Waiting on the Waterfront

            This morning I arrived in Plymouth early before work. I know that the trip down Route 3 only takes me about twenty-five minutes, and I still end up arrived well before I’m supposed to be at my desk morning after morning. I could very easily sit down on the couch, put my feet up, and watch the news for ten minutes. But instead, I get into my car.

            I suppose I just don’t like waiting.

            When Grace sees me changing into my work clothes, she starts watching me like a hawk. Her ears tuck back against the sides of her skull. Her eyes tilt upward, and her head stays low to her body. She scampers after me whenever I walk out of the room. And she finds her bed, curls into a ball, and pretends to be sleeping.

            I’m never quite sure if she realizes that I can see her eyes are open.

             I don’t like leaving her any more than she likes me leaving. I know I have to go to work in Plymouth because it’s good money and will pay for dog trainer school in the fall. The future coerces me to put the key in the ignition every morning, even when I’d rather stay home in my jeans and sweatshirt and with my puppy’s head in my lap.

            Since I never got a key to the office, I can’t head inside to start work early and head off the inevitable flood of emails. I really have two options for how I spend my time.

            I could park my car in the parking lot, scroll through Facebook on my phone, and listen to the radio. I’d be glancing at my watch too often, and I’d quickly run out of engaging features on my phone. Maybe that’s a sign I need more Facebook friends.

            Or I could stop by the waterfront.

            I parked my car in a two-hour parking space in front of the Mayflower II gift shop, closed now for the winter season. I tucked my wallet and phone into my pocket, grabbed my keys and camera, and carefully avoided the ice on the ground beneath my door.

            No wind rustled the bare trees at the shore; the gray sea lay flat and calm. Sunrise already came and went, and the yellow ball of sun hung well over the horizon. The Atlantic air didn’t feel as cold as the thermometer in my car claimed. Sure it wasn’t t-shirt weather, but it wasn’t bad for the first day of spring.

            I seemed to be the only one out on this little patch of land right now. That was just fine with me.

            Standing next to Plymouth Bay, all of the tension dissipated from my chest. My shoulders felt lighter. The wide open air and space over my head lifted me until I grew another two inches. At least I’d swear that I did.

            Waiting for work didn’t feel a whole lot like waiting. It felt better than that.

            Moments like these happen infrequently. I’m always working, whether in Plymouth or Hanover, and tension buzzes in across my muscles and beneath my skin. I walk across a swaying tightrope above the chasm of complete exhaustion. Some days I’m not sure how I stay on the rope.

            But this morning, as I walked along the edge of Plymouth Bay, I thought the wait could be bearable. Soon enough the weather would be warm. Soon enough this job would end and I’d start dog walking. Soon enough I’d be in Ohio at dog trainer school.

            Soon enough my life would begin. Though, maybe it has already started.

Doggie Daycare

                Grace has never liked when I left for work. She disappeared when the time came for her to get in her crate, and I’d find her curled up on her bed in my room. She pretended to be asleep, her eyelids drooping. She wanted me to think that she’d be good and she’d sleep on her bed all day.

                But I know better than to trust my dog. She’s got a lot of puppy left brewing inside her, and she can’t help herself sometimes. If I left her home alone and out of her crate one day, I’d come home to a layer of stuffing-snow on the carpet and shredded cloth everywhere.

                Eventually she’ll be mature enough to wander the house while I’m out. Eventually being the keyword there.

                My new, albeit temporary, job means I’m out of the house forty hours a week. Eight hours a day could be considered a long time for Grace to be cooped up inside her crate. Mom thinks that at least, and she suggested we increase the days she goes to doggie daycare during the week.

                So Grace heads off to East Bridgewater twice a week instead of once.

                Grace approaches doggie daycare the same way she approaches her crate at bedtime: pulling, whining, and insisting until she gets exactly what she wants. The moment the car turns down the long, single lane driveway with trees encroaching on both sides, Grace starts bouncing in the back of the car. She pings off the sides of the car and whines like a mad woman.   

                She would leap from the back of the car the moment I opened the hatch, leaving me to scramble for the pink leash trailing behind her. I didn’t much like that, and we’ve come to an agreement that she’s not to hop off the tailgate until I tell her she can.

                Because of my schedule, Dad drops her off in the mornings and Mom picks her up. In the ten hours between, Grace plays and runs and wrestles with the other dogs. She wears herself out; back at home, she settles herself into her bed and only wakes up long enough for a bathroom run before bedtime.

                I love my sleepy puppy. I love how she smells of the indoor room at daycare: the smell of disinfectant mixed with a faint stale scent. I love how she looks at me from behind her half-closed while curled in her bed. I love the sound of her snoring from across the room.

                This full time job in Plymouth probably won’t last much longer, and I occasionally need to keep whispering Ohio to myself as a reminder of long term goals just to get through the day. I may not be enjoying the uncertainty of a temporary job or of exactly what will happen in the coming months. But coming home to a sleepy puppy and knowing that she had the time of her life today makes my day a little bit better.