I’m having trouble expressing my anger over what I consider to be your blatant refusal to stop pissing and crapping on my carpet.
Yes, I’m aware that some of the blame lies with me and that while I should be out taking you for a much deserved walk I am instead in here drawing on my computer and banging out this post but lets not forget that it’s not my waste soaking into our beloved rug.
I find myself suffering from latent waves of guilt over the death of your good friend Grover and I am unwilling to discipline you in a manner that might crush your fragile psyche so here is my passive aggressive attempt to put my feelings in order.
Have you ever sat bolt upright after awakening from a prolonged daze only to exclaim in horror that you had no idea what the fuck was going on these past few weeks and aghast at the sorry state of all that surrounds you?
Besides, if you are able to ignore the previous run on sentence that is almost blinding in its blatant disregard of all rules of writing well, everything else seems to be on the upswing, right?
Okay, make that two poorly thought out sentences that should really be cast right out and destroyed.
Shall we start again?
I’m not sure if it was the dog sledding, the brisk mountain air or the number of times my ears popped loudly from the altitude during the three-hour trip but somewhere along the way I got my “snap out of it” crack across the face from my imaginary Moonstruck character.
There is some debate among family and friends as to HOW effective this jolt actually was as my house is still in shambles and my kids look a little scruffy but everyone appears to be well fed and there are still four walls and a roof .
I call that victory.
Today started out well.
Aside from that ant that I SWALLOWED WHOLE because he crawled up into my coffee cup, but that was merely a tiny hiccup easily overcome.
But where was I?…….
Oh yes, today and how glorious it is.
This day is in stark contrast to yesterday when I spent endless hours suffering the crippling effects of a raging urinary tract infection that I had tried to ignore.
My husband finally came home from work and implored me to throw in the martyr towel and go to the doctor before I ended up in the hospital again.
I have this odd habit of denying any sort of ailment that doesn’t have me flat on my back with an IV dripping fluids into my body. Usually by the time I’ve snapped back to reality and taken stock of the gravity of the situation it’s too late. I get a nice emergency room trip and occasionally an extended stay!
I can’t say I dislike the quiet time while doctors and nurses wait on me hand and foot but they probably have more pressing issues to deal with like gunshot wounds and unfortunate car accident victims.
I slept late (11:00 am y’all, suck on that!) and came downstairs to a ready-made pot of hot coffee courtesy of my long gone husband.
Glancing toward the south I noticed one of the dogs had crapped up the rug in the back of the house but I’m not letting that dampen my pain-free mood.
I’m going to pop my antibiotic and painkiller, wash it down with a cup of joe (ant optional) and spend the next few hours joyfully scrubbing dog shit out of my rug!
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As I type this my feet are resting comfortably on the side of my massive chocolate lab. Usually I don’t give him much thought except to rue the day we decided to make him a permanent family member thereby ruining any chance we would ever have of a quick family get away. Next to my gently snoring lab lies our newly acquired french bulldog, Molly. When I read the extensive literature and did in-depth research on her breed by visiting households with Frenchies I was assured of their calm temperament and uncanny ability to adjust to family life. I got the only stubborn, hyperactive and terribly loud french bulldog in existence. She suffers from horrific flatulence and snores like a buzzsaw gone awry. Lessons learned.
Over the years I’ve had various types of relationships with dogs. Lady was a long-term friendship (22 years) and Flappy was a short-lived dalliance (2 weeks until he broke free and made for the hills). Petey lasted two years until someone stole him right in front of our house, and Rheingold was a battle hardened defender that made his way between our relatives houses and ours for twenty years watching intently for intruders before old age came knocking.
I don’t mind the tumbleweeds of doggie hair that blow through my house on windy days or the scratch marks etched deeply in my twice refinished hardwoods but the responsibility of two extra lives sometimes weighs heavy on our household. When you think you don’t have an ounce of extra energy to take one more step after feeding, dressing and paying attention to three kids suddenly you are confronted with two panting attention seeking canines who need your help. It can get overwhelming.
Luckily for me, my husband takes the brunt of the poop cleaning, feeding and care of our puppies but I do occasionally get in the game with a walk and I’m big on doling out the ear scratches and tummy rubs. Some days, they drive us nuts others we get on just fine.