I sit here, rubbing my (what used to be smooth but no longer is) face, I’m trying to decide how best to write todays post. Nothing extraordinary happened. I gave the two littlest dogs a bath. I sifted through the recycling bin for paper products and put them in the worm bin, which hasn’t been touched for months. After that I came inside and finished the pair of gloves I made for the girl who sits in front of me in math. Here, have a look.

 

While I was knitting I watched several episodes of Pushing Daisies. Due to the constant flicking back and forth from the TV to my knitting, and then having to follow my knitting to make sure it didn’t get it’s self into trouble, my eyes are very soar and irritated. My whole day went by very quickly, and I didn’t even seem to see it go. I started on J’s gloves and managed to mow through most of the first one in a couple hours. I don’t know why it takes me so long, but it does. Eventually, after about the 8th episode in a row (each episode is an hour) I decided to call it a night and go to bed. Or rather, come upstairs to write this and then go to sleep. That’s what “going to bed” has come to mean in my house. But I think I’m the only one who actually knows that particular definition.

Sam was limping pretty badly today. He hasn’t been putting weight on his back right leg for a few days now; if not longer (my memory really is horrible). He’s getting old and it’s really making me sad. Anytime I’m just lying down next to him alone I’m prone to start crying because of how old he’s getting. I don’t expect him to be around for more than a couple years. Little things I forgot he used to do are starting to float back to the top of my memory. For instance, he used to come and ask to go out, which he doesn’t anymore. He used to get playful and excited depending on what he needed to do outside. He’s stopped rolling over for a tummy rub every time someone walks by. Thankfully he hasn’t lost his propeller tail when he’s really happy. Ugh, it took me five freaking minutes just to write the last three sentences. He’s really the only pet I’ve ever loved, certainly the pet I’ve had longest.

He’s my big throw-rug lump of a dog, whose too dopy to stay of the way when you need to get somewhere quickly. He’s the smartest and most obedient of the three dogs at the moment. He shoves his head in your face even when you scream at him to get away from you. But he’s doing all that less and less. He sleeps up in my room most of the time now. Out of the way of things. He’s gotten really gray pretty much everywhere. He’s the protector of the house, even though he usually doesn’t wake up or get downstairs until after I’m already in the door. He’s my closest friend, and certainly the only one I’d really ever go out of my way for to see at the hospital. The last couple days I’ve taken to just laying next to him which he’s never really liked. When I was younger he didn’t mind sleeping on my bed with me, but now even if I curl up on the floor next to him he’ll get up and go lie down elsewhere. He’s been sliding on the floors downstairs more and more, and only stands for short periods of time.

And even though the snoring lump on my couch that is him is only just a few feet away from me, I miss him already. Now, since I’ve spent this entire post wiping tears off my face, even though my sister and her friend from my dads neighborhood (M), it’s time I go to bed.

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