What did I used to do with my time?
My darling husband has taken off with our puppy for a jaunt to the neighbor's house to play a video game. The puppy is scheduled for some high-energy romping with the neighbor dog. They've been gone for less than an hour, and I'm so lost.
Sure, it's hard work keeping a constant ear out for sudden silence (a sure sign that someone is eating the cat poop or his Mama's knitting), being followed everywhere you go (having to be extra careful now, not to step on anyone), and venturing outside more times every day than I had previously been outside in two years. Sure, it's a little annoying to be constantly listening to the whine of the cat as they rough-house, it's irritating to clean up the little puddles that happen when you're just too worn out to remember that he probably has to go (AGAIN!). It's constant. There's nothing half-way about having a spanking-new puppy in the house. It's everything, it's everywhere, and it's 24/7 all the time, baby, no time for time off, cause it's about to shit all over the floor.
So, naturally, I suggested taking the pup down the street for a little dog-on-dog bonding so I could have the place to myself for a few blessed moments' respite from the... Well, from the constantness of it all.
And now I'm lonely.
2 comments:
Ah, my dear. I feel the pain of the constantness. I also feel the empty feeling when I don't have to worry about who is possibly eating my shoes or chewing up the cat toys or attacking the cats or quietly peeing on the floor when I'm so tired I can't get up to take him outside for the 500th time of the evening.
Still, you get used to and appreciative of the small respites quickly enough. Last night, the 30 minutes he spent in the kennel after squatting and wizzing on my floor RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME was glorious. I could lay on the couch, watch TV and jump anytime it was quiet. Ahhhh...
;o)
Ahem, that should say "not jump." It was sheer lazy abandon.
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