The Long Wednesday

I expected rain yesterday so I packed by dog walking backpack with enough rain gear and towels preparing for a sloppy, sloggy day, but the rain was a no-show. Thankfully. By the second walk of the day, I'd peeled off my layers, stuffed them into the already packed backpack, and walked around in the sun in a t-shirt. I even lamented the fact that I wasn't wearing shorts.

Today is starting off much like yesterday. I woke to rain and when I let Rubin out this morning to do his business, I watched the rain pattern the puddles on the deck. Yet, unlike yesterday, the forecast calls for afternoon clearing and sun. By then, of course, I'll be done with the dog walking portion of my day and busily working with a small group of 8th graders as they continue laying out their yearbook -- indoors.

And then I'll race home, take Rubin for one last spin, shower quickly and take off for a 5 hour shift at REI.

This is going to be one long day. I'm trying not to think about all the bits and pieces of this day. I'm trying not to think about how exhausted I'll be once I start work this evening. I'm trying not to imagine the hours this evening -- will it be busy at REI or dead like last week? I'm only trying to picture myself coming home, brushing and flossing my teeth, and crawling into bed when it's all over.

But that goes against my commitment to live in the now. It's so hard, this now thingy. I can do it while walking the dogs. They're certainly living in the moment and their silly antics make me very attentive to each minute I am with them. Quillette (pictured above) especially. I've decided she is very much a happy Eeyore. Perhaps an oxymoron, the happy Eeyore, but she has this way of looking at me that makes me laugh.

Rubin, too. Yesterday, I took them both for a walk through the wooded park and along a trail that often has muddy puddles. When we reached those puddles, he sniffed at one and then looked at me saying, "Oh god, I LOVE puddles and mud!" and off he went, sprinting and galluping and bouncing up and down the trail inviting Quillette to join him. Older and less likely to frolic, Quillette looked at me and then at him and threw back her head in a hilarious howl. Meanwhile, Rubin continued his romp possessed by the mud on the side of the trail. By the time he was done, his legs were black to the knees, his nose covered in mud, and his tongue slung in an exhausted pant.

The blur of Rubin being frisky!

I thought of nothing else during those moments. I just watched him play and listened to Quillette howl at him. This is what I love the most about being a dog walker. There are no big worries. No thinking ahead or reflecting back about the job I've done. I wouldn't mind a long Wednesday if it was solely focused on walking dogs, but unfortunately it isn't. There's this funny thing about making a living and since making a living involves cobbling together a weird array of jobs, I am stuck with today as it is -- a long Wednesday