Up on the Roof

One day, the boss told the staff to be on the look-out for someone who was going up on the roof. "We found cigarette butts up there. We don't know who has been going up there but keep an eye open for it."

Henry was finished with dinner and I was walking with him in the hallway. "Come on. We're going for a walk" I said.

Henry said "But I don't have a coat."

"It ain't that cold; come on." I steered him toward an door.

"But I already went for a walk this morning" he complained.

"And another won't hurt. A short one." I had gotten us outside and on the sidewalk. We went around the corner.

"Now, Henry: no more going on the roof." I tried to sound gruff but the laughing sort of ruined the effect.

"Who ratted me out?" Henry wanted to know.

"Nobody ratted you out. You're the only one crazy enough to go up on the roof--and spry enough to make it." I threw an arm around him. "No more going up on the roof, OK?"

"OK. But I'm chiciken; I never went closer than ten feet to the edge."

"Maybe so, but no more roof walking. You might get blown off. I would miss you if you went and died."

We got back inside. You got to love the guy. I'm still not sure how he got up on the roof. And I am not sure he won't go back up. But I am sure I would miss him if he died.

To Dog food or Not to Dog Food

I have a dog here at the retirement center. That's not so unusual; there are about six dogs that I know of and about a dozen cats. My dog is bigger than all-but-one of them and frisky in spite of being blind. Several of the women--particularly the women--love my dog.

One of the residents has taken to saving some of her dinner for my dog. Her excuse is that she has a medical condition that prevents her from swallowing most foods but I think she would save something for my dog no matter. She brings the tidbits to the door and she is just tickled that the dog gets the food. It also doesn't matter that the rich food wrecks havoc on the dog's direstive system. I can't refuse her the opportunity to give the food.

So I end up eating it. It's good food. It does me no harm and I'm hungry around 9:30. The dog does not know that I am eating her food. The woman gets a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Rogue Tank

Henry is a loud, fun, cranky resident here. He roams the halls like a rogue tank, looking to stir things up. Normally, it is harmless fun. He has a running gag with one of the dining room servers. He claims that he has done a good deed--like running his finished dinner plate to the dishwasher--and since this deed, his 'debt' to the server has been reduced from $20 to $15. The server, a small Chinese woman, insists that 'he did it wrong' and he now owes $25. It goes back and forth like this, every night, every lunch.

One day, Henry noticed that Rae was uncovering the bird in the lobby at nine o'clock.

Now, Rae hates everything and everybody--except this canary in the lobby and her cat. She is a particularly bitter old woman but she does love animals. The canary used to be crammed into a small cage, with the minimum attention and left uncovered at night. Rae takes care of the bird in a kindly and attentive manner.

Henry was on it like a bloodhound. He called up the ASPCA and they confirmed that the bird should be uncovered soon after sunrise. Rae doesn't get up that early and there is nothing to indicate that the bird is suffering any. The bird sings, eat and looks healthy.

But Henry aroused is Henry happy. He confronted Rae. He accused Rae of mistreating the bird. Rae, of course, was infuriated. This was meat for Henry. He was in high clover.

Finally, I took him aside. Or rather, ambushed him at dinner. He was going on about how Rae was mistreating her bird--knowing that she could hear him. I told him to knock it off. I asked him, as a favor to me, to knock it off. With a lot of blustery talk and waving of hands, he finally agreed to stop.

He had his fun. Rae had her bird. And I like to think that I brokered a little peace around here.