Get OUT!
“Get OUT!” I yell at Kira and Dulce like they’ve just angered an ancient burial ground and we’re all about to learn a hard lesson.
What they have actually done is anger me while I’m trying to get Heinz to eat, which—emotionally speaking—is worse than The Amityville Horror.
Getting Heinz to eat is a delicate dance. A seduction. A whispered promise. He is the only dog I have ever met who is not food-motivated. Meanwhile, two very hungry girl Danes are stalking him like unpaid interns waiting for crumbs. They are absolutely here for the bowl-licking aftermath, and this does not help the vibe.
Chris comes in after hearing what can only be described as a demon being exorcised in the kitchen. He stops. Looks at me. Gives me the I do not want to say the wrong thing smile.
“I’m grouchy,” I tell him.
“I was trying to feed Heinz and make our lunch, all while fighting off the girls and answering Karen’s questions about condiments.”
Chris laughs.
“Shall I pour you a drink?”
“Are you kidding me?” I say. “I can’t drink when I’m grouchy. I’d go try to fight the neighbors.”
He says, “Bob and Robin,” and I say, “Bob and Pam,” at the exact same time because I have not bothered to learn their correct names.
“Our giant neighbors?” he asks.
“Yes!” I say. “I’m going to go over there and tell them they need to add about two feet to the wall between our yards because their floating heads scare the dogs, and the dogs barking irritates me.”
Chris, very carefully:
“So… you want them to build a higher wall. And pay for it.”
I pause. Reflect. Reconsider my life choices.
“Maybe,” I say, “I will have that drink.”
Because growth is knowing your limits.
And mine is apparently one underfed Great Dane away from a zoning dispute.