Reason Prevails

The Saratoga Animal Shelter is now a St. Bernard puppy-less Shelter.  Chloe went to a new home today.  This home found us last weekend and I did have a brief moment when I thought I wasn't going to be able to let her go.  But then Monday I was unexpectedly gone until 9:00pm and when I came home Shila was in the access road and the neighbors called to tell me she had been out all day long (did they call when she got out and I could have done something about it?  No, that would have been too much to ask.)  I said to myself as I was driving around to get Shila, "Self, you do not need a St. Bernard puppy."

Chloe has gone to a friend of a friend's family.  There are three kids and a mom and a dad, a Great Dane and I've been telling Chloe all week that she's going to be super happy with all of the attention she's going to get.   The family came to get her and the three kids were ecstatic and Chloe was beside herself and the little girl said, "What's that dog over there?" and pointed to behind my fence and it was fucking Baby Shila.  Since there were small children around I held my tongue and said I'll be right back and got the leash and the car and drove around to go get her.  (I was pretty certain the family was not going to steal any of my stuff while I was out.)  When I got back I put Shila in the house and the family took Chloe and her paperwork and left and then I chained Shila up while I worked on my Pinterest project.

I'm not going to reveal my Pinterest project until it's all done, but I did join Pinterest this morning.  I'm not sure how I feel about that yet, but it was so easy to show my dad all of the ideas for my Pinterest project on one board.  (My dad, for the record, does not care about Pinterest or my Pinterest project, but he was raised right, so he pretends to listen.)

Tonight we are going to celebrate our new St. Bernard puppy-less status by laying in a pain pill stupor on the couch.  I am very sore because yesterday I tripped on my desk drawer and fell in my classroom.  It was super early in the morning and I said, "Fuck, that's going to hurt later."  And it does.  I'm not dying, I'm just sore.  I had to call the company nurse and they asked me all kinds of rude questions like whether or not I was married, had ever been married or if I lived with someone and then they had to repeat it back to me condescendingly "You're 37, not married and you live alone?"  I felt like adding, "But I don't have forty fucking cats, so don't judge me."  The company nurse told me I should go to the doctor, but that was going to ruin my Friday evening so I politely declined that and came home and drank wine.

Sara sent me this

Earlier this week