly walking through the room with a “cone of shame” around her neck (we had her spayed as well as her teeth cleaned. Boy, did she have bad breath.) She keeps knocking into things – the wall, the couch – like an out-of-control bumper car. She looks so sad. I guess I better go pick her up. She likes being picked up.

Like I said, we’re not dog people. Well, up to now we haven’t been. But there’s nothing wrong with change, or taking on new challenges. It’s what makes the daily slog of living just a bit more interesting.