Domesticated Distractions

Monday, December 12th, 2016 – 11:08 am

We pant when tired to belie our feral smiles. Furrowed brows show how we fear You now and ever and at every sound we cry out save Yourself while we fight to the death every threat and fang and fire and apocalyptic tribe. We stare at Your treasure. Glower at our bounty. Divided fairly. Every bite equally and justly.  You would never cheat us our due. We celebrate You day and night, through Your broken promises and brutal commands. You love us. We love You more and ever will. We jump over Your every coming and going. You always come back. We always cry when You don’t and we still cry when You do. You’re ever gone too long and never wrong. Even when You hurt us.

…

In this episode of “Patrick and Chloe: Castaway Their Sanity”, we get a sneak peek at their plucky house remodeling and garage banishment project.

Whatever. Stupid autocorrect. I would never say “plucky”.

Captain Patrick’s Log:

Day 1 – POSTPONED DUE TO WEATHER. AMY UNAMUSED. UNAMYUSED.

Day 2 – *My and Chloe’s unjust garage imprisonment officially begins*

ME: “Chloe, hush! Lie down! Now! Jeesh. The flooring guy will be done banging in just two more days. We got this!”

CHLOE: *continues barking forever*

Day 3 – We have finally reached Nirvana. Next is Otis and Ozzy, maybe even up to Pink Floyd by tonight. Our singular Gardetto and M&M stores are perilously lower than ever before.

Day 4 – *5:23 am* 

ME: “Well old girl, the flooring guy is a… little… behind schedule. So, it looks like it’s just you and me again, kid! Haha!”

CHLOE: “……”

ME: “Wait. Great. Now I am actually talking to Chloe – a dog – as well as to myself. In full sentences. THAT’S ridiculous and going to stop.”

Days 5 & 6 – {REDACTED}

Day 7 – Dear Diary. At least you still understand me. Chloe and I made the mistake of getting into a theologically biased debate during our noontime meal of heavy metals and heavier cream and confusion, liberally poured in my patented Starbucks’ Sucks to Need Grownup Sippy Cups. It devolved into another yelling match, twice requiring Amy’s squirt bottle, over the empirical and irrefutable merits of M&M’s versus Gardetto’s and yes they both have the actual apostrophes in their names and yes I looked it up so back off the caffeine. Dogs can’t have chocolate, so case closed. Chloe (WELSH BTW) also apparently no longer finds my Russian accent amusing. Or the Scottish one. Whatever. Staying in our own corners until tempers cool. And yes, Chloe somehow won the debate again.

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