I was leaning against the side railing at the edge of the arena, the once ice covered surface layered over in sandy dirt, and surrounded by competitive dog enthusiasts. The beagle on leash sat at my feet, head near my knee and long ears trailing on the ground, calmly taking in the hyper puppies then glancing up to me for direction. The sirens of trials starting and ending, dogs panting, and cheers as the next canine completed the course became buzzing white noise.
And then I realized the buzzing was the alarm clock, it was waaay past time to get the hell out of bed, and what the heck had I been doing with a giant beagle?
“They” say not to make any major decisions in the year immediately after any life altering event. I kmpww that coming to terms with the Amazing Tectonic Baby no longer existing, and my physical scars still healing has been enough to throw me “off” so that I’m less clear headed and more prone to rashness. I’m naturally not one who is able to do things the right way, the easy way, or the prescribed way, and really, before my world spun off its axis this past November, I was already prone to rash decisions and spontaneous jumps into the ravine. Now, I’m just more so. Take a spin in this chaos!
Insanity expresses itself in many ways: we at the Gypsyhick Emporium are shopping around at rescue societies for a puppy.
What the hell are we thinking?!?
And why oh why does it seem like such a fantastic idea?
And why do I sometimes wonder if we’ve completely lost our ever-lovin’ minds?
And why am I falling so hard for a photo of a 9 month old black lab / rotti cross, or a descriptive ad for a year old grungy whippet mutt?
Are we in need of a formal intervention?
Are we thinking about this for the right reasons?
Are we weighing the pros and cons wisely?
Are we compensating for our loss?
Are we ready?
Are we NUTS?!?!