The alarm went off at 6:40 today. By 6:42 I was sick of Lottie. So there's that. Honestly, there is no joy to be had with this creature. You can't even pet her, because she's just trying to bite you the whole time.
I look forward to her dog years.
Oh! And another thing about Lottie. The whole time I've lived here, I had a chair next to the cat window.
The chair is on the OTHER side, the back-room side, and it's technically so the cats can jump up and get their food, although I think they could just do it without the chair, because they're cats. Young cats. Cats with gusto.
The point is, Tallulah's entire life, six years of Edsel's life, it never occurred to either one of them to jump on the chair and eat the cat food.
It occurred to Lottie.
You'll see I've moved the chair and it's still occurring to her. That chair belonged to my great-grandmother. Another chair I can't afford to recover.
Speaking of which, I decided not to get the new deck. The amount it would break me was making me depressed. So now I'm back to putting ground cover back there, I guess.
Anyway, yesterday went like this. Something major was due at work, something I've been working on nonstop for a month. I felt like it was ready, but then there were meetings to review it, so then there were last-minute changes, and then calls, "Is the thing ready? Is it ready? Is it ready?" except I was in meetings from the very minute I got there till lunch, and then another meeting right at 1:00, which meant I killed myself to get back early.
Then I finally got the thing done, and I was all, "Whew, when's the next one of those due ?" and they were all, Friday.
Friday. The next one is due Friday.
So then once work was done, I screamed home to this whirling dervish that is Lottie, let her out, did the whole, "YAY, LOTTIE!" thing when she peed outside, let her in, watched her pee inside, fed her while she bit me, fed everyone else, watched Lottie tear back into the living room and pee on the floor.
Then I took her outside for her loose-leash training, which she's good at, except she hurls herself in the air to get the treats I'm holding and often bites the crap out of my hand. No amount of NO! or LEAVE IT! or DOWN! affects her. She reminds me of when Wilbur was twirling.
After 20 minutes of training, we came inside and she peed on the floor.
Then I tried to eat while she jumped in the air to get at my food.
Then I had to write Purple Clover, so I put her outside and petted poor Edsel's head while I wrote, and Lottie screeched and whined and had 40 fits that she was outside.
After, I did Tracy Anderson, with Edsel and Lottie fenced in the back room, and she screamed and yelled and wrote her Congressman about the cruelties of a woman who'd spend 27 minutes doing a workout DVD while a perfectly good puppy was confined to a back room with toys, water, a bed, a chair, another dog and access to outside. Lottie's Life Matters.
Then we took a walk.
Then I killed myself and went to bed.
But, see? Then you look over and she's a sleepy pumpkin and you're all, Ohhhhh. Look at that muffiny muffin head.
Except just now I got up and she's pooped in the back room.
Also? We all need to re-read Charlotte's Web. What say you? Oh, it's such a good book. Let's do it. So to speak.
The first person to read it all gets a free puppy.