The dog still drives me crazy. For me, his existence in our home is an act of sacrificial love in its highest form.
Not that I am mean to Buddy or wish him harm. But I do often wish for a life without a loud psychotic bark breaking a quiet afternoon, hot garbage breath, half-eaten furniture, having to tackle his seventy-pound unpredictability into the sleeper hold every time the doorbell rings, astronomical vet bills and carpet that doubles as toilet paper.
Oh Katie. Stop focusing on the negative. Okay. Positive, positive. Let’s see…
We could be here for a while.
Oh right! The boys love him and that is some good therapy for their often anxious minds. Childhood cancer does that to everyone in the household.
To borrow a line from Shakespeare, there is method to my madness. Well. Most of the time.