Oh Dear!

Recently, I’ve been hearing myself call everyone “hun, honey, dear, sister and sweetie.” A definite sign, an old lady sign. Silly I know, but I’m happy to have arrived at a place that feels quite right at home. Well-earned, it’s really more than just confidence that comes with maturity but an easy, ability of openness in actually sharing my old lady self with other human beings quite unlike ever before, and kick to the curb so-to-speak the younger, fearful, self-critical me. It’s nice. Not without exception, I don’t address women older than me with the above endearments, it feels tacky and disrespectful. A few years ago, a young girl in her early 20′s that worked for me was calling our gently-older customers “dear, hun and sweetie,” – I nipped that in the bud, early. I felt she hadn’t reached an age nor earned the graceful right to speak to elderly women with such tone, therefore, I take my own advice and try never, ever to cross that line. So, if I call you “sister, hon or dear,” please take compliment that I assume you’re younger than me.

Moreover, I’ve advanced to an “old lady” place where I feel noticeably more than comfortable speaking my mind, unabashed. Not that I haven’t always been able to engage conversation with most anyone in line for coffee, grocery store, waiting room, or embarrass my children in public – but to finally hear my oldest daughter whisper to her sister, “did you hear what mom just said?” well, that just left me smirking having trumped yet another moment in their life. It’s sort of living on the edge of I’m not quite sure of what yet, but before my children group share silent worries of my impending senility, I’m enjoying all the good things that come greeting this milestone. So, stop by for coffee dearie, and we’ll talk.

Dog Whisperer for Hire

The object of my blog post today is spirited in part from interactions with many of our dog-loving customers from Pushy Paul and his three lively wiener dogs to Sam, Sally and their seven Heinz 57′s all requiring puppy treats, and quite enthusiastically I might bark.

Approximately eighty-five percent of my drive thru customers own at least one dog. Unbelievably, many have more than two and I’ve seen up to six canines traveling alongside their owners. I’ve witnessed a fair number of cats, birds, snakes and a lizard as vehicle companions. Approaching the service window, most owners roll down the back seat window for their pet to receive a treat which our shop has provided by the thousands since opening 7 years ago. Folks are crazy about their animals – they are very much a part of the family often bragged about and fussed over like children, some loved even more. I’ve met poochies that are sweet, docile, tiny, nothing more than precious little balls of wonderful in they eyes of their owners to observing dogs coddled in baby blankets, snuggled in lavish beds, tethered to contraptions specially made for the safety of these pets. Some are rambunctious, obnoxious, and sport no manners while slobbering across the back seat headrest over the shoulder of the driver in pursuit of that treat they have become accustomed to receiving at drive thru windows. They know. Our regulars (dogs) know before they approach the drive line, barking, drooling, going nuts in the back seat awaiting their turn.

I’m personally not a big animal lover. Never have been and don’t see myself changing anytime soon. I don’t push my stand on dog people, act rude or give much thought to having a pet because owning one just doesn’t fit my lifestyle. I feel utterly mature and responsible with my decision knowing it would be unfair to the dog. As business owner that involves handling of food I’ve incorporated a policy of handing treats specifically to the pet’s owner, thus eliminating myself having to touch the animal, and save the customer next in line any worry that I’ll be handling their food and drink and not washing my hands. I’ve been handed cash transactions complete with dog hair and yet to inquire our county as to rules or regulations of the subject although I can only surmise that it’s been an issue covered. I’ve shared this policy with my employees although I doubt they heed my advice as I’ve witnessed my baristas coochy-coo on several occasions. I have come to know parents of animals, dogs especially are a breed by themselves – with one thing in common – they assume everyone loves their dog. They assume it’s okay to let their dog bark incessantly as if placing their treat order in dog language.They allow their dogs to greet you at the window with heads larger than a horse, and untamed as a spoiled child, wasting my time waiting for recognition. And they wait. Like an uncomfortable lull in conversation I must take the lead with body language and move the order along. Then, they’re insulted. I’ve been challenged that their dogs mouths are cleaner that our own, their dog won’t bite therefore it’s perfectly okay to put the treat in their mouth without thinking for one moment that I’m not interested in putting my hand near their dogs mouth, to another so upset that he referred to the health department as ignorant of pet owner’s rights. Dog parents will think nothing of using my business property as open-air potty ground nor leave their dog tethered to the front door barking, dirty paws and hot breath on my windows. I especially abhore the dog that gets first lick of whipped cream off the top of our finely crafted, five dollar specialty drink.

With sigh I cave, in that it’s a doggy-dog world. Admittedly, when I was 12 years old, my dad took our two cats and dog for a ride. Discarded for reasons unknown, his own issues of cleanliness phobia bestowed upon me – I hesitate to remember searching hours for those animals to no avail. Unfortunately, I’ve yet to pay for therapy on this subject. Therefore ultimately, upon request a variety of items are handed out our windows to these dearly loved pets, from cups of whipped cream, to glasses of water, napkins, and even a second free puppy treat upon their ever-lovin’ departure we’re pretty courteous, willingly comply, all the while knowing it’s good business – dog’s happy, owner’s happy – I guess everyone’s happy?

Not so ordinary.

A weary couple, they entered the coffee shop with striking features so similar to one another I could have mistaken them as related. Although quickly I observed more than likely it was the many years together in love and life that predominately sealed their resemblance of each other.

Our chit chat began with the normal exchange of pleasantries arriving at the who, what, where and why they decidedly chose Yachats as their destination. “Just a day trip escape from Portland, she said,” where their journey began few days prior. They flew in from somewhere midwest to welcome into the world a new granddaughter. Accompanying them, their 6 year old grandson, whom they retain custody, the child traveling to meet his new half sister, visit his biological father and once again see his mother, this couple’s daughter.

Their coffee stop visit merely 25 minutes brief, carried in with them facial expressions drained yet spiritually calm. Softly they each took turns sharing just enough story carefully not delving into the vulnerable space one politely refrains from strangers. As they discreetly exposed circumstantial highlights regarding their troubled daughter’s history they were hesitant to speak further by dropping mid stream their sentences and often ending with, “a sad story better left unsaid for another time.” My throat began to tighten unable to swallow. I continued listening, touched by yet another well told version of grandparents raising their children’s children.

One days reprieve from everyday life – another couples journey to Yachats. I bid them farewell and upon closing my shop door I turned to see my chalkboard sign with a message I wrote stating, “Please leave your worries at the door.”