I'm trying to write something, but Otto is insisting I play with his ball with him. Sunday night, the TV is off. I barely get a minute to think of something to write and he has pushed his ball towards me with his nose and then got that expectant look on his face, staring me down until I throw the ball again.
I'm not getting a moment to think of something. I'm not sure what I have got to say either. Look, he is back already.
We've been out for lunch both days of the weekend. Japanese Saturday in the city which was nice, but ridiculously expensive for lunch. Indonesian today.
I have to go back to work tomorrow. Sad face. Grrrr. Oh, I don't want to work any more. Damn you Tattlotto. But, everyone else should have been on holidays, company mandatory shut down being what it is, so while I'll have plenty to do for the next few days, I've actually done everything I could ahead of time before the break knowing how the first week back often goes.
Anyway, Otto is panting on my leg, pushing his saliva covered ball into my thigh. The problem is that to start with he gets the ball and gives it back to me to throw, but eventually, like it has become now, it changes and I have to try and wrestle the ball away from him before I can throw it again.
No comments:
Post a Comment