Thursday, September 5, 2013


I am driving home from school and smiling thinking about Orion waiting for me on the other side of my apartment door. It has been my first week back to work and I think both he and I have had to make some serious adjustments. On my part, I'm physically exhausted and my body is retaliating in some rather rude ways. On Orion's part, he's not appreciating my stock piling of energy (ie. shortened walks) because I'm storing up for the day or just flat out in the night. Plus, I'm sure he misses my endless company.

The sun is shining in through the windows and there is a light breeze, making for the perfect walking weather. I lay down on the floor, pushing my bags to the side, as Orion wiggles all around me. "Hi Best Friend. Oh, it's so nice to see you too.... We should go for a walk. Although... laying here, I could go for a nap instead...." But I get up and we enjoy a stroll to the park. He splashes around, then runs like a maniac around, and I squirm hoping his crazy-dog antics won't include a wet dog jumping on me. I smile up at the sunshine filtering through the tail feathers of a red tail hawk flying above.

At home, I take the 20 minute power nap I've been requiring on six hour rotations, and there is a wet dog rolling alongside my back. His face is wedging into my shoulder. His wet feet shoving at my thighs. He's groaning as he uses my sheets to dry off. And then his head shows up on my torso. Resting, as my ribs go up and down, up and down.

I think my dog has missed me.

And I promise him tomorrow we will spend the afternoon together, or at least devoted to him, as I return from my late night book club hours later.
"What picture do you like," I say, lights out and only the glare of the computer screen lighting up our images from the morning.
"I only have ten minutes left to write your blog before bed." He's sitting at the foot of my bed, chewing on a peanut butter jar that has long since had it's prime chewing done.
After a bit he disappears and returns with my shoe hanging out of his mouth.

"What are you doing eating my shoe? That's suppose to be on the shelf," I say, sliding out of bed, taking the shoe and wandering out into the kitchen. "You just want me to pay attention to you." Instead I stick my head in the fridgerator.
He sticks his head in too.

"What do you want?" I ask, scouting for my own goodies.
"What do you say a carrot for you and a brownie for me?" He sits. I grab a carrot and brownie and we wander back to bed.

All and all, a good day.

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