How Did I Get Here?

Paris is acting weird.

My poor dog, who is 12 years old now, is showing some signs of not being all there.

Suddenly.

She walks from room to room, knocking things down. Garbage cans, my suitcase, lamps.

She’s also been staring off into space and has a weird habit of eating the cat food out of Miller’s bowl in the middle of the night.

Which isn’t good because Miller’s dish is in my room and when his dish is empty…he goes off!

Of course, the wife can’t move and needs me to help out.

Then there’s the puppy.

Oliver is a freaking maniac.

He zoomed so bad last night that I thought he was broken,

I have cuts and scratches all over my arms.

Was having lunch with a buddy.

“How’s it going?” He asked, as he sat down.

“My dog is senile, my wife is broken, the cat has anger management issues and the puppy is an asshole. The kids don’t care and work is busy, which is difficult because I can’t get 7 straight hours of sleep.”

He just stared at me.

“Some solid life choice got you there,” he said.

We laughed. 

“The good news is how much longer can it possibly last? 25? 30 years?”

“With your luck you’ll be hitting construction sites 50 years from now.”

Indeed