The good thing about having a dog is that, even if you want to declare today “Stay in bed and feel sorry for yourself day,” you may not. Because someone is depending on you to take them outside to shit. And someone is also wondering why, if you’re not doing anything more important than crying into your pillow, you aren’t instead rubbing her belly.
You saw how cute she is. It’s impossible to feel quite as bad as you feel like you have a right to when she’s nosing around and licking your face.
So, we went for our walk, which was an object lesson in “Things Could Be Worse.”
For one, Buster is missing. I don’t know who this little brown mutt belongs to–I hope it’s not the guy in the boxy van–but someone has put flyers up all over the neighborhood. Hopefully Buster is just down along the train tracks having a good old time dogging it up. Let us hope Buster did not make his way onto the interstate.
For another, there is a rust red Nissan Stanza parked at the top of the hill, and as we were coming back from our walk, Mrs. Wigglebottom noticed that there was a plaid sleeping bag next to the car. She wanted to check it out, but I thought, “Look at that. Some guy is sleeping, tucked up against his car.” and I thought it would be rude to wake him.
Last night, the Butcher said, “You can yell at me if you want.”
I don’t want to yell at him. I want him to get a job and keep it until he finds another job, just in general. And I want him to find a job he likes that is worthy of him–and I know this will not happen right away, but I wish, at least, it was something he believed was possible.