Life in the Big City

7. Kill the Dog

My days and nights are now devoted to nursing the babies and yelling at the dog. All day long, I sit here in this room with the window open, and every, oh, 15 minutes or so you can hear me hollering “Chicken! No!” or “Chicken! Bad dog!” or “Chicken! Shut the fuck up!” If you didn’t know better, you might think I was mentally ill, but actually Brian’s dog’s name is Chickendog and she is a compulsive barker. There ought to be a support group for that or something, but instead there is just me and my hollering.

This morning, hopped up on 2 cups of coffee, no sleep and one 5 mg Vicodin, I decided to make a to do list in order to keep myself from completely slipping into Mother’s-Little-Helper land. It looked like this:

1. Laundry
2. Vacuuming
3. Trash
4. Bill clients
5. Pay bills
6. Clean bathroom
7. Kill the dog

I’ve crossed four out of seven off the list…that dog’s days are numbered. And my bathroom floor is spotless.