February 15
Two hours after dropping off Toots I returned to the pet rescue place with an armload of dog supplies I’d borrowed. While there I learned that Charlotte needed a home for one night, so here she is by my feet.
She’s a beautiful border collie who, when not blasting around after a ball, is happy lying near a human companion. However, when I left for an hour this evening she seemed less than happy, judging by what she left on my bedroom floor. It took me quite a while to get that cleaned up …
… and just as I typed those words, Charlotte left vast quantities of another type of offering, probably because her dinner didn’t agree with her.
I am really really really really tired of cleaning up disgusting things. It’s 10:00 p.m. and I want to take the pup out for her evening devoirs so I can retire for the night, but there’s a skunk outside.
[Though I’d like her better if she’d stop erupting, she’s a very sweet pup.]
February 16
Since writing that last night I have cleaned one more spot of dog-do and four mountains of dog puke. That last time, under my bed, gave new meaning to the word “broadcast.”
Until last night I hadn’t had such an interrupted sleep since M was an infant. Charlotte paced and slurped and squeaked and paced some more. Between the constant noise and the worry that one of those activities was going to yield something else for me to clean up, I was a wreck.
At 12:30 I let her out, and at 1:30, and 3:30. At 4:00 I was drifting to sleep when sixty pounds of dog suddenly went airborne and landed at my left elbow. Even Otis never slept next to me, but last night I would’ve given Charlotte the whole bed and slept on the floor if she’d asked me to.
And here she is this morning, catching up on her sleep at my feet.
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