The passed four weeks have been crazy.....even more so than my usual crazy. Normal crazy is just me doing dumb things and/or dumb things happening to me. But lately the dumbness has increased as well as general busyness. I find myself acting more and more like my dog, Wonderlick, just staring off into space, running into walls, and being confused by windows. You can see through them but not walk through them, what’s that about? Thankfully I have not had the urge to dig through the trash or eat spoiled food. Wonderlick on the other hand can’t get enough of it. I had to put a childproof lock on my cabinet door so that he wouldn’t get into the kitchen trashcan. But somehow in that inbreed, pea brain of his he figured out that if he bounced the door hard enough eventually the latch would release and all things rotten and putrid were his for the taking. This is the dog that can’t find his way out from under a blanket and yet the boy genius can finagle his way to garbage heaven. The worst part is that he does it while I am home. He isn’t even smart enough to sneak! I’ll be sitting on the couch when I hear “thump, thump, thump.”
“Hey, cut it out!” I yell.
Click, click, click go his little toe nails on the tile floor. Five minutes later I hear it again, “thump, thump, thump.”
“Really? Bad dog, stop it!”
About seven minutes later, “thump, thump, thump.”
“You have got to be kidding me!” I get up and walk to the kitchen. Wonderlick tries to act casual. I walk him to the cabinet and point to it.
“No, no. Bad dog.”
He begins to wag his tail. I sigh and shake my head. He licks my hand. Despair creeps into my soul.
That night around 3am I hear Wonderlick begin to stir. Now what? I find out all to soon. The miserable creature begins to wretch. No, no, no, no, no! Half asleep I jump out of bed, eye mask still on, and run to the back door. The barfing pooch is at my heals. With shaking hands I unlatch the door, slide it open, and throw the puker outside. He runs off into the bushes. By now I am fully awake and my eye mask is hanging around my neck. I turn around and head back to the bed. Two steps in and I feel an unholy sensation under my foot. A wave of horror washes over my body as I look down. There between my bare foot and the floor is a warm pile of partially digested chicken.
So there I find myself at 3am, hopping on one foot to the bathroom, gagging and thinking, “yep, this is my life.”
