Me: Beau, you look very sad.
Beaumont: Well, aren’t you? Dad’s in hospital. You throw a lousy ball. It’s lookin’ rather gloomy out there.
Me: Yes… but he could be home today.
Beau: You said that yesterday and the day before and… come to think of it, you’ve said that every day since New Year’s Day when he went into the hospital!
Me: Hope lives eternal, Beau.
Beau: Yeah, well, I’ve been hoping you’d be improving your ball throwing for years and nothing’s changed. You still throw like a girl.
Me: I am a girl Beau.
Beau: (sigh) I know, but do you know how frustrating it is to go running down the field anticipating the ball dropping somewhere far down its length only to have to race back to catch it before it falls somewhere totally unanticipated?
Me: I do my best.
Beau: Yeah, well my dad does better.
Me: Are you deflecting Beau?
Beau: De what? You suggesting I’m pooping on your parade.
Me: (laughing) No Beau. I’m suggesting you’re taking your angst on C.C. being in hospital and redirecting it to me.
Me: So….. (sighing) So nothing Beau. It’s just an observation.
Beau: So…. if you’re so good at observing me why don’t you see what you’re doing?
Me: What am I doing Beau?
Beau: Well… we dawgs call it wallowing.
Me: Wallowing? What am I wallowing in?
Beau: I don’t know the ‘what in’ Louise. I can only tell you what I observe.
Me: You’re doing it again aren’t you.
Beau: (innocently) What?
Me: Turning the tables on me.
Beau: Hey! I learn from the master. (that would be you in case you’re wondering and yes, that is a double entendre)
Me: Them are fancy words for a dawg Beau.
Beau: And your point?
Me: (sighing) I don’t really have one Beau. I just wish C.C. would come home.
Beau: Hmmm…. not to put too fine a point on it, but…. now you know how I feel when you take off for days on end to visit the Littles.
Me: But you always know when I’m coming home.
Beau: And you don’t think I worry about you? Travelling during a pandemonic?
Me: It’s pandemic Beau.
Beau: I think pandemonic works better. You know, the pandas of the world have been infected with demonic intentions to spread ill-will instead of their cuddly sweet goodness and joy.
Me: You know I’m having trouble following along, right?
Beau: You know he’s in the best place to get better, right?
Me: (sigh) I know. I just wish it wasn’t taking so long.
Beau: And I wish you’d learn how to throw the ball like he does but it looks like both of us are going to have to accept what is and let go of wishing for it to be something that isn’t.
Me: You know you really are a wise dawg Beau.
Beau: Yah. Yah. Yah. Now can we puhleeease go to the park so you can practice ball throwing?
Me: In my defense Beau, the ball keeps freezing in the chucker which makes it harder to throw.
Beau: Louise, admit it. You have no defense for your lousy ball-throwing. It just is what it is.
And so it goes. C.C. has been in hospital with pneumonia since New Year’s Day. We’re hoping he gets home today — but then it could be tomorrow. Until then, I take Beau to the park in this Arctic blast we’re experiencing and throw the ball as far as I can, which in his book, just isn’t far enough.