Quandary

The old man with the walrus mustache sat pondering. He rocked in his rocking chair blinking. Would his wife believe him when he told her? Would she think he's going senile? He took a moment to wonder if he truly had seen it. Yes.Yes, he was certain. He drifted back to the consequences of sharing his thoughts. "Ah, 'ol Muriel will jump right out of her over-sized woolens!", he chuckled to himself, thinking of the surprise on the face of his small-built, shapely, coy-but-bossy wife. He thought again of her jumping up, this time with her hands up in the air with an "OOH!" and he chuckled some more. "No now, no now you foolish bag 'o bones, 'ol Muriel can't take all this excitement. Be sensible 'ol boy. She'll be worrisome. She wouldn't believe you. Ahhh, not in a thousand years. I'll bet you an ivory box full 'o cigars she wouldn't believe you bag 'o bones."
He sat rocking. "Aooo!", he heard a wild dog cry at the setting sun.
Muriel returned. She carried a large cane basket full of old papers in one hand while the other swung violently as she walked. "What news good man?", she asked routinely as she went about her business. "Eh, need to grease this chair, I'd say.", he replied routinely. "Get to it then already you fusspot, you!", she replied routinely. "Yes dear...", he replied routinely. They looked at each other and laughed. He got up, went inside and brought out a dusty jar of grease. He got down on his knees with some evident discomfort and greased his 'ol rocking chair as the dog went off again. "You alright, 'ol chap?", she asked with genuine concern. He nodded as he worked. She knew something was different but didn't know what. He glanced at the questioning expression on her face and smiled to himself. "No now no now why worry dear 'ol Muriel? I must have been dreaming anyway."
He rose to go back inside, squeezed her hand and left. She smiled after him until she felt the thick grease in her palm. "You blasted 'ol bag 'o bones, you.", she murmured to herself.