What Dogs Are For


It’s been a heckuva week at work.  Not a bad week, just one of those incredibly busy and emotionally exhausting weeks.  First, there was this.  I’ve been at the college all week with coworkers, assisting with the emotional fallout.  Throw in a couple of client crises, and 6 hours today spent sitting in the emergency room for purely red tape purposes, and I am fresh out of coping skills.

I have to admit that I wasn’t the nicest mom to the puppy dogs last night.  I wasn’t mean; I just had very little patience and didn’t give them the attention they wanted.  Tonight I got home 2 hours late from work.  I did my chores.  Took the dogs out for a walk and fed them.  And then I went into my bedroom to collapse on my bed and have my mini-breakdown, or what one might euphemistically call my attempt to “decompress.”

Before I had a chance to really wallow in my self-pity, both puppy dogs came racing through the apartment onto the bed.   I got a few kisses in the face before they raced off again.  They raced back into the bedroom, gave me a few rambunctious kisses, and raced off again.  Rinse and repeat about 6 times.

It’s really kind of hard to maintain a bad mood when the puppies are so excited and happy and energetically demanding that you join in the fun.

And that’s what dogs are for.  Well, one of the reasons, anyway.


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