I am speechless. It is lecture time and “I didn’t mean too,” I say, when I am really thinking, big whoop. But I don’t say a word and he rants on. This and that. That and this.
Go outside and the let crisp air hit you smack in the face
when it is three below. Hang onto the dog leash for dear life and pray for
answers. In a minute, you will not feel the tips of your fingers. This is why
it is paramount for your furry friend to poop without prodding and for you to
think about a warm moment – bare feet on concrete, heat rushing up your legs, through your body – while the November frost begins to numb your brain.
Upon your return indoors, a sudden calmness sweeps over
the home. The pink compliments your complexion and your husband swoops in for a
kiss.
“Sorry, I yelled.”
“It’s ok,” you say.
It is not the first time my dog has saved me. It will not be
the last.
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