Outside of a couple of enterprising, inspiring souls, my blog list hasn't changed much in a week or so. Not that I can complain. I haven't written anything either. Blame it on the holidays. That works for me...
The truth is, since getting Nigel, my now three month-old Doxador puppy, I haven't done much apart from dog things... cleaning up accidents, taking him out to "whizpoo" as we call it, saying NO! a lot, rescuing the cat, and cleaning up toys. Oh, and napping when I get the rare chance.
It's been a hard month. I've gotten absolutely no writing done; these things don't happen just because a puppy finally decides to sleep.
I watched
The Magic Of Belle Isle last night, in which Morgan Freeman plays a has-been writer-turned-drunk and I found myself envying him his summer in Dog Dave's cottage. But then, I love Morgan Freeman so much, I'd watch him do just about anything for an hour. But this is what Mr. Nigel has done to me. He's made me envy a handicapped, surly, hardened, lonely, washed up alcoholic writer of Western novels. But come on. It's Morgan Freeman. You gotta love him, whatever part he plays.
But things are getting better, regardless of how it sounds. Soon, I won't be writing about Nigel so much, because, soon, he will be a dog, not a set of razor teeth and a butt on four legs. I really don't know what I was thinking when I agreed to take him (and no, I'd never get rid of him, much to the cat's dismay). I've raised puppies before, but for the life of me, I can't remember it being like this. I don't remember losing sleep or doing middle-of-the-night walkies. All I can think is that, back then, I was in my twenties, which I
partied worked very hard to forget.
We are now on the downhill slide toward Christmas, and today will be spent getting the house ready for all of the guests and parties that will come. With Nigel chasing my pant leg all the way. That's the new thing. We decided, instead of exhausting ourselves with the futile task of keep him away from the Christmas tree, we'll make a cute fence in a half-circle around the tree. Because there will be no formal Christmas dinner this year, we're taking the dining set out of the dining room and setting up the tree in the bay window. We're planning to decorate the brass-colored fence with bows and ribbons which, yes, he will probably want to chew. They're cheap, and I despise anything that looks utilitarian. My mom told me that she and Dad put the tree in my play pen the year I turned two.
So onward. Let the magic begin.
