Best. Movie. Ever.
So, in today’s post, one of us is going to be the dog.
And, as so often the case, I really REALLY think if you just stay with me, it will all make sense at the end.
That’s how I feel.
Really.
Today I’m linking up with my oh so happy place, favorite people: Five Minute Friday! The theme??
Right now, I am writing this on the couch, because I can’t move. I can’t move because of two neurotic and highly co-dependent beasties have wedged themselves in on either side of me so closely that I can use one as an armrest and the other ones heartbeat is thumping up against my thigh. That sounds kinda weird, but she has a really pronounced cardiac rhythm going on. I am kinda impressed. She must have just finished her bootcamp workout.
I give you… exhibit A:
I loooooooooooove you. That shiny, silver thing has come between us, yet again, but still, I loooooooooooooove you.
And, also, exhibit B:
I loooooooooove you too. Not quite as effusively as the Missing Link dork-dog to my left, but you know.
Anyhow. Here I am. Stuck in the middle with you.
And, as I am typing away, I hear it: A sort of squeaky rumbling. It’s a weird sort of gurgling, actually. I look around the room for the culprit, but my living room doesn’t house a lot of things that… gurgle.
It’s the dog. I’ll just take the suspense away, right here. Hosmer’s stomach is jangling with such intensity that, clearly, he’s hungry. Like, LOUD hungry.
Honestly, it’s hard to type over all this racket.
But, yet… he remains varnished onto my side. His precious bowl of Doggie Lickums is right there, in the other room, but he’s seemingly content to sit here and rumble.
It is rare that I ever allow my stomach to get to this stage of gurgle (Hosmer is at, like, DEFCON level light red or two or whatever is really, really highly bad), but if I did… and about ten steps away was a bowl of chips? I would get up and go to the chips. It doesn’t really matter if I was cuddling with the husband prior or not. Food wins, when the stomach is in high alert.
Besides, I know too that I can always eat a few chips and then GO BACK to the husband on the couch.
So… basically? The dog would rather starve to be near me.
Perhaps I am exaggerating a little, but you’re not here. The rumbling is like that scene when the T-Rex finds the poor people in the jeep in Jurassic Park. Ominous. Thumpy. Has its own soundtrack. Jeff Goldblum is involved. That sort of thing.
Ok, so HERE IS MY POINT (Hallelujah!)
We need to be the dog. We need to be like this with God. And… since I am so happily wedged into my Congo fast these days… I get it. I am needing to be more dog like. Content. In the moment. Furry and sacrificial. That sort of thing.
I apologize for making you the dog. It’s the best I’ve got today. And truly? Dogs are awesome. We all know that.
And then, there’s this guy:
I will hold them each in my hands, ponder them for a minute, and ask them, “Tell me, small Red who has once again left a swath jelly behind in the kitchen like its own sticky Exxon Valdez oil slick, DO YOU SPARK JOY? DO YA, PUNK? DO YOU FEEL LUCKY?
He has hopes that one day he will be able to FIT in that box. But, as he keeps getting fatter, and the box stays the same, I admire his optimism.
I was watching Steve the cat this morning. I was sitting on my couch, waiting for my child to figure out how to dress himself because he forgets up until 8 am. He also forgets how to eat, brush his teeth and walk in a purposeful way. But that’s another post for another day.
