LXII

This year, since the day falls between two summer trips, one to Buffalo and the next to Kilmarnock, VA, I'm spending a quiet birthday at home. Oh, I woke up to a shower of gifts from Heidi, each more thoughtful than the last, and I got that bread baked, too. Despite the oppressive heat, we made a trip to the farmers market for some peaches, blackberries, and humanely raised chicken for supper, and Treat and Nadika will be here to celebrate in just a little while. I also got a chance to catch up with my sister, and we're meeting my brother down on the Northern Neck tomorrow.

As I write, I've got my eye on the weather, hoping for a nice, big thunderstorm to break the drought and drench the garden. I think we're going to get it, too. One more gift on an already wonderful day.

Good Plan

"Do you have any plans for your birthday tomorrow?" asked a neighbor this morning.

"Not really," I shrugged. "I'm definitely going to bake off the bread I made today."

"Will that bring you joy?" she replied.

"Yep!" I answered without hesitation.

"There you go, then," she said.

It Fills Me Days, Luv

There was a short time back in the early 90s when I was between cooking jobs. Then, my days consisted of housekeeping, cooking, an occasional free-lance catering job, and reading British murder mystery novels while drinking tea. 

And would you suppose are the first two audiobooks we have cued up since my retirement? Well, a couple of clever, contemporary British murder mysteries: The Alperton Angels and How to Solve Your Own Murder.

Just lovely!

Conclusion? Jumped To!

I was frankly shocked yesterday when I received a reference request from a neighboring school district for a colleague of mine. 

What's all this?! I texted.

Receiving no reply, I clicked over to the form and thoughtfully composed my responses to questions such as:

What are the applicant's strengths? 
What are the applicant's areas for improvement?
Do you think the applicant is qualified for this job? Why or why not?
What is/was the applicant's reason for leaving the position?
Is there anything else you would like to add about the applicant?

Perhaps 30 minutes later, just as I finished the form, my friend texted back. Oh, it is subbing for my sister for summer school, I guess. lol.

I shook my head and sighed. 🤣 If you want to reply for any other jobs there, you're all set! I replied and hit submit.

Cues for Aging

"You know you might like to check out some acts from this century," laughed the spouse of a colleague when he heard that we had tickets for James Taylor's summer tour. I laughed too, because he was not wrong.

And, to be honest, there was a lot of white hair in the audience last night when we settled into our seats to wait for the show to begin. "He'll be on around 8," the usher had informed us. "He's taking a little nap right now," she finished, conspiratorially.

As we waited, I took the opportunity to people-watch, in particular, checking out my fellow concert-goers' outfit choices. I had gone with jeans, a black T-shirt, and flip-flops, a look I hoped was classic enough to be cool. There were a lot of faded concert shirts from other years or other bands. Many guys wore cargo shorts with polos and baseball caps, and lots of women had on capris and sleeveless tops. 

Almost everyone looked, well, old. I did see a couple who broke the mold a bit-- her brilliant white hair was in a flawless, long bob; she had funky glasses, wide-legged pants, and some cool sandals. He had wavy hair brushed back in almost a retro, 70s style, nice shorts, a stylish short-sleeved button-up shirt, and leather flip-flops. 

My fashionista observations were put on hold when the house lights dimmed, and the band took the stage. A montage of video clips from 1968 to recently of James Taylor singing "Something in the Way She Moves" played on the jumbotron. Then the lights came up, and there was the man himself, picking up the song live. His 76-year-old voice was not as robust as it once was, but his face was still youthful, and we could see his blue eyes twinkling from the 12th row.

But it was inescapable: JT, that long-haired hippie guy from my high school years, was dressed like somebody's grampa going out to lunch—he wore a golf shirt buttoned all the way up, baggy gray trousers, sport coat, and snap-brimmed hat. 

Maybe? I thought, Maybe that look could be his thing. Like me and my half-moon readers, or anyone who embraces early gray hair, perhaps he defies old age by taking those traditional emblems of it and making them, well, cool.

International Dining

One of the cool things about Buffalo is how close it is to Canada. So near, in fact, that Heidi's family's favorite Chinese place is in Fort Erie, just over the Peace Bridge, and their go-to beach, Shirkston, was on the Canadian shore of Lake Erie. It used to be nothing to cross the border back and forth; people regularly lived in one country and worked in the other.  All that easy access changed, first after the attacks on September 11, 2001, and then again during the COVID shutdowns and these days, traveling between the U.S. and Canada can be much more complicated than before. 

But not always. Last night, the four of us drove to Niagara Falls, Canada, to have dinner at Swiss Chalet. This Canadian chain is known for its rotisserie chicken and proprietary sauce (not sure where the Swiss connection comes in). There used to be a few outlets here in the States, but more than a decade ago, they packed up their roasting spits and moved back home. 

Some of Heidi's family has been mourning the loss ever since, and they are more than willing to make the trip to enjoy a favorite meal. And that's how we found ourselves rolling through Canada last evening. The light was golden as we crossed the Niagara River, and immigration and customs were quick and polite. Before long, we were driving to a Canadian strip mall, so like those in our nation, and yet so different. There was no question we were in another country, and that was cool.

The chicken? Was dry, and the sauce, heavy on the allspice, was not to my taste at all.  But the Molson on tap was cold, and I would go again any time, both for the good of the group and the excitement of being somewhere else.

Have You Met Me?

At last, the heat has broken, and today dawned clear, cool, and sunny—all the things we have come to love about Buffalo summers. As I sit beneath the awning on the patio, a refreshing breeze passes through the trees, and the smell of fresh-cut grass wafts over the fence from next door. We took the dogs for a pleasant three-mile walk this morning, and I know I should relax, release my restlessness, and enjoy the downtime.

Yeah, that isn't happening.

Hot and Bothered

At 78 and recently widowed, Heid's mom seems very set in her ways, and when we visit, adjusting our schedule to match hers can be a challenge. The last time we were in Buffalo, my screen time doubled and it felt like I spent a lot of time sitting around waiting for the group. 

The heat wave that has blanketed the eastern half of the U.S. this week has only complicated that issue. Even this far north, it's been too hot to walk the dogs, play pickleball, visit Niagara Falls, or even sit outside and read. And today? It's raining.

There is always retail therapy, of course, but spending money as entertainment has become less appealing to me over the years. So what's a gal to do? 

Well, how about axe-throwing and mini-bowling? 

Never mind. That fell through.

Blazing

"I've got some audiobook ideas for our road trip," I told Heidi yesterday. "Let me read you the descriptions, and then you can pick." I skimmed through the title details and started to laugh.

"Do you want to hear a blazing novel of startling originality about the fragility and resilience of life in our universe?" I asked. 

"Or a blazing, unforgettable testament to what we owe each other in a changing world?" 

"Or maybe, as blazing and distinctive a performance as I've beheld in a long while... I'm amazed."

"Wow," she answered. "It's so hard to pick!"

Solstice

Last December, the shortest day of the year found us on the road to Buffalo. On that trip, the light turned blue around 4 pm, the sky blazed purple and orange a little while later, and holiday lights twinkled in the darkness the rest of the way. As we unpacked the car, a full strawberry moon rose in the east.

Today, the longest day of the year, found us back on the same road. This time, an early summer heat wave shimmered off the pavement, and the temperatures only dropped to 90 in the mountains, even after a quick thunderstorm. The sun shone golden and hot all the way, and it was still light long after we arrived at 7:30.

Gathering darkness, growing light-- there is so much to love in this world.

School's Out Forever

It was around 1:30 this afternoon when I flicked the three light switches down and closed the door on Room 275, which was, for the first time in 30 years, empty of my personal possessions. 

Of all the keys on the ring that I was about to turn in, my desk key gave me the most pause. That tiny piece of brass had been mine since August 1993, and when I cleaned out the drawers, I removed a few things that had been in there almost as long.

Empty room, empty desk... it really was time for me to go.

#riseandshineforbreakfast

Ever since she turned 55 in November, Heidi has been dying to order off the "55 and Over" menu at Denny's. I get it-- in 11 days, I'm planning to gleefully apply for my lifetime National Parks pass, a perk of making it to 62.

Anyway, Denny's is not a regular on our radar screen, and until yesterday, I had no idea where their nearest location was. But driving down a road we travel very often, my attention was drawn to a nondescript strip mall. "Remember when that was a Chilis?" I asked Heidi, pointing to a storefront. "It's a Denny's now."

Denny's!!! 

And so a plan was hatched. We would go for breakfast the very next day and Heidi would last be able to take advantage of her rightful privilege.

Except... 

It was a rather disappointing experience. Our friend Mary joined us, and the three of us agreed: the atmosphere was as expected; the service was terrible (we waited over 20 minutes for eggs and pancakes), and the food was not that good either. Even the 55 and over menu was limited and not much of a bargain.

There was a silver lining, though. We launched a little breakfast club. The three of us are going to check out all the morning meal options we can between now and August 19. Maybe you saw our first post on Instagram? If not, don't worry-- there will be other installments!

Everything Must Go

I spent the day in my classroom unloading drawers and cabinets full of memories. Along with my digital files (which I'm working on copying since I will lose access to them at midnight on my birthday), these things—these files and papers and artifacts, teaching tools, professional books, and school supplies—represent my life's work. Even so, it was surprisingly easy to appreciate them one more time and then let them go.

"You know it's not too late to change your mind," the assistant principal said as he surveyed the jumble of piles and the half-full dumpster parked outside the door. For a moment, I considered the offer and imagined teaching my class in a much emptier room.

"Thanks," I said. "It is tempting, but I think it's time."

Or at least it will be on Thursday when I finish this gargantuan task!

Full Circle

When I first started teaching, pre-service week was right before Labor Day. I worked furiously to prepare my room and lessons for the new students coming the next Tuesday. I remember thinking that a three-day weekend was wasted on me then because all I wanted was to get the first day over with.

This year, although school for students and teachers ended Friday, today is a holiday for 12-month employees. It is Eid al-Adha, and schools are closed. I have completed my teaching duties, but I still have to clean out my classroom and submit some end-of-the-year paperwork. I'm feeling impatient to finish up, and this three-day weekend has been wasted on me.

Noted

It occurred to me that this lovely, dry weather that I have been enjoying even as I've had one of the most eventful and emotional weeks of my life is not at all good for a garden. It also occurred to me that I have a garden, and it probably needed some attention.

I was right. Two weeks away at the beginning of June is not an optimal plan.

Pretty sure next year will be different.

New Wisdom Already

To celebrate my retirement, some neighbors took us bowling this afternoon. It was a fun way to kick off both the summer and the less structured days ahead for me. We had five adults and a two-year-old in our party, so we got adjoining lanes, one with a bumper and one without, and we took turns throwing balls and chasing the kid around. 

After one round we took a break, snacked on some fried bowling alley cuisine, and chatted for a bit before returning to the alleys for a second go. This time we logged the adults in one lane and the toddler in the other. In between turns, her parents helped her use the kiddie caddy and roll her ball down its ramp. As she was bowling, I noticed they still had the lane set for three, so I stepped to the screen and deleted the extra games. 

"Good thinking!" her mom said. "That will save us a few bucks."

"Well," I answered, "I am retired now. I know every penny counts!"

No Regrets

"I really only have one regret," I told a small group of colleagues half-jokingly at our end-of-the-year staff party yesterday afternoon. "It's that I was never on the morning announcements." 

For years I have told students that The Announcements is my favorite show-- it has everything: news, inspiration, bloopers, and kids I know; it's the best 10 minutes on television. Once and a while, a teacher would do a guest appearance as a broadcaster, and on those occasions, I would cross my fingers and hope that someone would ask me to be next. "Have you ever been on?" my students would ask then, and I had to sadly shake my head.

But yesterday when I expressed the same regret, another teacher whipped out her phone. "It's not too late!" she said as she texted, and a moment later she reported, "You're on for tomorrow!"

I literally leapt for joy at this unexpected turn. Then a little while later, in another conversation, I was reminded of one other thing. "I also always wanted to be the Yellow Jacket mascot," I admitted to the assistant principal.

"We can arrange that!" she said. "What if you go down to sixth-grade lunch tomorrow in it?"

I was thrilled! My last day of teaching was shaping up to be an amazing one, filled with dreams come true.

And it was! Being on the announcements was really fun; the kids on the crew were happy to have me, and I did a respectable job. Plus all my former students saw I had finally gotten a spot on my favorite show, and they congratulated me all day. 

Before I suited up as mascot, I read up on the job, and I was well prepared to dance and wave and give high fives and hugs. It was also an amazing experience. At the end of the day, I stood at my desk as a few colleagues came in to say good-bye.

"How are you doing?" asked one.

"Pretty good," I answered. "I can honestly say I've done everything I ever wanted to do at this school."

"Well, that's the way to leave," he said. "You've done it right."

An Honor

I had forgotten about the "quick staff meeting" after school when my friend Mary asked me if I was going. "It's about you," she said.

Although I had really been too busy to even consider it, it made sense. Our school has a tradition of presenting retiring staff with a silver silver Jefferson cup engraved with our dates of service. 

"What about Ann?" I asked, mentioning another retiree.

"She's settling on her house," Mary answered.

"Maureen?"

"She left two days ago."

And so it seemed like I really would be the focus. Fortunately, there were only a few minutes left until the final bell and then the meeting, so I practiced a little deep breathing and returned to my room for the end-of-the-day circus.

When a little while later I made my way into the theater, I was surprised by the number of colleagues who had actually stayed late on the second to last day of school. As I took my seat, I tried to relax. In the first 30 years of my career, I can honestly say I never cried once, but the last couple weeks of year 31 have been very emotional.

The meeting began with our principal saying a few words about the tradition and then looking around the auditorium for the other retiring people. As she said his name, a French teacher entered late, and they had a brief exchange about his six years at our school. Then she read the dates on the other two cups, from 2006 and 2007 to now, and those of us assembled applauded in appreciation.

There was only one box left on the stage and my ears roared a bit as she began to speak, the breathing thing wasn't really working either, and I felt my eyes begin to fill. There was a gasp when she read the dates and noted that my entire career had been spent at our school. Then, when she started up the aisle toward me, I knew I had missed my cue. I stood quickly and met her by the stage, thanking her as she handed me my cup and gave me a hug. 

When I turned to go back to my seat, all my colleagues were on their feet in a standing ovation. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I bowed my head in thanks. Once they were seated, I raised my voice to speak. "This has been one of the hardest decisions of my life," I said. "It's my fault we're having a staff meeting on the second to last day of school because I didn't even tell Ms. B. I was retiring until last week!" I paused.

"It has been a joy and a privilege to have worked here the last 31 years. Thank you all." 

And when I sat down, I was not the only one crying.

Hard Deadlines

Our squirreliest, most unfocused section of English missed their class last Friday because of the water main break, so today was the first time we saw them since last Wednesday. Grades were also due today, and all of them still needed to finish or submit their final summative writing piece, so we gave them a pep talk, clapped our hands, and encouraged them to get to work. Then we three teachers circulated through the room helping and cheering them on. And we were stunned when, as a group, they were more productive on the third to last day of school than they had been all month.

"We should have been telling them it was crunch time every day!" one of my co-teachers laughed, "but I guess they would have figured it out, eventually."

I thought of that conversation a little while later when a group of colleagues was lavishly praising and cajoling me to change my mind about retiring. I thanked them kindly but refused. "I should have been saying I was retiring every year," I laughed, "but I guess you would have gotten on to me, eventually!"

On the Right Foot

I'm not sure what I expected when I planned to tell students today about my retirement, and I wasn't quite sure exactly how to approach the topic at all, even up until the first bell rang and kids came into my room.

"Today's my last day!" announced one of the seventh-grade boys who has made my room a home base this year. He and his buddies stop by almost every morning before homeroom to chat, mess around with the fidgets, and catch up with me and each other before heading off for their day. The same group returns for a few minutes at the end of the day, too, before catching a bus, going to sports practice, or attending another activity. There's usually a quick game of something and a Jolly Rancher in it for them, and it's become a fun tradition this year.

Sixth graders are enchanted by the whole situation, and some of them have started joining us, too, creating a mini-carnival atmosphere in my classroom at the start and end of each day. They love it, and to be honest, having the kids' affection only makes class management easier. Happy kids make happy teachers.

So this morning, when the first student in the room said it was his last day, I paused, preparing what to say. He plunged ahead with the conversation before me, though. "Yep!" he said, "you won't see me for eight weeks!"

"Well, actually," I replied, clearing my throat, "I won't see you then, either. I'm retiring."

He never missed a beat. "I'm happy for you!" he said. "You deserve it after all the years you've been here!"

His reaction was definitely not what I expected, but like every morning, it set the tone for the day, which turned out to be pretty good.

We're Moving On

Our school gave all the sixth graders and staff t-shirts for our end-of-the-year celebration. They are a nice, buttery yellow, emblazoned with the IB MYP Logo on the front and "6th Grade Best of the Best" on the back. Even so, there was a level of unappreciation among the students along the lines of probably never wear this again-- we're only going to be in sixth grade for a few more days.

I get it. There is no stopping time, although sometimes it feels that there might be. When colleagues compliment me on my understanding of the sixth-grade mind and personality, I shrug. "Well, I have been in sixth grade for over thirty years," I might demure. It took me a while to realize that my perception of the passage of time is skewed by the fact that the kids never really get older; we just switch them out for another group of 11- and 12-year-olds, and so sometimes it feels like we don't get any older either.

Essentially, I've had 31 do-overs of sixth grade, starting with my first time through when I was that age. I've had 31 tries to figure out what makes kids that age laugh, what makes them happy, what is hard, and how to help. I'd be a pretty poor student myself if I wasn't good at what I do.

But today, like the kids, I looked skeptically at my own t-shirt, because I'm only going to be in sixth grade a few more days, too.

True, That

We were on our way out to run an errand this afternoon when we bumped into a neighbor. "This is the last Sunday afternoon errand of the school year," she reminded us. "After next week you can do your errands any day you want, all summer long."

We laughed in agreement, but then she cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. "Or any day you want, forever, Retiree," she said to me.

Fidget Emergency

Heidi and I were talking about my impressive collection of fidgets and what might happen to them upon my retirement. "I'll definitely take them," she said.

"I know I use them more as toys than fidgets," I told her, thinking of the yo-yos, speed cubes, flip sticks, pop tubes, whizzzzers, and assorted balls both squishy and bouncy that reside on the corner of my desk, "and the kids are really just allowed to use them during breaks."

"That's true," she agreed.

"But they do love them," I added. "And sometimes they try to sneak them to their seats at work time. And sometimes they literally beg me to use them while they are working." I laughed. "Can I pleeeeeeaaaaaaase just have this Rubik's cube with me while I write?" I imitated a desperate sixth grader.

"What do you do?" she asked.

"It's a lot like the bathroom situation," I shrugged. "I can tell by their faces if it would actually help and if it will,  then I let 'em."

Under Pressure

I wasn't surprised this morning at 5:30 when I flushed the toilet and it didn't fill; we have been having a bit of trouble with a sticky float cup, although I thought I had finally fixed it. I sighed, lifted the heavy porcelain lid from the tank, reached in, and jiggled the assembly. That usually does the trick, but today the toilet remained silent, no matter how vigorously I pumped the float cup. It finally occurred to me that perhaps it wasn't a mechanical issue at all, and I reached over and twisted the cold water handle on the sink.

"We don't have any water," I reported to Heidi who texted the neighbors immediately. One by one they reported in, and we realized the problem was pretty widespread. A little while later, someone sent a social media post from an adjoining HOA informing us of a water main break just a few blocks away.

Downstairs in the kitchen, I started my morning routine. The kettle had been filled the night before, so I made coffee and emptied the dishwasher which had completed its cycle before the outage. I wet a paper towel with a little of the filtered water we had in a pitcher in the fridge and used it to wipe my fingertips as necessary while I packed lunches and prepared breakfast. 

I relaxed when I realized that except for my morning shower, our preschool procedures could be conducted as usual. It was then I received the community alert that the road to school was closed because of the repairs. "How can schools be open?" Heidi wondered as we realized the scope of the impact. But there was no word from central office so we headed off on a detour route to work.

Once we arrived we did find water flowing, but even so, the news of delays for other schools arrived quickly. In fact the start time for the building that is no more than 50 feet from ours was pushed 2 hours. How is it possible for your school to stay open when the elementary school is closed for a water main break? a friend texted from home because her high school right down the road was also closed.

But it wasn't possible for long. First, the county issued a boil water order and the administration closed all the water fountains and bathrooms assuring us they could make that situation work. But a few minutes later we received official word that we were closing in an hour. 

It wasn't pretty, and when at last the students were all on their way, it was clear that our organization could use some organization.

For One More Week

As we wrap up the final unit of the school year, where students interview each other, choose an angle, and write a journalistic profile, some kids have got it, and others are really struggling. It doesn't help that the end of the year is close and somebody somewhere in our school has given them the impression that they no longer have to work. 

I learned long ago that the closer we can stick to routine up until the end the better it supports students in managing their behavior, and that's the way it is in my class. Today one of the kids who hasn't written much sat next to me trying to put together some ideas. Her assignment was me, and I asked her for the tenth time to choose a focus. 

"I want to do teaching," she said.

"Well, ask me some questions about teaching," I prompted.

"Do you like teaching English?" she started.

I paused, suddenly overwhelmed. "I do," I answered.

"What do you like about it?" she asked.

"I love spending time with kids," I said, "and I like reading and writing." I shrugged.

"So, is this the perfect job for you?" she continued, typing my words on her iPad.

I hesitated again; for the first time in 31 years, I was unsure of how to answer. I decided to keep things simple.

"Yes," I told her, "it really is."

This Time

The radio in the car squealed with a familiar emergency broadcast tone and a mechanical voice recited the National Weather Service message that there was a tornado warning in our region. The sky above me looked innocuous enough, there were even patches of blue in between the gray clouds, the storm was rushing in another direction, and I soon understood that the threat was not imminent for me, but the urgency resonated even so. 

It might have been otherwise. 

Somewhere, nearby, the wind was picking up and the sky was darkening. People were weighing whether they should evacuate their homes, retreat to their cellars, abandon their cars, or otherwise find shelter. I wished them all the luck in the world. It could have been us, but it wasn't. 

No More Waffling

It's been 24 hours since I notified my principal of my intention to retire, and I still can't talk out loud about it without getting choked up. 

Count on teachers to recognize the value of verbal processing and wait time, though. Every colleague I've told has said they were happy for me and sad for our school. Then they waited until I was composed enough to talk about why I decided to retire now and what might be next for me. Each of these conversations has helped reinforce my certainty that this choice is right-timing for me.

Even so, like every day in the past couple of months that I have been wrestling with this decision there came a moment when I was sure I should change my mind. "I guess I can still go tell the principal that I've changed my mind," I observed to a friend.

"I won't let you do that to yourself," he said firmly. "You've made the right choice."

Fortunately, I was convinced, because he was big enough to stop me!

A Sketch, Not a Portrait

"I wrote about you!" a student told me today.

"I can't wait to read it!" I answered.

She is sometimes the best teacher I really like doing fun stuff with her sometime she helps me with my assignments which is really helpful and they get hard but I can always try by myself but I can’t so I ask her I love when I do jolly ranchers challenge and sometimes I get it right she does sit at her desk and then make a funny joke she has one rule about save the tape which nobody listens to her she yells at a lot of people when they don’t do the work she have a lot of toys that I play with 

 Lesson : if you have a favorite teacher have fun with them

Donut Delay

"Can I have a donut?" Heidi asked this morning as we were mapping out our day. One of our errands involved picking up several dozen Krispy Kremes as a prize for the scavenger hunt last Thursday.

"Sure," I said, "but we're not going right away. I want to stop by Bill and Emily's first. We haven't seen them in forever."

"Can't we get the donuts before that?" she proposed. "I haven't had breakfast yet."

"The donuts are in the opposite direction," I explained. "It doesn't really make sense. I'll make you breakfast before we go, though."

"What if Bill wants a donut, too?" she replied. "Then we'll have to go first. I'm going to text him right now."

So we went to get the donuts immediately.

Before Coffee

I was wide awake at 6:30 this morning and so was Lucy. We are watching our neighbor's dog Lady this weekend, but she won't stay anywhere but home, so Lucy and I headed over there to let her out. The three of us ambled through the complex: up the grassy hill, and down the stairs, and both dogs took the opportunity to relieve themselves. 

I was swinging at least three pounds of poop in plastic bags and eager to offload it in the nearest trash can. Lady had other ideas, though. Her business done, she was ready to return home for breakfast, and when Lucy and I pivoted toward the pool, she put on the brakes, lowered her head, and slipped her collar. 

What followed was a madcap chase through the community-- Lady dashing ahead and waiting until we were nearly there, then feinting left and breaking right to elude capture. I still had all that poop and after a quick detour to toss it in the trash, I turned around and Lady was gone. 

Convinced she would meet me at her house, I descended the steps and rounded the corner only to find a deserted stoop. Exasperated, but not really worried, it was still before 7AM and we were the only ones about, I retraced my steps and circled around the other way. There she waited at the mailboxes, looking for all the world as if she could not believe it took us so long to get there. True to form, she trotted ahead, still avoiding collar and leash, leading us to her door.