Run

She leaves tomorrow. My in-laws’ dog, that is. And I can’t wait.

I feel so guilty about this. I love dogs! Love! In fact, most of the time, I’d rather be with dogs than people (present company excluded). And it’s not her fault–she’s scared, and her people have abandoned her! It’s not my in-laws’ fault, either, for they would have no way of knowing she would react this way to being away from home. And she’s a sweet dog; she means well.

But the barking. Oh my God, the barking. The barking that makes it impossible for us to say anything to our new neighbors, who are hammering hammering HAMMERING non-stop at all hours of the day, because God knows, we are the House of High-Pitched Bark and Squeals. And the peeing, which can be prompted by anything from one of us getting an ice cube to some imperceptible shift in the air’s molecules. Mostly, however, the peeing is brought on by seeing her own reflection in the glass doors, because who is that strange dog? WHO IS THAT DOG OH MY GOD I HAVE TO PEE?

We’re down–and I wish I was kidding–more than half a gallon of Nature’s Miracle. Also, Alert Reader Leane brought up a good point: why is it that I will gleefully (well, not gleefully, I guess) pick up my own dog’s pee and poop, but another dog’s bodily fluids make me want to kill myself, very slowly, maybe with my neighbor’s hammer? It’s not like I birthed Sunny, and yet I am impervious to her deposits. I’ve managed multiple assplosions, and wiped them up with nary a complaint, but this dog so much as drools and I’m choking back chunks.

But it doesn’t matter, as she’s heading out tomorrow, back to the people who love her; back to people who can handle her elephantine poop without praying for death. And we will, once again, return to normalcy, and return to a life where we don’t have to cancel all of our plans because oh my God, the dog is pooping again, break out the shovel. Praise Jesus.

Entirely separately, I picked up my orthotics from the podiatrist last week, which rounds out the collection of ridiculous paraphernalia I got after I tore my tendon, which already includes some sort of foot fetishist-type bondage-looking night splint contraption. I’m cleared to run again, hooray!, but when the nurse gave me the orthotics, she informed me that I am supposed to wear them in sneakers every day, all day, for the rest of my life. Sneakers. Repeat: I’m not supposed to wear anything but sneakers, every day, for the rest of my life. I don’t know, I’m not a shoe person, but sneakers? Seriously? Come on. And when I mentioned that this seemed a bit … Draconian … the attitude emanated from her like a fart after eating too many cruciferous vegetables. So, um, sneakers it is. Except no: it won’t be. It will not be, it cannot be, I just can’t. Does she know how hot it is out there? My feet need freedom, for God’s sake. They need to feel the breeze.

Incidentally, I’ve started running again, and I didn’t realize how much I missed it. Also, if you’ve never run and always wanted to, but the very idea of running conjures images of death by exercise and also harsh wheezing, I cannot recommend Cool Running’s Couch to 5K Program enough. I’ve done it too many times to count at this point, and each time, it eases me back into a reasonable running program with as little pain as possible.

Finally, because honestly, we couldn’t leave the house because of Guest Dog and her Neverending Bladder and Exercise Demands, I watched a lot of television this weekend…a lot. This included the ill-advised Starter Wife, which I advise you to avoid at all costs, and is something I totally should have known to avoid, given that I um, read the book, which is one of the worst things I’ve ever done, and I can’t believe that Gigi Levangie Grazer has any sort of career outside of her husband’s shadow. Four whole hours I’ll never get back. Four hours!

Also, I recently started reading Margaret Atwood’s Cat’s Eye, which has been in my book queue for months and months, but kept getting pushed to the side by other books. I have to ask: is it worth it? Because I’m not as into it at this point as I feel that I should be (150 or so pages in). I loved The Blind Assassin and The Handmaid’s Tale, but I did not so much love Alias Grace. Nay, I hated Alias Grace. Which side of the spectrum does it sit, does anyone know?

I hope you had a great weekend. Happy Monday!

*Snow Patrol. I might have used it before, I honestly can’t remember. Sorry, if so!

31 comments June 24th, 2007