You can file this under TMI if you want, but that’s not gonna stop me from writing it. You should know that by now.
Just now, I’m minding my own business, doing some Sudoku¹ . And I hear my cell phone ringing. I’m clearly in no place to answer it and they created voicemail for a reason, so I don’t get too worked up about it. Except you know who does? My fat ol’ dog.
I hear him jump off the bed, plodding into the living room to see why the hell he was still hearing Kanye West singing about “that that don’t kill me can only make me stronger”. Once he realizes I’m nowhere near my phone, he takes off on a tear to try and locate me, because OHMIGOD this could be his big shot! His agent could be calling, and I’m not answering!
He finds me, trying to figure out why there are three nines in one box, and alternates between ramming his head into my leg and running back and forth between the hallway and the bathroom. I mean, Sudoku lounge. I finally, um, solve my puzzle and by the time I do, it’s too late. The call’s gone to voicemail and Riley looks at me very disapprovingly before he curls up on the couch and goes back to sleep.
¹:This is code for pooping.