A post about one of the many reasons I have been so busy as of late.
I awoke early on Saturday morning with a groan as my dog river-danced on my calves, whining to be let out. I glared at him. All night he had forced me to take him outside to bark at toads and his own shadow. Over and over again I shuffled through the house to open the door and shut the door before passing out again, praying that each time would be the last. Yet it never was. I begged for just one R.E.M. cycle but Max had other plans.
Was this my punishment for allowing him to be fixed? I would be angry too if my testicles had been cut off but this was just cruel. I rolled out of bed once more and glanced at my phone. I only had about 15 minutes until my alarm would go off to get ready for my father’s birthday party. My feet scraped along the wood as I limped into the laundry room to get my duck out of his carrier. He stuck his head out of the top as I approached, like a little duck submarine, and began talking.
“There he is! Mr. Amerrrriduuuuck“, I sang to him as I popped the lid and lifted him into my arms.
He pecked at my shirt and nibbled my hair as I opened the back door and set him down as Max ran out.
“Bye bye, duck!”
I shut the door and started on getting ready. My hair was halfway curled when I heard the dog barking to be let in. I let him in and he took his usual position in a leather armchair but his eyes were locked on mine with cold fury. Was this about the balls? I had a feeling it was but I put it out of my head and got back to doing my hair. Continue reading