"I'm having a hard day with Luther."
"I can hear that. So can the rest of the neighborhood."
It's sad to think that perhaps the main reason I might appear nice is that there is nothing stressing me; nothing that is upsetting me. Put a large deerhound on top of our glass-topped porch dining table and that all evaporates. "OFF!!!!!!!"
In fact: expletive deletive ensued.
Follow that with several bashings of the screen by the same said deerhound - as I was momentarily outside and he, inside - and several more choice phrases (ok, the same one) erupted and "NO!!!!!!!"
Then have the dear deerhound commence attack runs and pogo-leapings, thinking we were starting a very fun new game, and I found myself furious, and not caring very much who else knew.
&**^)* &*()_#$I see how important it is that he be trained early and properly. . . . and I fear I'm already falling behind. For today, I had already learned that it is not enough that he know how to walk nicely on a lead when it's just me, he also needs practice walking on a lead when there is someone else with me.
[ooooh! fun!! play!!! leap!!!! twirl!!!!! pull. on. lead!!!!!!]
Then I learned that Luther is not worried about prosaic things like: Will this glass table top hold me if I leap up onto it? The quarry was apparently my coffee cup [blech!!] and our two red plaid napkins from the night before.
[yum!! smells like himself and herself. And white pizza. My favorite! I will CHEW THE NAPKINS. YUM!!!]
Luckily, I had not yet brought out my laptop.
Ah yes. Things are all fine and good when everything is good and fine. Add a 40 pound puppy and his highjinks and we'll talk.
I feel pretty ashamed of myself at this point. And the whole neighborhood knows my shortcomings.