We are going to be away for a couple of days, but Owen will be here taking care of the dogs. I don’t know if I’ll be doing much writing. I’m guessing — not much. I’m a bit overwritten and a few days off will do me some good.
I’ve got stuff ready to go up, but I may or may not get around to answering comments tomorrow, but I’ll get to it when I get home for sure. Have fun, you guys.
This is one of those prompts that I find complicated because it’s so simple. It mean so many things and can be interpreted in many ways. I love Paula’s photograph showing layers of history. Lacking layers of history, here are two photographs, the first from me, the second from Garry:
The other day, my son came over and stripped the kitchen floor of who-knows-how-many layers of old wax and dirt to expose a reasonably attractive pale lemony linoleum. He then added three new layers of fresh, clear wax so that it gleams in the light.
The dogs, taking this as a challenge, have been doing everything within their power — which is more considerable than you might imagine — to undo all that work.
Thrilled as I was to finally see a clean, shiny floor in the kitchen, I invested in a big “tray” to put under their water trough. They drool. All dogs drool. Our dogs don’t have jowls, so they ought to be minimal droolers.
But. Since I acquired this protective tray, they have upped their game. They now spread at least twice as much liquid all over the kitchen as before. We now have to wash out the tray and clean the floor under it. Wipe up all the flooding.,
Garry says they’re messing with us. Hard for me to disagree … but why?
These are spoiled dogs. These are dogs that live from handout to handout, sleep wherever and whenever they like. They come and go as they choose through their own door. Fresh water is constantly on hand and we fill that huge pot a dozen times a day. They get top quality food and treats and as much love as they are willing to put up with.
Right now, they are resting from their labors.
The drooling, the barking, the begging for something more?
Perhaps they liked the old layers of dirt. Maybe the dirt was like old scrap books. Odors of food long consumed, other dogs passed on — conveniently embedded in the grunge on the floor. I’d ask them, but I don’t want to disturb their naps.
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