I've been asking some major life questions lately (about which my uncle wrote me the letter that I read while my tire was being patched...). Relationships have been interesting. Plans have been stirring me in so many directions that I feel like I'm on that zipper ride that comes to Fire Department sponsored carnivals that travel to different towns. Thoughts of volunteering and service are on my fringes. I've been working and not working well. I've been creative and social. Life has been full. And, as I mentioned in Bits and Pieces, I feel anxiety and happy anticipation at the same time.
My roomie came back last night and we went out to breakfast (lunch, really, since it was 1:30pm by the time that we were seated) with another friend who is on his own journey. (That's such an Asheville thing to say! Next thing I'll be saying, "It's really an organic process...")
Anyhow, while my roomie was gone, I spent a considerable amount of time with her dog, Tucker. He is also neurotic and obsessed with chasing rocks and rubber chickens. He's a great friend.
It has been the one part of my life that is so simple. We wake up; he licks my face as I squeal and hide it; he gets into bed and curls into the nook of my knees; we sleep for another 15 minutes. We get up. He eats. I put on the kettle. He drinks water and then tries to lick my legs to dry off his tongue. I squeal again. We play while I drink tea and turn on my computer. I work. He naps on the couch. We walk to the empty lot so he can pee. I work or go to class. He comes with me to the town office or to TAASC meetings, or stays at home if necessary. I go for a run with him. We stretch (he looks for rocks to drop at my feet). We watch the sunset and feel lucky. We go home. He eats. We go back out for him to take care of business.... My drama is filled into this skeleton of Tucker's day.
It has been the one part of my life that is so simple. We wake up; he licks my face as I squeal and hide it; he gets into bed and curls into the nook of my knees; we sleep for another 15 minutes. We get up. He eats. I put on the kettle. He drinks water and then tries to lick my legs to dry off his tongue. I squeal again. We play while I drink tea and turn on my computer. I work. He naps on the couch. We walk to the empty lot so he can pee. I work or go to class. He comes with me to the town office or to TAASC meetings, or stays at home if necessary. I go for a run with him. We stretch (he looks for rocks to drop at my feet). We watch the sunset and feel lucky. We go home. He eats. We go back out for him to take care of business.... My drama is filled into this skeleton of Tucker's day.
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Oh, Ms. Katie. This is my life in a nutshell. When Lumpy is not home I live the life of a dog owner. By myself. On THEIR schedule. Inevitably, I learn much. The Fuzz is there to teach. However, they frighten me. heh.
My famous friend in Nashville reminded me this via email. FYI Wags Bags are bags in which we poop in the woods when we are at a highly impacted site and can't dig cat holes.
"I just wanted to remind you how many used wags bags tucker has eaten in his lifetime and that the morning lick on the face is, in my mind, like taking a big bite out of one of those wonderfu,l warm and soft, green bags. Hardly a way to start a good day plus you don't know what he last licked either before he came up to give you a wet one...could of been the old genitals....dogs like to do that you know. Anyhow...just think about it...could mean the difference a good day vs a not so good day...one that has poopie mouth undercurrents to it all day long."
It's sooo funny to work at a place where almost all of your coworkers know what a Wags Bag is, as well as may have actually used one.
I don't want to count how many wags bags I've used in my lifetime!
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