Having a dog is a distraction.
My husband called at 7:15 a.m. from India. Had I fed the dog?
The dog. Oh. I tiptoed past Annie's crate, peering in her direction while whispering into the phone. "She's still asleep." I knew once I let her out, that's all I'd get done.
My husband called at 7:15 a.m. from India. Had I fed the dog?
The dog. Oh. I tiptoed past Annie's crate, peering in her direction while whispering into the phone. "She's still asleep." I knew once I let her out, that's all I'd get done.
Sure, maybe a person can write with a pup nipping at her ankles, eating her baby airplane plants, making a game of shredding her paper trash, but I find that distracting. I've been at the computer for a little over an hour, just like old times, and frankly, it feels good to be back in the saddle. I'm hesitant to leave the computer to take on my new business of dog sitting.
"She'll need to go out soon," my husband said.
"I'll go up and shower while she's sleeping, then take her out," I promised. And I will. But just let me write one more paragraph. It may be the only paragraph I'll get to finish today.
"She'll need to go out soon," my husband said.
"I'll go up and shower while she's sleeping, then take her out," I promised. And I will. But just let me write one more paragraph. It may be the only paragraph I'll get to finish today.
