My freaking dog got out again. And the other dog left behind is now singing the song of separation at the top of his whine. The one who escaped currently has no collar, because she keeps walking around all night waking us up with the jingle tune of insomnia. So she’s probably out, rolling in dead skunk, and animal feces, and whatever other horrible smells she can track down because that’s what she does, and I’ll have to throw her into the tub and scrub her down, which she and I both hate with a fiery passion. That is, if she ever comes back. She has no collar, remember? DAMN THAT DOG!
I’m finding it difficult to be grateful right now.
I suppose if I try really hard, I can be grateful that I was able to sleep in this morning because I’m working the evening shift today. And I suppose I can be grateful that today is trash day, and that I get to live in a place in the world where someone comes and picks up my trash every week for free. That’s nice. And I guess, if I really reach down deep and dig around in the depths of my curmudgeonly soul, I can try and be grateful for that stupid dog, the dog that can’t stand being fenced in, that just has to get out and explore. The one with the free spirit, who adventurously yearns for the freedom to run at full speed, to track down every smelly event of the past month so that she can report back to base. The one who will come barreling into the house after a morning of scaring her mother to death, who will then act like the bath she receives is the equivalent of water-boarding torture.
I’m trying to be grateful for that mut.