It’s 105° outside, and 91° inside. I believe I just heard half of you wilting with tongues lolling and back of hand to forehead as you pass out on your fainting couches. It truly doesn’t feel that hot in here—if I had some extra cash, I’d buy some fancy digital thermometer to independently verify my thermostat’s reading. It probably isn’t wrong, and my body is insane. This laptop on my thighs does feel excessively hot, however. Anyway. The point is it is broiling outside, and the power grid in Texas is struggling. The Electric Reliability Council of Texas (ERCOT) has called for companies and residences to conserve power between 3-7p today. I feel I’m already doing my part by having my air conditioner set to 87°, but to show that I am the type of generous person who always goes that extra mile, I plan to go pantsless the rest of the night.
Looking for a way to make me bawl whilst driving home? Have me listen to a story on NPR about retired military service dogs. I haven’t cried that hard in the car since going off my meds in January. Those poor animals, and to think, they used to be euphemistically “retired” as a thank you for their years of actually serving in a war. Ugh. Though, I guess, considering the shell-shocked men and women who return from the front lines, and how difficult it is for many of them to fully cope with every day life, maybe it is better to euthanize the dogs. That makes me puke in my mouth a bit to think that way, but perhaps it is a kindness. I don’t know. It’s so hard to know how much an animal can process what’s happened to it. The military is giving these dogs more options like adoption, but the priority still isn’t the dog per se—the story cites, “The adoption priority process is to first use the dog as a training aid for other handlers. Law enforcement agencies are second in line. Then, families who have lost a loved one in combat, followed by former handlers, and the general public.” I would think adoption by a former handler would be the most beneficial for the dog and service person. I know these dogs really enjoy being workers, so maybe staying in a program as a training aid is not as awful as it seems to me. I do think it is cruel to put the former handlers at the bottom of the priority list.
Yesterday, at work, there was this lil’ lady, a 7-week-old toy Chihuahua.
She’s a wee thing, a pure bred with a tail that doesn’t curl, so the breeders were going to put her down because no one would pay the $50 for her. Imagine, killing this puppy because her tail is fantastically crooked instead of curled. I hate people. I really, truly hate people. Luckily, a woman I work with rescued her, and is basically fostering her until she can find a really loving home. She leaned hard on me. I almost caved. Almost.
Unfortunately, I cannot adopt her. It would be so foolish to do so. Even though she obviously loves me, and wants me to be her mother. I am basically living paycheck to paycheck right now, and there’s just no way I can support a dog. I know her and Brekkie would have had magnificent times rolling around on the floor together, licking each other, and playing Scrabble. Sigh. Damn my poorness. The Bear isn’t even aware that he just dodged a bullet. He would have been so angry. He already bleats his disapproval at Brekkie and Clementine. He’s like a curmudgeonly uncle—always bopping them on the head, and shaking a meaty paw at them.
Bootie emergency today. I’ve plain worn out my Fluevog booties, and the bottom rubber bit of the heel came off this afternoon at work. I spent the rest of the day having a minor freak out, fretting that I would lose the piece before I managed to make it home. Thankfully, I was able to keep it in place, and used the awesome, multipurpose, magical Weldbond glue. The surgery was a success. I highly recommend always having a bottle of this stuff at your disposal.
The day is saved. And I’m still pantsless.
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