Wednesday, March 28, 2012

red handed

It's pitch black in the room save for the light of my computer. I hear a rustle. I am trying to ignore my over zealous dog as he prowls about my room, having been in his crate for my 12-9 shift. I want to check my bank accounts. Perfectly reasonable thing to do before going to bed. Rustle. Leap. Sixty-three pound lab lands on my side.
I guard the trackpad on my computer and allow his paws to rest on the keys. Mr. Skunk squeaks under his weight. Orion makes a jab for my glasses case. I shove the case under my pillow. He tries to eat the pillow.
"Orion, go entertain yourself."
He rolls off and overshoots to find himself falling to the floor.
I go back to budgeting.
Rustle. New kind of rustle.
I whip the computer screen around. The light illuminates a little yellow dog perched on my studio table digging for the bag of bones in the back.
He freezes. The blue light of the screen magnifies the caught-red-handed.
He saunters to the ground, bone bag swinging.
I get out of bed. Snag the bag, toss it up on the top bookshelf. Pull the desk chair to the middle of the room.
Back in bed, I tuck my legs in around my half ripped duvet cover from the boys attempts to dig to China.
"Come on. It's time for bed."
He moves on to chewing on my tupperware container.
C'est la vie avec ma chien.

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