It’s just going great with all these fucking dogs everywhere.
The Dictator is doing some kind of extreme immersion therapy with me. I heard about a therapy where children with detachment disorder are treated by being forced to stay within arm’s reach of their parent until they bond.
It that is the case, Dictator is a bonafide therapy dog. Or, inversely, if anyone was thinking that maybe they want to have another baby, he would give them a nice little reminder of what it is like to have a needy infant around.
Then there is Domer, who is the very definition of a petty tyrant. He’s tiny so he bosses everyone around to prove what a big dog he is. Poor Blue, he’s born to be an omega dog. He just suffers any indignity. Just once I’d love to see him put that little rat in his place.
The little one is quite cute, though. He’s fun to tote around to places no other dogs can go.
Yah. Time to cut the crap.
I know it isn’t exciting but here is a big pile of socks. It’s going to be even bigger once I get the laundry out of the drier. Everything must go. There’s at least 10 pair and I’m throwing in some underwear that I hate, to boot.
It’s not a huge haul today but I’m busy preparing to teach Intro to Pole for the first time in nine months. And the dogs are a real handful. I don’t think I’d be able to handle all of them and their various walk/potty needs were it not for the boys.