The Rocking Chair

First of all, thank you everybody for the supportive words of encouragement to carry on!  Here is my next story.  Enjoy the read.

The Rocking Chair

The children’s rocking chair has a special place in my bedroom.  It is in the corner where I place dirty clothes, towels and socks before replacing them in the hamper.  It has a personal charm for all the years of service it provided.  The white paint on the arms of the chair is chipped off, but the bare wood makes the rocker look authentic and wise as if it were the keeper of many secrets and stories. 

 

I like throwing clothes onto the chair in defiance of my mother, who, during my adolescent years, incessantly yelled, “Clean up your room.”  The chair doesn’t care if I place dirty items on it.  It has quality.

 

Sheba claimed the chair as her place of rest when she was adopted from the S.P.C.A. 8 years ago.  She lies there resting in regal repose while chewing the rocking chair arm. I guess she doesn’t understand the wisdom that arm provided me. It was my elbow’s place of refuge while giving my infant child a bottle.  It was during those late night hours I would think about my new life as a mother and the wonder of it all.

 

That chair had sentimentality and I did not want Sheba ruining it.  So to keep the chair from further demise, I sprayed the armrest with Endust lemon scented spray.  I got the idea from a magazine clip and remembered it for some odd reason as I did not have a dog at the time of reading the article.  In any case, Sheba jumped up onto the rocker and settled herself into a nice time of chewing when she gagged and coughed and whined.  She looked at me, I looked at her and since my stare out did hers, she jumped off, never to return.

 

Knowing that one must substitute a bad habit with a good one, I bought three chew bones from the dollar store, tied together two old socks, and pulled out four tennis balls and six golf balls from my smelly gym bag in the closet.  She had more toys than my daughter has hair.  I decided these were to be her new objects of chewing frenzy.

 

And I was right!  Sheba took to the toys like the proverbial kid in a candy shop.  We are both happy.  I saved my rocking chair, and Sheba gets to chew, chew, and chew without reprimand.  Life is good.