A few days ago, I took Toad on a walk around the block (as far as she can go). It’s good for her to have the illusion of adventure.

On this particular stroll, she stopped to do her business; Becca calls these walks her “business trips.”  And because I am a responsible pet-owner, I had a plastic bag on hand. I scooped up the mess, tied the bag, and carried it home.

As we rounded the final corner, we came upon three stray cats – a dime a dozen in our neighborhood, unfortunately. Two of them scattered, but the biggest one, a giant black Tom, arched its back and hissed at Toad. Toad was like, oh no you di-in’t, and lunged.

The cat didn’t flinch. In fact, it got even angrier, growled that feral cat-growl, and shot out its claws like Wolverine. I stomped and yelled, hoping the cat would run – but it came even closer, fangs bared and hair on edge. Toad was about to get destroyed.

So I did the only thing I could think of. I swung the only weapon that I had.

And pardon the expression, but that cat learned a whole new meaning of the term “shit-faced.”

Every morning, I pull up CNN.com to read about current events.  As a person with no TV who despises talk radio, it’s the only window I have to the outside world.

This morning, rather than reading about politics (so long, Santorum) or George Zimmerman (so long, lawyers), I opted to click on this link:
“Texter looks up, sees 400-pound bear”

I am so glad that this moment was captured on film.

Speaking of bears, I mentioned that Toad got her summer haircut.  She went from looking like this:

to this:

So long, bear.  Hello, 3-legged baby cow with a feather extension behind her ear.

(I promise, she is cuter and less pathetic than this picture makes her out to be.)

(But only a little.)

And with that, I’ll take my leave. I’m pretty sure I’m going to spend the entire day thinking about:
1) paying my estimated quarterly taxes,
2) how we still haven’t found a house to move into, and
3) the fact that in just 8 days, HUNTER IS COMING TO VISIT – which means that once again, this moment will be made possible:

I cannot wait.

We live in a predominantly Hispanic area, and I love the kids who live a few doors down from us.  They’re always outside running around in the yard, yelling to each other in Spanish – yet effortlessly switch to English when I walk past.

The other day, I was passing by with the dogs when three little boys ran up to me.  They were basically the human versions of Alvin, Simon, and Theodore.

“Can we pet your dogs?” Alvin asked.

“Sure,” I answered.  “They’re nice – and look, this one only has three legs.”

“WHOA.”  Simon was particularly amazed.

Noticing the two small dogs in their fenced yard, I asked, “What are your dogs’ names?”

Little Theodore answered.

“That one is Peanut, and that one is Luis.  I MEAN, FLUFFY.”

It was kind of the cutest thing that happened all week.

One night last week, I called Julie on my way home from work. Julie is one of my best friends, knows me very well, and doesn’t mind when I leave long, rambling voicemails – which is what I did that night. Among various and sundry details, at the end of the message, I voiced a fear I have about my relationships: “I hope I’m not disappearing.”

In this disconnected world, as friendships change with time and distance, it’s easy for any of us to fear being unknown – if I went away, would anyone notice? Everyone is so busy, so involved in their own lives - if I disappeared, would it even matter?

The next morning, I woke to find an email from my next door neighbor. He was leaving town that day, and his dog-sitter had fallen through. Could I take care of his 140 lb. St. Bernard, Bo?

Over the years, as my income has slowly increased, I’ve found that so has my autonomy. A ride to the airport? No thanks, I’ll just pay for parking. Borrow a dress for a wedding? It’s okay, I’ll buy my own. Need help moving? I’m alright, I’ll just hire movers.

Post-college, increasingly more so year after year, I’ve found that we seem to need each other less and less. Independence is all well and good – but at what point does our self-sufficiency actually do us a disservice? At what point does our maverick mindset lead to a lonely detachment?

And when does our relational disconnect actually deprive someone else of being seen, being noticed, being needed?

I said yes to taking care of Bo. It was the smallest thing – feeding him, letting him out a couple of times, taking him on a walk which I would have gone on anyway. Arriving at the front door and having him shove his massive head into my hands for some love was the highlight of that day and a half – and for those 36 hours, I felt needed. I felt connected. I felt seen.

The next time I need help, I’m going to ask for it. Who knows – someone might need me more than I need them.

Toad has no remorse.  She does bad things and doesn’t know they’re bad.  She just keeps wagging her tail and dog-smiling, and it’s impossible to be mad at her.  She has never known shame.

Ugh, I love this damn dog.

Yesterday, we had a bit of a canine emergency when Greebs the dog ate an entire plate of peanut butter & chocolate brownies, and we had to take him to the animal ER to have them induce vomiting and coat his stomach in charcoal.

Did you know that I haven’t thrown up since I was 14 years old?  Over half a lifetime ago.  I am terrified that it’s going to happen again someday.

For someone who has always been a stickler about having a clean car, the backseat of the Subaru has been coated in dog fur since June.  I would attempt to do something about this, but it would be like pushing a boulder up a mountain only to watch it roll back down.  The long-haired, muddy, vomit-induced dogs are in my car every single day.

The most unexciting thing to spend money on (besides bras and paper towels) (and also Sonicare toothbrush heads) would be a dog barrier for my Forester.  But if it would afford me a clean backseat?  It might be worth it.

Anyway, here’s yesterday’s protagonist on the way back from the vet, full of morphine.

If yesterday’s dog emergency is any indication, this weekend did not go as planned, for all sorts of reasons.  I am someone who tends to measure my value by how much I accomplish (and yes, I know that this will get me nowhere – nowhere except SUCCESSFUL).  But I had a list of things that I wanted to get done, all of which remained unaccomplished.

That’s not entirely true.  I ran 11 miles on Saturday morning.

But that is ALL THAT I DID.

I didn’t take the pile of stuff to Goodwill.
I didn’t list the items on Craigslist.
I didn’t vacuum.
I didn’t respond to the emails and phone calls.
I didn’t return the sweater to Target.
I didn’t buy thumbtacks.
I didn’t do laundry.
I didn’t walk in the sunshine.

But the dogs aren’t dead.

So… woman of the year.

I know.  I KNOW.  I haven’t blogged in hundreds of hours.

What’s been going on, you ask?  Well, this happened.

Whatever dramatic scene you’re envisioning, yes, it was all that and more – although probably more hilarious than you imagine.  Poor Toad.

Another thing is that I mentioned to someone something about Gadhafi being dead, except I pronounced it “Gandalfy.”  I like make believe more than reality, it seems.  I can’t help it.  The Real News is too heavy sometimes.  So when I go to CNN.com, the first thing I check is the Entertainment page – where, yesterday, I learned that the kid from “Jerry Maguire” just turned 21.  And then I promptly died of old age.

In other news, I’m at a crossroads of sorts.  It’s general and yet specific and encompasses a lot of defined areas of my life without being about any one thing in particular.

How do we ever know the right thing to do?  How do we ever know the best decision?  And if we make the wrong choice, is the rest of our life derailed?  (I know that the answer is no, but just humor a girl who often feels the need for hyperbole.)

So there I was, minding my own business, when I heard a ruckus.  I walked out of the office to find Gabe darting from the kitchen to the living room – never a good sign.

I walked into the kitchen and found… this:

Oh, how’s that? you ask?  Here, let me give you a better angle.

How this dog does it, I’ll never know.  But I am legitimately flabbergasted on a near-daily basis.

Something I Googled this morning:
Is kennel cough contagious to humans?

Because – bad news – Kodi has kennel cough.  And also – bad news – it is.

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First, “The Pianist” came from Netflix.  Then, “The Piano” came from Netflix.

What in the world.  Why did I choose to watch these back-to-back?  I’m so depressed.  If you happen to know something happy, please share.

- – - – - – - -

I’m so bored of my running playlist (Roxette’s “It Must Have Been Love” is only SO inspiring – although, let’s be real, it’s pretty damn inspiring).

What are the best songs to run to?  I’m thinking of utilizing this.

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Sometimes I miss Nashville so much, I can hardly breathe.  The next day, it’s Seattle.  Today, both are very much true.

But right now, in this moment, I choose to be present in this city, on this day, with these tasks, and these people.

I believe that the future holds good things.

But I also choose to acknowledge that the present holds good things.

It is a choice, you know.

A week ago Saturday, Annie opened the front door.  I ran through it.  She had my leash out, so I knew we were going somewhere – but instead of walking around the block one time (as far as I can walk), she lifted me into her car.

I like to ride in the car.  I lean against the backseat, and breathe really hard.  I never know where we’re going, but it’s always exciting.

This time, Annie started driving, and she just didn’t stop.  For almost 14 hours, she drove.  I panted the whole time.  Annie thinks I have dragon breath, but I am not a dragon.  I am a dog.

Sometimes, we would stop at a gas station and Annie would lift me out of the car and tell me to pee.  Sometimes I would and sometimes I wouldn’t.  Annie would talk to me out loud, and say things like, “Toad, you need to pee,” but if I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t, because I am a dog and I do whatever makes sense to me.

The next day, we only drove 7 hours.  When we finally stopped, we were in a city called “Portland,” and the first place we went was a guy named Mike’s house.  Mike is very tall.  I hadn’t eaten any food since Friday because long, unexpected car rides stress me out, so Annie microwaved some white rice for me.  I ate it.

On the days that we were in Portland, Annie took me to an office that she worked from.  The first day, I was nervous because I didn’t know where I was, so I threw up on the floor.  It’s okay, though, because the floor was concrete.  Annie cleaned it up very quickly, and I wagged my tail because I felt better.

Forty-five minutes later, on those same concrete floors, I shat.  It was very un-like me, but in the moment, it just seemed like the right thing to do.  A stranger man discovered it, and went and found Annie and told her what I had done.  Annie cleaned it up as fast as she could and kept saying the words “I’m so sorry” to the people in the office.  I just smiled and wagged my tail, so no one could be very mad at me.

Portland was a wonderful city, because everyone there smelled like interesting things like incense and cigarettes, and they would stop on the street to pet me.  Portland really likes 3-legged dogs, and it’s a good thing, because I only have three legs.

A few nights later, Annie lifted me into the car again, and I started panting.  I panted for three hours until we got to a new city: “Seattle.”  I was so excited to arrive in Seattle, because we stayed at my friend Lisa’s house, and she has a backyard, and I love Lisa because she pets me so much and feeds me cottage cheese.  I was so excited to be at Lisa’s house that I ran all around the house, and even though her floors were made of a thing called “hard wood” and I slipped all over the place, nothing could stop me from running and being happy.

My time in Seattle was so nice, because Annie just worked and patted me on the head.  One night, we went to her friend Keith’s house, and it was very scary because Keith had knocked down walls in his house and was building them up again, and there were wires and tools around.  But Keith gave me a bowl of water and Annie a shot of whiskey, and everyone felt better.

On Friday, Annie didn’t work – she took a thing called a “day off.”  On this day, she went on a walk with Greta.  I couldn’t go, because Annie and Greta like to walk very far, and remember, I can only walk once around the block.  I was sad that they left me behind, so I chewed the wood around the back door of Lisa’s house.  It seemed like the right thing to do.

When Annie came back and saw what I had done, she seemed angry and sad and something called “embarrassed.”  She tried to fix the door for Lisa, and she told Lisa that she would pay for it to be fixed for real.  But no matter what she offered, she still felt sad that I had done this.  I didn’t understand why she was sad.  I just looked at her and wagged my tail, because I like Annie, and I’m happy every day and all of the minutes.

On Saturday morning, Annie put all of her things in her car, and lifted me onto the backseat.  We drove on a magnificent roadway called “I-90,” and when we crossed over Lake Washington on our way out of Seattle, I saw a tear roll down Annie’s cheek.  I think that she must love this city very much, and must have been so sad to leave.

We drove to a place called “Spokane,” and I met a baby friend named Eleanor.  I don’t think that I’ve ever had a baby friend before, but I was very nice to this baby.  She was like a person, but very small.  Also in Spokane, I saw a cat and barked as loud as I could and ran after it as fast as I could.  But I only have three legs, so I did not get very far.

The rest of the trip consisted of a lot of driving and Annie trying to learn all of the words to Nicki Minaj’s “Super Bass.”

I met many people on my trip, and everyone who meets me loves me.  But Annie says that she probably does not want to take me on a trip again.  I don’t understand, because I’m so nice and everyone likes me so much.  But Annie said that having me along was a thing called “stressful.”

Maybe it’s because I threw up inside and shat on the floor and destroyed a home.

But I am just a dog, and I do what makes sense to me.

I’m very happy to be back in Colorado.

And I know that Annie still loves me.