Mum worries about the strangest things

Reclining beneath the fan on our screened porch, I listened to Mum and her sisters reminisce about their mum or Mumsie, as my Dad always called her.  We four-legged grandkids referred to her as Ganma, and our Mums are pretty sure Ganma never forgave them for not having any two-legged kids. We dogs and cats never understood that sentiment, and we made sure to shower Ganma with love every chance we got.

My mum laughed at the things Ganma worried about when Mum was a little girl. Because she was labeled a bookworm and was a bit shy, Ganma worried Mum would never develop social skills and would grow up to be a wallflower.  If you’ve ever met my Mum, you know that didn’t happen.

Ganma was also concerned Mum didn’t like coffee and only wanted to drink tea.  The coffee thing was an issue with Mum’s New York aunt who opined that Mum would never fit in if she didn’t learn to drink coffee.  Isn’t it funny the things that worry people? Mum didn’t start drinking coffee until she was in her late 20s and survived fine.

Their conversation made me think of things the Royal Mum worries about regarding moi. First, she and Dad worried about my not wanting to go out the side door after dinner.  I go out that door every morning and all day long, but I put my foot down—actually, all four feet and my whole body—at night.  After literally dragging or sliding me across the wood floor a few times, they surmised that my vision might not be what it used to be.  Duh-uh!

We have a perfectly good front porch with a bright light and only a few steps, and when I headed to the front door a few times, the Royal Parents finally got the picture. They only had to say once, “Banjo, you want to go out?” and up I sprang.  Well, OK, I never spring, but it was clear I had no issue going outside when we used the front door.  Mum and Dad can be surprisingly slow on the uptake.

Lately, Mum is worried I’m getting senile.  Me? Senile? I am ROFL. What behaviors prompted that ridiculous idea? I go downstairs with whoever gets up first—unless I’m exceptionally tired or someone is exceptionally early—and then I return upstairs to wait for the next parent. When Mum is the late riser, she’s noticed I sometimes plop down at the top of the stairs instead of following her. “Are you waiting for Dad,” she laughs, “Have you forgotten he’s already downstairs?” Forgetful? Seriously? How ‘bout I dozed for thirty minutes and simply lost track of who was where? Like people waking up and not knowing at first where they are.

Last but not least, she worries when I don’t leap at the chance to take a walk with Dad.  It used to be Mum and Dad called me lazy.  Now they ask, “Do you hurt? Are you tired?” They should realize I think it’s too hot for a walk long before they do. Dad blames my reluctance on my wanting to hang with Mum, and that’s not far from the truth, but it’s more that once I’m comfortably ensconced beneath Mum’s desk, I don’t want to move. I mean, if Mum were lying on the couch reading, she wouldn’t want to go for a walk, either.

Are some of these worries really what humans call “projecting,” as in Mum worries she’s getting forgetful and projects that onto me? Whatever the reason, I think my silly parents worry about the strangest things. Perhaps I should worry about them worrying, but then who in this family would “Keep calm and carry on?”

Find "Lord Banjo the Royal Pooch" and "The Ink Penn: Celebrating the Magic in the Everyday" on Amazon.  Contact Lord Banjo and the Royal Mum at inkpenn119@gmail.com and follow them on Facebook.