We're making plans for our vacation, a road trip to Chincoteague; and me being me, I am researching fun and frivolous places to stop along the way. Not one to resist "the World's Largest" anything, I am checking out giant the possibilities of visiting giant hearts in Philadelphia and Tattoo Museums in Baltimore and crayon factories and ringing rocks, diners and "mom and pop" retro-motels.
Josephine is making her own preparations, such as planning which toys she'll bring and practicing riding ponies, and planning how she'll be friends with them and they'll love her so much...
So, I sit here on a rainy afternoon, Googling this and that, and I keep finding myself distracted. Josie's at daycare, I'm off work for a bit, the Changing Man cd from MOJO that I'm loving has ended...
While there have been bursts of great productivity, phone calls made and sites bookmarked, I am finding it really hard to concentrate.
My train of thought keeps getting derailed, and the explanation is simple.
I hear snoring.
That I could ignore, on its own. But if I so much as look over or make a move to get up and refill my drink, that's all it takes - the tail starts wagging.
Then there is some amount of ungraceful flipping about, stubby legs flailing, giant chest heaving from side to side.
Then her ear gets stuck under her head, and there's more flailing. I'm forced to avert my eyes, and let it all settle back down. Yet, until it rolls back in her head as she dozes off again, I'm pinned by that beady gaze.
You see, any action - the slightest move - on my part raises the hope in that chickpea sized brain of Molly's that there's a chance for a walk.
And that rain that's in the backyard, the rain that she won't go outside to go pee in, is the same rain that's out the front door that she wants to go for a walk in. I know that. She should know that. But her unreasonable and unfortunate hope, and her forgetfulness of her own dislikes apparently overrules the molecular amount of common sense she has when it comes to the overwhelming hopefulness for a walk.
I need a vacation from my dog.