Life sure is funny sometimes. Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, along comes a twist in your knickers.
Not that I’m complaining.
I’ve lived long enough to know that not everything goes according to plan so I really shouldn’t be surprised when weird things happen. Well, maybe weird isn’t the right word.
You see, I’m one of those folks who is quite happy to be home with nothing but a book, a snack, and a glass of Dr. Pepper. Lately, though, I seem to have lost the desire to read. This may not sound like a big deal to many, but it’s a big surprise to me. I’ve been a bookworm for decades and have always been of the opinion that I’d rather read than sleep, but these days I’d rather pile up on the couch with my dog and watch TV.
I’ve always been more of a cat person. Cats are independent. All they need is a full bowl of kibble, clean water, and a tidy litter box. They only want about 5 minutes of lap time each day and they’re pretty content to be off sleeping on the foot of the bed in the spare bedroom.
Dogs just need more. A lot more. Mine wants constant attention. She wants to be petted every second of every day and, if I’m sitting down, she wants in my lap. She is not a lap dog. She is a 70-pound golden retriever named Molly.
It’s the dog’s fault I don’t want to read anymore. When I do try to read, she squirms and tries to nibble on the book. Besides, she is just too cuddly and I’ve gotten really attached. Just look at that face!