I thought it was almost gone, just a touch of wooze, but no; wham, there it is. Woke up to the ever punctual DogGus Alarm, the general panic of a totally dependent beast to whom imminent starvation precludes all civility. In my haste and half asleepness, I bent over and fumbled for my slippers and created the all too familiar spins, this time in great force. Whining and face licking are not cures, nor is the great Paw of Command forcibly thrust upon my knee. I made it downstairs in spite of the Nascar race for breakfast (which I lost, as usual).
Crisis averted yet again, predictable daily, but always daunting if you are a dog. It's this thing about selective memory for him. I can easily tell him I'll be gone for five minutes and if three hours pass, he just yawns upon return. If food is not immediately in the dish within 20 seconds of entering the kitchen, a great pointy muzzle is thrust against my butt.
In any case, one of us is happy and seems resigned to yet another day of strangers in the yard and on the roof. It can be exhausting to defend one's property from certain death, so napping is in order. I am not too thrilled at the prospect of being completely housebound today while great hammering and sawing is performed. I just hope my drugs kick in soon and I won't care.
That is my report.
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