NEEDLING

The dogs were at it this morning. They started before seven this morning. Our new neighbors just moved into the house next doors, their backyard gives right onto my bedroom window. They apparently enjoy getting up very early on Sunday mornings, at which point they like to play with their two or three dogs in their backyard. This excites the two outside dogs – Brutus sleeps inside next to my bed or on the couch – and our courtyard becomes a singing canine paradise.

Mostly, this happens right under my window where, on the other side of the two inch cheap wooden walls, I lay my head on my pillow cursing both in French and in English. Should I get out of bed? Should I go outside without putting my pants on so as to get rid of one small step in this annoying enchainment of events forcing me out of bed and thus bringing me back to bed faster... even by a couple of seconds?

The powers that be forced me out of bed and outside several times. The first time, I ventured to my front gate with only my boxers on, but it’s cold this morning, I have holes in my shorts, and it was all ready quite daylight, people have started to stroll and get out of bed. Do I really want to be seen by my neighbors like this? The second time, I put on some sweat pants and I lock to backyard up, wanting to put Little Bear in the front yard except I can’t find their water buckets, which have mysteriously disappeared. I’m pissed at them, but I’m not going to lock them up without a water bucket. At least I can keep Little Bear out of the backyard, but that’s it.

I try to go back to sleep, I don’t even bother to take my sweat pants back off. I only manage to get more pissed off. I give up trying to sleep and go to my computer to answer some backlogged email. I’m doing fine, doing better, the dogs have calmed down...

After barely twenty minutes, there they go again, so I step back outside desperately looking for the two water buckets when Kari steps out of her place and says good morning. By this time, I’ve put on a pair of clean pants.

“Have you seen the two blue water buckets?” I say, “I can’t find them and I want to separate the dogs, they’re driving me fucking nuts.”
“Yeah, I’ve got them inside, I popped them in last night to give them a wash.”
“...”
“I’ll get them for you.”

I fill the water bucket and grab Little Bear by his collar to lead him to the front yard. He doesn’t like to go to the front yard because there he can’t go to my window and bark to drive me bonkers. So he lays down on the cement and plays dead. This is his favorite trick when you’re trying to get him to do something he doesn’t want to do. He plays dead. He becomes dead mass. I have to pick him up, and since it’s been raining for twenty four hours – the sun at least is out today – his paws are wet and full of mud, which get all over my beige flannel pants.

By now, it’s all ready ten in the morning and I’m livid, so I go back inside to finish my email when my email service decides to break down. It’s been one hour now, and no way of logging on.

I think I’m going to put some music on, go soak in the bathtub, and come back to it a little later. I have to calm down before I can do anything.

Today: I need to do the first lesson of my whisky course – the course I’m taking through Moray College.