Why Am I Here?

Why am I here, or why are we here, can have philosophical connotations. For my dog, Blackie, and me, that is not usually what we mean.

Just this afternoon Blackie got up with her determined walk and got as far as the hall. My son was in the room Blackie had just walked out of and sat watching her with an amused look on his face. “Hey, Mom . . . Blackie’s forgotten why she got up and left the room . . .”    

Yeah? Just like who? I started having senior moments like that in my 40’s. It was annoying to get up and go in another room and forget why I went in there. I did learn from Bill Cosby’s monologue that if I went back and sat back down in the same place I was when I got up to go somewhere else, I would remember what it was I went after. Of course, then I have to go quickly so I don’t forget before I get there again. Funny that my old dog has started doing this. My son said she stopped suddenly and stood there looking around like she couldn’t remember why she went. Well, call her back, and she will. “Come here, Blackie. Get back in your dog bed and you will remember why you went into the hall.” Didn’t work. She went to sleep instead.

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