Wilson Won’t

The past two months have been a whirlwind. It feels as if a year has passed. Between the dogs, the job, the hubby’s surgery. Every night I sit down with a story in my head, but I always seem to fail to write it down. And then, I finally have a moment, and I want to write it all. But it would be overwhelming and you wouldn’t like it. So, now…here I sit…fingers on fire wanting to tell all, but knowing it is for naught.

The basset is in the final stages of his heart failure event. He gets up three times a night, just being restless. Tonight, he moved to various places in the living room, just to whine and signify his annoyance with it all.

The puppy was good most of the day…until he was bad–real bad.

My husband is five days into recovery for rotator cuff surgery and hating every minute of it.

Tomorrow, I return to work after four days off, and I am so looking forward to it. I miss my team.  I have a lot of things I think we can do, and we need time to do it. I also miss my walks into work. 

In the meantime, I have to worry about the ascetic dog who looks like a pot-bellied pig. I wish he could just offer up a howl to tell me “when.” He stares at me when I’m not looking. He comes in my room at night while I sleep. He is unsettled. He tosses. He turns. He is unhappy.

And in accordance–so am I.


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