Dog-Sitting the Bird Dog

I'm dog-sitting Country today, Maya and Erich's black Lab pup. Oh mama, I'd forgotten what it was to have a puppy in the house. I thought I'd prepared for his arrival -- stashing behind closed doors the obvious items I knew he'd head for right away: a basket of birch sticks on the floor, near the bookcase, and another tall basket filled with wheat straw and decorative flowers. It never occurred to me he'd get tangled in a lamp cord as he squeezed between the wall and the sofa, or that he'd bury himself in the strawberry patch outside, in search of the single green berry left on the vine.

We've walked twice already, and I do believe I exhausted his puppy energy: he's sleeping at my feet in my office, where I've draped the floor-length curtains over the hard drive and barricaded the stairs with his crate (which he has no interest in at all, despite the cozy pad I placed in there, along with a stuffed-wiener toy).

Maya's picking him up in about an hour, and I know I will miss him. We've bonded, and having him here was an important diversion -- a chance to concentrate on something other than the writing (and the rejection), and to revel in his exuberance.

I think I've fallen in love.