Having a dog has taught me all sorts of things about myself. One of the most important is that no matter how scattered my own life may be, I am together enough to take care of Pooka when she needs it.
For the last four nights, this has meant waking up every hour or two to insistent whining, stumbling downstairs, getting on socks and shoes and various layers of outerwear and trudging with urgently-needing-to-go-out Pooka around the neighborhood. (Again, you really don't want the specifics.)
Yesterday, I was still feeling good about my ability to pull it together. Today, I am having a hard time feeling compassion because I'm so tired that I actually wobble when standing up. I really, really hope the de-worming meds she's on take care of those little f*ckers soon.
I've taken away her couch and dog bed options today and left the back door open as I work from home today, in the hopes that she'll be awake and stimulated by day and thus as exhausted as I will be by bedtime. I really don't think I can do night #5 without dissolving into hysterics.
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