Oy! A dearth of material recently.
No maniacal mood swings.
Nobody wronging me. Not one person!
Can you believe it?
That makes it tough for me to post anything here.
This blog is for when I feel shitty.
However I feel obligated to say something, but what?
Hell if I know.
Anybody want to hear about Floyd?
Tough shit. You're gonna hear it.
Floyd, for those that may not know,
is my Jack Russell Terrier.
He is a nightmare. An honest to goodness nightmare.
He's not even mine.
He belongs to my brother, Michael.
You see, when Mike moved to Florida last September,
he left Floyd with me.
Apparently, I'm the most responsible person he knows.
Yikes, that's a scary thought.
How do I say to him,
"Mike, I don't want your goddamn dog."
For all intents and purposes, I'm a cat person.
They are much easier to take care of. They're self reliant.
Leave them a bowl of food and water, and they're good.
They can go days without ever approaching you.
And when they do,
You pet them, on their terms, and eventually,
they go away.
Off on another excursion that they'll never tell you about.
But dogs? Holy Moses!
I've never seen a needier beast.
Well, except for my last girlfriend (ba dum bum. thank you. thank you.).
Every morning at 5am, there he is,
with his nose in my still closed, still sleeping eye.
Literally, right in my eye.
"I presume you need to go out?" I'll say.
Zoom! Like he's fucking rocket propelled,
straight downstairs and at the door barking.
And I am still searching for my slippers.
They are no where to be found, of course.
Beacuse he has taken them and hidden them.
It's a game we play.
When I don't give him enough attention (for instance, when I'm sleeping),
he takes my slippers (or shoes or work boots) and hides them.
It's really very maddening.
He has to be fed the same time every day, otherwise he shits on the floor.
I can't let him run free, because he burrows under the fence,
and then tries to mangle the little yapping dog next door.
YIPE YIPE YIPE it shouts, as if to warn me, "He's almost out!
So I go trudging out in my boxer shorts and the one slipper I can locate.
It's really very funny to see, I imagine.
But I love the little doofus.
I'm going to miss him once Mike does eventually come and take him back.
It should be this February that he leaves me.
And then I'll be left all alone, by myself.
Frittering away the hours in my cold house.
Without any companionship, and slowly going insane.