July 31, 2005

• I swear this will be my last public entry, I’ve got to get back into the swing of the book.  And I was all ready to start the next chapter about Hawaii when I came downstairs this morning to find my notebook in the middle of the floor.  I hadn’t seen it behind the couch.  I had only seen the stick, which was unusually small.  Usually she drags in log-sized pieces.  So I’m holding the stick up — She’s still in her crate (I leave the door open) — and I’m trying to look outraged that she’s brought it in and that’s when I see the notebook.  I rush to pick it up, checking for damage. Dragging her out by the collar I’m sincerely irate.  I swat her on the butt with the notebook — It’s just a small spiral — and lock her outside by closing up the dog door. 

  
  

  I seem to have the flu but I was at least going to take her to the baseball park where she could run around.  I spent all day in bed yesterday and I know how bored she must have been.  Plus, when I’m upstairs I am with the cat.  The dog is not allowed past the gate in the kitchen.  So the cat and I lounged in bed all day yesterday and when I decided to take my tea out to the front porch this morning the cat was right behind me.  She gave a backwards glance at the clawing on the dog door.

  
  

  I brought the newspaper and my glasses and put the rocking chair in the shade.  I think part of my headache is that I gave up coffee yesterday.  It’s back to black tea.  I’m not supposed to have dairy and those lattes were too much of a cheat.  Anyway, I set everything but Food Day on the railing and that’s when I notice the cat making shredding noises. 

  
  

  You know, I thought it was odd that there were teeth marks on the page by the spiral like a failed attempt had been made to rip a section out.  There was enough blurred writing that whoever did it lingered long enough to salivate on the ink.  And come to think of it, there was only one tiny piece of page missing, placed some distance from the notebook.  I’m rocking and watching my evil cat, thinking about my poor misunderstood dog. 

  
  

  A tube of Neosporin was also on the floor and I distinctly remember that being back by the sink.  No way was that the dog’s fault.  Today, when I feel better I will go buy Bridget a dog toy, maybe a stuffed animal at a garage sale.

  • 2:22 pm
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