Oh The Douchebaggery

I woke up late today.

This is good, as I have been a straight-up insomniac lately.
That said, the days are short, the sun is all but a memory, and it's frigid.

I swear I had to summon up my internal jaws of life in order to just get the fuck out of bed.
I figured I had exactly two hours before darkness dawned.

Sure it was sprinkling, nee, pouring...but it was relatively temperate considering the arctic blast that has been the mainstay over our region this past week.

So, I decided to take a walk.

People, my walks are not cute little jaunts around the hood.
My walks are exodus-style journeys.

My poor dog.

It's storming and i am dragging my pooch all over Providence.
She looked like a key character in Watership Down.
And I was the scary fuhrer at her lead.

So I am two hours into my walk when my dog refuses to move.

When I first procured the lovely Ms.Sheena, she was but a baby.
8 months old.

At the time I was living in North Carolina (Holla atcha Ashevegas!).
I spent my spare time hiking.
And I had ALOT of spare time.

I would take Sheena up on the trails with me and she would poop out after an hour or two of our uphill climbs.

I inevitably would have to carry my sweet little bundle of fur down the mountain.

But she's now eight and her time with me has been pretty predictable.

My dog is the most exercised dog on the block.

So I was not at all pleased when, two miles from home, I had to pick up a soggy mass of stink and carry it all the way home.

I was singing a new version of Manilow's Mandy all the way to the homestead.