Long Time, No Post

Thanks to all who have inquired about my first full week of full-time work. The job is going well, but it is exhausting. By the time I get home, my brain feels like it has been forced through a juicer. The girls are a little confused, and Roma does not like the substitute dog walker. She takes a perverse pleasure in messing with her mind. When I get home, I find plaintive little notes about how Roma doesn't like her and won't come back inside the house after walks. Thanks for not going easy into that dark night, Roma. The regular walker comes back from her vacation tomorrow. 

Out of guilt and in anticipation of a real pay check, I bought Muzzy a pile of toys—chew bones and fresh fetching balls. She, of course, gives the walker no trouble at all, but I do pay a price. While getting ready for bed at night (earlier than usual, of course), I hear her pacing in the hallway with a ball, which makes a thokthokthok sound when she drops it and it bounces on the tiles. Out of desperation, I go outside at 11 at night in my 'jamas and throw the ball until she is exhausted and I get devoured by mosquitoes. The things we do for our dogs. 

The only downtime the dogs still allow me is that hour between dinner and Dog Park. On Friday, I was flipping through the latest copy of the New Yorker, lacking even the brain power to decode the cartoons, when I found a poem by the current U.S. poet laureate, Kay Ryan. It's about dogs and it's short. I was able not only to understand it but to enjoy it. I hope you do, too. 

Fool's Errands

A thing

cannot be

delivered 

enough times:

this is the 

rule of dogs

for whom there 

are no fool's 

errands. To 

loop out and 

come back is 

good all alone.

It's gravy to 

carry a ball 

or a bone. 

Enjoy. 

-z