Today I am writing from underneath my favorite fuzzy blanket.
These days, I see more of this blanket than anything else. Instead of crushing sand under my paws as I sprint down the beach, instead of scaring the swak out of seagulls at Crissy Field (they must be totally fearless by now) and instead of participating in my daily ritual of pre-mating butt sniffing (I’m missing a few key suitors; they are, no doubt, lost without me), I’m stuck here. With my blanket.
Ok, ok. I’m being a bit of a negative Nancy, a bleating beagle, a carping canine, if you will. Tomorrow marks six weeks since my ACL surgery, which means I am half way through my recovery. HALF! Oh, dearest doggie deity, please magically make my knee run-worthy faster than that! It isn’t that my leg is lame, it’s just that it isn’t exactly up to the Olympic shape that it was seven weeks ago.
But I digress. Instead of complaining, I will fill you in on my insanely thrilling (laying on the sarcasm pretty thick here) escapades as of late.
It’s raining in San Francisco, which makes me feel a teeny bit better about not being outside as much, as I don’t exactly get along with H20.
I spend a good amount of time each day staring out the window in search of varmits, of which there are several in this neighborhood. You should hear all the chit chat that goes on in the alleyway behind our apartment. The dogs that stroll by have the worst potty mouths. When I hear swear words come out of their beaks, I tell them to “shove *&%$ where the &^% don’t shine!” While this is a slightly entertaining endeavor, I’m not doing as much policing these days. Apparently, rain makes everyone stay inside.
So, in my complete boredom, I’ve decided to take up other hobbies. I recently found a bag next to the garbage that has a ton of fun goodies inside of it. Why Mom and Dad don’t put those things in the trash is beyond me. I like to call this bag my treasure chest.
In addition to eating lumpy cardboard, I like to find goodies that Mom hides in these long tubes.
When I’m not scattering pieces of wet, half-eaten cardboard around the apartment, I am either looking in the bedroom trash for more things to tear up, sleeping, trying to eat Mom’s lunch (today, I had a nice taste of Dad’s cornbread dressing from her plate before she came back in the room and scared me half to death – sheesh – can’t a patient get a break?) and eating every possible crumb off the ground (Mom and Dad haven’t needed to sweep in seven weeks; call me Swiffer).
So, there you have it. My life is a bit on the boring side. Or, if you want me to be cheerful about it – my life is super duper restful and relaxing. But who am I kidding. I want to get out on that beach and show those seagulls what’s up.