He is a fun brother when the death cloud of work isn't hanging over his head. But when he first comes home, I've established a system. Don't ask about his day. Don't ask him anything. Just say "Hey" and leave him alone for an hour or so. Eventually the scowl will fade some and he
will tell you about the entire family of motorized scooter users that came through his register that day.
"This is what I was built for . . . good old-fashioned violence."
***
I spent most of the weekend with Kait, and a good time we had too. A balance of good conversation and pure fun. She knows how to throw really good (seven hour) parties. And the best part was after everyone but the last four had left, and we sat around the kitchen table and enjoyed the one a.m. thunder and lightning show.
Then I came home to a deliriously happy Mosby, who I love more every day. I always mocked those people who are so crazy about a dog - you know, the kind of people whose dog slobbers in your ear and they exclaim that oh, Fluffy likes you, and you grimace out a wan smile. Yuck.
And now I am one of those blind, besotted fools. The Sweet Dog slobbers on me and body slams me (he's getting better) and smells absolutely awful and I absolutely do not mind. How did this happen?
Dogs just . . . they need you. And then you need them back.
P.S. Credit Joanna with the lovely photo!
1 comment:
what, and no mention of my lovely visit?
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