It’s interesting what one can learn about your furry friends when you stay home from work on a Friday. The house is too warm at 70 degrees Fahrenheit (22 C) for these guys. A lot of puffing and panting inside intrudes on my writing Zen-state. A mystery sound only they hear – probably the neighbor’s golden retriever – sends Dexter into a high velocity whiny growl charging out the back door followed by Comet. A sound of galloping feet outside is soon followed by the banging of the doggie-door flap. A moment later a thunderous rush and Dexter and Comet bounce into me. And all this occurring after we come back from a walk up and down my neighborhood hills. A moment later they are calm and snoozing. I pick up the shreds of my Zen-state and start again.
It’s understandable that a fastidious person probably doesn’t have dogs living with him. Someone uncomfortable with things out of control definitely would not. Fridays and in fact every day is a chance to pick up the house enough to have a visitor not assume I am a slob. And then that moment is gone. Couch cushions are again dislodged and the cushions and blanket are in a pile on the living room floor. Dog pillows in the office are dislodged and in a pile in the corner. The unoccupied office chair is spun around backwards.
Then again, my friends all appreciate dog racing.