Blankie and the Burrito

I heard Mom's footsteps upstairs as she meandered from room to room, her movements almost mechanical. After what seemed like forever, she descended to the first floor, through the kitchen, and into the mudroom. I was never truly fully asleep, always partly aware of and alert to what was happening around me, and I heard the unmistakable creak of the washing machine door as it opened. I noted each nearly imperceptible thump as one clothing item after another was loaded into the bin. It was laundry day and I let out a light groan for I knew what was soon to happen.
         Mom then made her way into the living room, started picking up one plush animal after another, and got to where I was napping on the couch. I relished in the softness of her touch as she gently scratched behind my left ear. "Busterino," she said, calling me by one of several versions of my name. "I have to take Blankie for a bit."
         I opened my eyes and shot Mom a look that melted her heart every single time, and I pressed my forelegs around the beach towel. Mom chuckled and gave Blankie a slight tug to no avail. I lifted my head and panted softly, and Mom petted me in a way that always ushered a sense of calm. I acquiesced, loosened my grip, and relinquished Blankie to her care. With that, she righted herself and headed back to the mudroom. After the telltale sounds of buttons being pressed, the washing machine began its cycle.
         While Blankie was being washed, I decided that napping on my bed in the meantime was a good move so that I can also keep an eye on Mom who, by then, had returned to working on her laptop in the kitchen. I was so happy when one day she suddenly was home all the time.
         I hopped off the couch and felt something swatting at my hind legs, which made me jump. I turned around swiftly and realized Marty had been hiding under the couch and had been waiting to be his usual self. My big brother was still bitter even though it had already been four years since I joined the family. He truly should be over the trauma by now of no longer being the only child. Plus, it is not my fault for having better social skills than he ever could. I snapped at him playfully to try to lighten the mood and was rewarded by yet another hiss and a quick scamper up the stairs. Good riddance, I thought as I stepped onto my bed, plopped down, then took my fifth nap of the day.


The phone rang, jarring me from my slumber. I opened my eyes and lifted my head to see Mom put the phone to her ear. It was clear from the way she sounded and the wide grin she wore on her face that Dad was on the other end of that call. She got up and started pacing between the mudroom and back, and around the kitchen island as she talked. He would soon be home and, hopefully, toting a large bag of Chipotle takeout.
         The soft pitter-patter across the hardwood floor signaled Marty's return. He eyed me maliciously as he sat at the far end of the dining table, his tail whipping methodically as if he had come back to finish one last task involving me.
         He began to saunter in my direction when Mom skillfully scooped him up as she finished the call with Dad. She set the phone down on the dining table and started giving Marty some love. He purred in delight as Mom talked to him with a baby voice that belied Marty's advanced age. The washing machine buzzer went off and they both disappeared into the mudroom. I could hear the customary noises that accompanied the action of dampened items being transferred between machines, and after more beeping sounds, the dryer came to life.
         Mom went back to working on her laptop and Marty sat a few feet away. He started grooming himself and appeared to be in a better mood. My eyes stayed on my big brother as he made his way to my bed. I panted softly to convey that I wanted no trouble. He seemed to have gotten the message as he stepped onto my bed, and over to the space behind me. He nestled in, laid his head on my back, and shut his eyes. I am not one to look a gift horse in the mouth so I, too, lowered my head on the bed and eased myself into another light nap.


The dryer made its predictable noise that alerted everyone in the house of the conclusion of its job, and it awoke me. It was then that I noticed that Marty had moved over to his customary spot on the couch, which was, obviously, on the opposite end of my own. Mom was in the mudroom making rustling noises. After a bit, she walked over and draped Blankie over me.
         "Good as new," she said, as she tucked me in. I flashed her a smile and she gave me welcomed scritches under my chin before returning to the mudroom for the next load.
         I heard the garage door open and I jumped out of my bed, leaving a trail of Blankie in my wake, and I positioned myself at the hallway door. Dad loves it when I welcomed him home and I never missed the opportunity to do so. Meanwhile, Marty never bothered. From the other side of the door, I smelled something delectable and I whimpered in excitement as Dad turned the knob.
         "Buster Keaton," Dad said, calling me by yet another version of my name, and petted me enthusiastically. I wagged my tail while continuing to whimper. Of course, I was delighted to see Dad but, in the end, it was all about that tasty, tasty burrito.