My Dogs Are Smarter Than Me

I woke up this morning with a headache for the second day in a row. Perhaps because, even though I am excited that it is 2009, it is after all, only January 2nd, damn it. Or perhaps because the sky was cloudy again.

I'm having trouble getting back into my pre R&R routine. I can't stay focused on anything and tend to wander around and obsessively check my facebook and blogspot accounts. If anyone knew exactly how often I did this, it would be dreadfully embarrassing. But there it is.

Last night I was on some kind of high and appeared to be channeling Zsa Zsa Gabor on facebook. As a consequence, I was downright effusive and hyper and could not for the life of me fall asleep for the longest time.

When I get to feeling this kind of apathy, I know clear as day that the only cure for it is to accomplish something. But do I? No. What is it about human nature that, knowing our own cure, we resist it and instead continue to embrace the disease? (I say human nature, because I know I can't be the only person who procrastinates in this way.)

Larry the Good Neighbor has yet to fix the fence and we have one leash, which leads to some technical problems in the day to day activities of the Indiana household. My dog Lynn spent the first half of her life on a leash and so understands that sometimes a dog is required to do her business at one end of it.

Abby does not. When I took her out on the leash, she rolled her eyes up at me as if to say, "What? Really? You've got to be kidding me."

So I thought if I took them both out, with Lynn on the leash, Abby would not run away because she would be so much more interested in hanging around with the fam, and besides, she's been so good at responding to verbal commands lately.

Fat chance. She disappeared with a wag of her black tail and like a fish, slipped through the fence and Out. This left Lynn and I standing stupidly in the dusty back yard feeling, quite rightly, abandoned.

Toting a bag of treats, I wandered down the sidewalk wondering, "If I were a stubborn, irrepressible black lab, where would I be right now?" The answer to that was in the backyard of an empty house still for rent, while the other dogs of the neighborhood, all properly fenced in, barked their indignation.

Abby, bless her dear little heart, knew at once what was in the bag and followed me quite willingly home, where she got her treat. Now both dogs are housebound and on permenant leash restrictions until the fence can be fixed; I was completely terrified watching Abby slip away and thinking about what on earth I would say to my husband if she didn't come home. She must simply learn to do her doggy business while attached to me. Maybe it would help if I told her I would look the other way...?

I miss Keith. And I want it to be summer and it is far, far too early for spring fever. But there it is. I want to throw open wide all the windows, I want to wash the curtains and beat the rugs, I want to drink lemonaide, I want to watch the lawn sprinkler go back and forth in its sedate swing across the green, green lawn and feel the drops on my bare toes.

And I want my husband to be home, in the garage, listening to country music way too loud on his concert speakers, and dinner marinating inside and nothing whatsoever to do but read a paperback novel while the breeze ruffles my hair.

Sigh. Seven months, twenty nine days and about eleven and a half hours to go...