And the rest of me isn't feeling so alive either. It had been hell week at work, what with a few people off sick and double the usual paginaton. It was all I could do to get through the night, stagger home, mop up after That Dog, collapse in bed and the next day, the zombie cycle started all over again.
Yes, That Dog still lacks sphincter muscles. He wets himself when he gets excited. The thing is, he gets excited about almost anything: when I wake up, when I get home, when his meal is about to be served, when I'm holding biscuits. Sometimes, it's nuts having to mop up first thing in the morning pre-caffeine but it's almost flattering because I've never had anyone go into paroxyms of joy just because I'm awake! I'm actually getting out of the bed! Glory be, the day can finally start! Let's not waste time sleeping! There're things to sniff! Places to pee! Sometimes you need a peeing puppy to get you centred on the joy of living.
And he is possibly no longer a puppy. I double-checked the bill of sale that was given to C when he first got the two pups. I know that was last July. The bill said that the pups entered the pet farm in April and that their age then was two months old. That meant that they were born in February. So we have missed the pups' birthday.
Well, if That Dog is more than a year old now, he's run out of puppy excuses for a lot of things.