The weather report from the Pacific Northwest is cloudy and windy with literally thousands of miles of rainstorm headed in this direction. Time to locate flashlights and be grateful that we have a working generator right outside the garage.
It’s been a complicated week around here. We have a new dog at our house. Her name is Mary, not a favorite of mine. I’d like to change it to something a little less serious—like Mimi, for example—but right this minute one more change is more than she can handle. Mary came from the same breeder where we got Jojo. She’s a recently retired mommy dog—a long haired miniature dachshund who is bigger than Bella but looks a lot like her. She’s a very serious little dog and doesn’t have that irresistible puppy cuteness to win over hearts and minds.
She came into our house, attached herself to Bill’s leg, clambered up into his chair, and stayed there. It’s nice to be needed, but she doesn’t want to get out of the chair FOR ANY REASON!! Taking her outside to do her business is a major undertaking. And once we’re outside, instead of taking her cues from Jojo and getting busy, she sits at our feet, stares up at as, and does nothing! Until after we come back inside.
I keep reminding myself that when Bella came into our lives, she had issues, too—ones that took time and love to overcome. So we’re working on it, but I’m feeling very guilty about being gone this weekend and leaving a house sitter with a not-exactly house broken dog.
The other problem for me this week is that someone I’ve known and respected for years has been jailed on a charge of second degree murder in the death of his mother. That is the full extent of my knowledge with regard to what happened. His mother is dead, and he’s in jail.
I write about murder in fiction, but this is the first time that someone from my real life, a trusted business associate, has ended up on the bad side of a homicide investigation. Regardless of how this thing sorts itself out long term—guilty or innocent—life as he and his family knew it is changed forever. The whole situation leaves me feeling heartsick.
And now that I’ve written about both of those things in almost side by side fashion, I can see that having a non-housebroken dog is really small potatoes. The one is a calamity. The other is no big deal.
This is me telling myself to sit down and shut up!