Before you read this and think that I'm some sort of angel who comes home every day and speaks in the most pleasant of tones, let me assure you that does not always happen.
Case in point:
The last two nights I've been rude to my dogs.
I did not want to play. I did not want to cuddle. I was not amused by antics that are usually amusing. I wanted them to go lay down and leave me alone. And then I wanted to curl up in bed and watch college basketball and sleep for 12 hours for the second night in a row. Eh, fatigue.
But most nights, I acknowledge my blessings.
Skye and the Old Man are always glad to see me. I can hear them barking and whining for me as soon as I get out of my car and their jubilation only intensifies when I unlock the door. I can be gone for 5 minutes or hours and their level of excitement doesn't waver.
At that moment, I am a rock star.
Tonight's a sampling of what we do when I get home.
I let them out.
I change as quickly as possible.
I get Skye's ball and the dog brush and we go outside.
While Skye tracks down her ball in the darkness, I brush the Old Man and then throw the ball, brush the Old Man, throw the ball....
Then it's time to do a little housework and make my salad:
But it's what I do when I come home.