do it clean
The anxiety levels at The Compound are climbing steadily as we make arrangements for our trip to New Orleans this weekend. A house guest is arriving (I'm not sure if I'm at liberty to name names.) tonight, so I'm cleaning, washing clothes, tormenting dogs with the vacuum cleaner, and throwing things I'll need for the weekend on the bed as I go along. I've also been washing the dishes, filing paperwork, answering and sending email, dusting, tripping over dog bones, and picking up various bric-a-brac from the floor in between maneuvers.
Oh, and answering phone calls. Excuse me. *pause* I'm back. It was Becky, who's out and about, doing errands of her own.
Separation anxiety is already setting in, because I have to board EZ at the Winrock Animal Clinic tomorrow. Although they run a top notch facility, I can't help but worry about her. She's canine aggressive. What if she mauls another dog? She has separation anxiety. What if she's left alone for too long, flails around in her kennel and further damages her paw? What if she gets excited or frightened and jumps around on her paw? What if carny folk break in to the clinic and take her away? What if, what if, what if?
The anxiety I have about being away from Rexford is minimal, because he'll stay here with Mr. Becky. Which is like Field Day every day for Rex. He'll get to play with the girl dogs, torment the girl dogs, and ignore the girl dogs, because he turns it on and off like that. He'll get to watch Rex TV all day and night. He won't have to sit, lay down, ask permission to go in and out of the house, or jump through flaming hoops like he does when I'm in charge. He'll even get to eat and sleep during "normal" hours. I thought about taking him with us, but why deny him that kind of fun?
The dryer clicked off, I have an email from a publisher to answer, and EZ is giving me her I have to pee look. I need a houseboy.