A dear friend just sent me an email saying she noticed the last time I wrote in my blog was January 19. She was wondering if I was OK. I had to think about it for a second...well, yes, I'm OK. But I just couldn't fathom that it had been that long. Where does the time go?
Writing in my blog is one of those expendable things. It gets put on the back burner when work or personal things become too intense. And, truly, it shouldn't. It is precisely those times when we most need to be creative, to share, to enjoy our own stories and those of others. Trouble is, all work and no play makes ScruffyDog a dull blogger. And it's been a busy work time.
I guess the dog moments that stand out most to me in the recent past are all related to the dogs telling me it's time to stop doing whatever I'm doing. They need a break from watching me work. Somewhere, down inside, I know I need a break too. I just forget, especially when I have looming deadlines to meet.
But it's not just about taking a break from work...Kirby has developed this cute-but-annoying habit of thinking that the second I sit on the sofa, he needs to go outside. You see, it's OK to take a break, as long as it's a break with the dogs. Breaks that involve, say, eating lunch or sitting down with a cup of coffee and a book or watching TV are not acceptable. Not enough action. I might as well be working, as far as Kirby's concerned.
It's like clockwork. I sit down to relax and moments later I hear this little grrrrrrrr coming from behind me. I ignore it. I hear GRRRRRRRR. Then GRRRRRRR!!!!!!! Soon Kirby's front feet are on my thigh, he's looking me right in the eye. GGGGGGGGGGGROwowowt! (see previous post re: dogs speaking English). If I continue to ignore him, I get a full-on barkfest, complete with ear-piercing, terrier (make that terror) bark that could wake the dead. OK. I give in. Of course, he doesn't really have to do anything. He just wants to go outside and smell the rain and lick the grass and soak up a little Oregon winter.
And I know it will continue because I always end up giving in. "What if he really DOES have to go?" I think to myself. Yeah, right. What a pushover.
Kirby just stuck his little head up through my legs to rest his chin on my lap. grrrrrr. He knows it's time to get off the computer and go out for the late evening trip to the yard. This time I think he's right.