Nope. Too slow.

I climb into the shower.
"I'll be just a moment Orion," I say tossing the peanut butter filled kong out the shower so that maybe he'll be entertained and move on to the shaving cream.
I figure I'm good for at least five minutes as he has the kong, but as I lather up my legs a little black nose pops me in the back.
"Orion. You have peanut butter." I pull the curtain tight.
Yellow head pops in in front of me. I put some shaving cream on my toes to distract him and sprint through the leg shave only to have him all the way in the shower before I can even start the second one.
You win some.
You lose some.

Conversations on a long day

"Orion?" I'm lying in bed. The AC is running. It's light as a Sunday afternoon. My cell phone reads 8:15 PM. Orion's lying with his head propped on the window sill making sure the going-ons of the neighborhood are well documented. I feel exhausted. My body is just pooped.
"Orion? I think I'm feeling kind of lonely." He rotates his butt to bump my hip. I reach my hand out and pat him. Long intentional pats.
"I know Jamie spent the day with me in the ER and all. That was really nice. And it's good to know I could go to her and be like, woah, something's not right and she can help facilitate taking care of myself. And I know I shouldn't feel lonely. I usually don't. And I know I'm feeling fine right now. But Orion?"
He doesn't move.
"I sort of wish there were still people around. Like family. People bustling too and fro. Or maybe, maybe just that someone could, if they were thinking of it, pop their head in and say, "Hey, how's it going Moll? Wanna come down for dinner?" Or just maybe fall asleep on the couch. Get a hug from my mum or dad. I think I'd just like people around that know I'm here too."
I keep patting.
"Did you know that it's proven that you can pat a dog and it lowers your stress level?"
I keep patting.
"Maybe I should've just gone up to Lynn's house. Or Jenkin's. "Hi, I just need to be around some people who love me today cause I had a lousy day. Thanks!""
Orion launches off the bed to bark at the door.
He returns. Non plussed. And plunks back down by the window.
"Hum. I think maybe just going to sleep would be handy. But Orion? I want you to know that I really appreciate you being here and hanging out with me, and being my dog. It helps a lot. I think, well, you're my family member that keeps an eye on me too and that is good enough for me. Try not to wake me up like 8 times though just to reinforce that point."

New Hampshire Sunshine

The trouble with being in New Hampshire visiting the folks is that the sun gets up forty-five minutes earlier than it does in Ohio. Great! I'm a morning person, that's a whole extra :45 minutes--save for the fact it's at 4:45 AM that one said yellow labrador starts whining. Then there's the moment of debate, can he hold it? Does he have to go number one or two? It is my parents house... they wouldn't be horrified... but still, not a practice I want Orion to get into, so legs swing over the side of the bed, half-hearted effort at collecting my glasses and then down the stairs we go.
"I hope you know we're going back to sleep after this."
He does his business right where I anticipate my mother will walk while getting to her car, and I make a tired mental note to collect it in the AM before turning back into the house.
In bed again, he's brought up my family dog Chloe's toy stuffed opossum. That's cool, I think, I can sleep through anything. Therein sues the squeaking. And more squeaking. I'm not concerned about my parents waking up, my dad's a heavy sleeper and my mom is partially deaf, so it's just me and my sixteen pillows, trying to smother out the sound.

While I wake up forty minutes later, I notice brown spots on the bed. "What are these?" I ask. "Are these from you or me?" I pick up his feet to look. Nothing. I touch my face, having one time woken to a bloody nose and thought I was murdered, nothing. I find a brown piece in my bed. "Did Mr. Opossum lose his arm?" I throw my feet over the bed, this time accurately finding my glasses and placing them on my head. "What else have you gotten into?" I assess the room. I see corn kernels on the floor and a little Boyd's Bear. "Okay so you decided Mr. Bear had to lose his arm." Mentally I assess whether this will be a major problem with my mother and/or if I can sew it back on. I turn my attention to the corn that Orion has now redevoted his attention to and is collecting. "Ah. Maggie's heat wrap." I collect the heat wrap that my oldest sister made for my youngest sister that now has a gaping hole. This I know can be repaired. I leave Orion to the corn.

"Let's go." I peek out the door to see the parent's door is closed and then open the door and head to the bathroom. Closed, and shut tight being two entirely different things, I hear a loud noise, I move quickly out of the bathroom to find my 65 pound dog has launched himself on the sleeping party, hitting the larkin as he jumps, opening the desk part so that a tea saucer is now falling, my mother is wondering what the heck is waking her up, my dad giggles, Chloe jumps up to defend the world and I'm left dragging the dog off the parents, apologetically and downstairs we go.

Coffee. Where's the coffee.

You have got to be kidding me.

Sitting on a sheet in the front yard. Typing on my computer. Working on job applications because for the love of all things holy I can't handle another 100+ degree day in the midwest. Orion starts to sprint for a dog that's loose across the street. I have a fraction of a second to think, the leash is caught on the tree and he can't get that far, before I'm thrown forward, leash catching my neck like a piano wire and I'm catching myself with my broken arm.
Where the hell is my left arm?
Why the hell does this happen WHEN I DON'T HAVE MY BRACE ON??! I fold up, grab my wrist. Start crying.
"WHY DO YOU HAVE TO INSIST ON TRYING TO KILL ME?!"
I stand up. Get my phone. Call my mother. Ask her if she thinks I really f'd up my arm again or if maybe I'm okay because I maybe just landed on it in a way that it doesn't fold yet on it's own.
"Ice. Advil."
I collect the sheet. The computer, the dog.
I get ice.
I hate the world for a few.
Especially when I can't pick up the bag of ice with the hand.
Then I realize after :30 of ice, I can type again. I give the dog a bone and tell him I need space so to please leave me alone for a few.
And then I clean up the cut on the back of my neck and think of how at least I'm not decapitated.