Buddy and The BP

Jilda took our dog Buddy to work the other day which is fairly routine. I've come to understand since he's come to live with us that we are really creatures of habit. He likes riding in my truck because he's up high and he can see everything. When he rides with Jilda, her car is lower to the ground and has leather seats. Jilda loves the feel of the leather, but when Buddy is with her, he stands a chance of whacking his head on the dashboard if she hits the breaks unexpectedly because the seats are slick. Every time she starts to break, he assumes the breaking position, he's back peddling before the laws of gravity take control but then it's whack----- he's bouncing off the dashboard and the next moment he's on the floorboard scrambling to get back on the seat. It's routine for him.
On this occasion, she decided to run by the BP station for gas before heading to work. She filled up the car leaving Buddy to keep the vehicle from being carjacked. When she returned, Buddy was really excited barking and he was making all kinds of puppy sounds that continued after she got back into the car. "You sure are glad to see me," she noticed but Buddy kept on with his excitement. When she laid her purse on the floorboard, he went in. She practically had to drag him out of her purse.
When she related the story to me, I smiled and asked if she had bought him a Slim Jim. "Well No", she said as a reply/question. So I explained that every time I go to the BP with Buddy, I always buy him a Slim Jim. He just KNEW there was a Slim Jim for him somewhere in that purse and by George, he would not be denied.
Yes we're all creatures of habit. The hardest habit for me to get over was eating Sunday lunch at my Mom's house. Before my Mom had heart surgery and the strokes and the broken hips, she always cooked Sunday lunch. On any given Sunday all of the kids and grandkids would usually be there and more often than not, there would be neighbors, friends, and casual acquaintances who had heard that you could get a great meal at Granny's house.
Mom lives with my sister now, her youth and health are slowly fading and she's no longer able to cook those Sunday dinners. It occurred to me as I was relating Jilda story about Buddy that I was not unlike him in that every time I go to my mother's house to cut the grass of fetch the mail, I start rummaging through her refrigerator, and cabinets looking for food.
We are indeed creatures of habit.