It does feel awful to even admit to these thoughts, but every day I don’t leave the house because we’ve got it in our heads that the dog can’t be on his own. And when we go on vacation, we essentially have to leave behind a suitcase full of money so that someone will live here with Doug.
So if you were expecting a fourth-panel twist where I talk about the joy and love the dog brings, er, well, I’m not quite there at the moment. And I appreciate that this makes me look like a horrible goblin.
Maybe my mind is using Doug as a symbol for my feelings of being overwhelmed by commitments.
On the plus side, should the End Times come, I’ll be able to suture people’s wounds.
And if it counts for anything, I used my insomnia the other morning as an opportunity to sew a sling out of an old rice bag to help Doug get up onto our furniture (and me from nine years ago would be asking, “Why would you help him do that?!”). This is love, right?
