In this edition of Random Tuesday Thoughts, a secret is revealed, eccentric persona emerge, a geological phenomena simile. "Cats! Dogs! Living together...!", metaphors for life, and a husband gets a break.
Here's a little secret. I've changed.
Inside this sweet, fuzzy warm, very loving sheep's clothing I've been wearing for the last decade or two, was once a hardened, seething, anguished waiting-to-pounce bitch. She doesn't appear anymore.
Okay. Maybe a couple days of the month, she reappears, but really just a mere shadow of her past self and only for minutes at a time. Really. Take my word for it. She's hardly recognizable anymore. Right Honey?
Now, where did he go?
But like the newly formed volcano, erupting angry lava carelessly in its youth, years and years of trials and tribulations, of experience and wisdom have cooled down the exterior. It hibernates in the depths, underneath cool waters and spring meadows. No longer recognized as a volcano. Really. It's true.
But occasionally steam does rises. It's sounds like a slow hiss.
And it sounds like a cat's hiss. And I am very much a cat.
Smokey, our temporary dog boarder, just wants to be loved. And loved. And loved. And loved.
His exuberance and "love-me" eyes were hard to resist, but now when I come through the door I find it maddening, so I have taken to ignoring his requests for instant affection gratification. Later on, he will insist that ignoring him is just out of the question. So I relent.
Now I'm not one that likes things that are too needy. Girlfriends who need to be pacified too much, boyfriends that need constant validation, folks that are touchy feel-y, arm tappers, wide-eyed dramatic people (besides myself), and delusional love starved dogs.
Because They. Want. Too. Much. And since I don't have the personality or fortitude to give it to them, I feel slightly guilty and put upon, and seriously, who needs that?
So the dog and I have been going through a ritual, a one sided conversation where I tell him all the things I won't do for him. Telling him to stop watching me. To quit following me around the house all the time. Don't you dare lick me. That I recognize his ploy of bringing me his toys. Interrupting conversations by chomping on his squeaky toy. That this is MY food and I'm not sharing. Sure he gets the occasional display of affection. But I let him know that I am not going to sit there and pet him for hours.
As the dog and I were going another round, QueenMaker looks at Smokey and gratefully says:
"Dog, you don't know how happy I am to have you here."
Touche. QueenMaker. Touche.
So off you go to Keely's for more random happenings and distractions. You'll find a lovely group of personalities there that you'll want to get to know. They don't seem too needy either. Awesome.