Uprooted

Looking outward

The work week drags but today is my last day.
My legs are sore from walking Bella, my back from sitting in one position for too long while she naps.

I find myself having to pee and not getting up to do so because I don’t want to disrupt the blessed silence that is ever present while she sleeps. When she is awake, she barks and bites and nips and continually tries to grab the string from the weed-wacker from the table and carry it around the house. She took an orange off the counter on Tuesday. And before that dumped a whole can of tomato sauce down the cabinets at Mom’s. When I saw her I thought she had cut herself somehow and immediately started thinking about how to get her to an emergency vet. Then I realized it was tomato sauce and her beautiful white socks that John so painstakingly washed on Sunday were now pink with it. She did not let me wipe her paws and barked playfully when I did. She was the only one playing.

I long to lay on the porch or by a pool with books and no where to go. No one needing me. No one asking for me for a single thing. Perhaps Bella is there, but she is quiet and relaxed and sleeping below my chair. No slamming doors or visitors to disturb the peace.

I should go back to yoga to undo the damage she is inflicting on my back and legs not to mention my peace of mind.

It’s not that I dislike her or want to hurt her. It’s not that I haven’t grown fond of her. It’s just that I wish she was a little more relaxed, a little more still. A little more willing to listen when I say: “Please, Bella, be quiet!”

But perhaps that is arrogance. She has only been here since April. Two and a half months is not long enough to undo two years of behavior. I should give her some grace. Some more time. I should be positive.

I should take that advice for myself as I hold myself to the standard of perfection so strongly I only come up empty-handed with disappointment.

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