Missing Ricky

Have been out at the beach in Montauk on vacation for the last two weeks.  Have forgotten — as you can see — how to write in complete sentences.

In the midst of this sun-sand-surf interlude, with nothing but picture-perfect weather, my niece Kat had a baby — George Edward.  To be called Teddy, apparently.  We were in Manhattan for a visit last week, and I got to hold young Teddy, who is a perfectly gorgeous little boy.  Strangely, I found myself pursing my lips and making those little “kissy” noises I make whenever I pass Ricky.

Was sitting on the beach reading  The Pregnant Widow by Martin Amis earlier today.  Romeo, our neighbor’s Yorkie, came prancing over for a sniff, as he always does.  “Hey puppy — how’s my good dog?” I said, scratching him under his chin.  This is what I say and do to Ricky all the time.

Pretty obviously, someone around here’s missing Ricky.

As I mentioned in my last post (“Banned From the Beach”), we’ve opted to leave Ricky home in CT for reasons enumerated.  And I’m still down with that decision.  But that’s not to say to we don’t miss having the little furball around.

Things I Actually Don’t Miss

• Getting up at 4:30 AM so he can go out and pee . . . or not
• My dog dancing around the glowing hot coals of the Weber, like a Caribbean resort performer, as we try to grill steak and shrimp
• Running after him on the beach when he’s got a neighbor’s sandwich in his cross-hairs
• His incredibly annoying (though somewhat comical) repetitive pogo-leaping at the counter as lunch is being prepared

Things I Really Do Miss

• The sight of him running up the sand path from our deck to the dune, ears a-flopping, when I call, “Ricky come!”  (Yes, of course a food bribe is part of this routine.  Duh.)
• The joy of watching him frolic with all of his beach buddies
• How beautiful he looks when he finds a spot of sun and settles down with his head resting between his paws (see photo, above)
• The wonderful, peaceful sound of his snoring as he sleeps on his doggy bed on the easy chair in the master bedroom

Hang in there, Ricky.  I’ve done a lot of planning these last few weeks, working out the details of our cross-country trip together to visit Robby in California next month.  (See “Long-Distance Doggy” post of April 26.)  We’ll have a lot of quality time together, just the two of us.  Alone together in the Acura.  For 3,000 miles.  There and back.  Nobody but you and me.  I mean a lot of quality time . . .