How Friday Begins

The dog was lying on the floor beside her bed this morning, looking forlornly at the green cushion but making no move to get in.

My husband walks by and says, "Oh Maggie, what's in your bed? Let's get that out of there for you."

And he pulls out a folded piece of paper (the directions for H's Whack-A-Mole game, but that's not crucial information for the story...face it, there's no crucial info for this story), tossing it aside so Maggie can crawl in and curl up.

I roll my eyes.

Me: Oh good grief, she's a dog.
Tim: Would you want to lay on paper?
Me: Well, no. But she's a dog. She drinks muddy water from the downspouts and licks her butt.

Apparently there's comfort, and then there's comfort.

Comments

Tom Myler (scoodog) said…

I am glad that Maggie is doing okay and is comfortable. :)

7:15 AM

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I remember the first time I heard the name "Les Anderson." A bunch of Wichita State University communication majors were sitting around on campus, talking about classes they planned to take. Several people warned me: watch out for Les Anderson. He was tough. He had a murderous grading scale. It was nearly impossible to get an A. They weren't kidding. But he wasn't tough just to be a tyrant. From his teaching sprang a fleet of incredible, successful journalists, writers, editors, broadcasters, public relations experts, advertisers, non-profit professionals...I could go on and on. Most importantly, he created a legion of people who wanted to make a difference in the world. The greatest gift Les gave to them all? He believed in them, cared about them for their own personal stories as well as the stories they told for class assignments or in the pages of his hometown newspaper. Les was my teacher. My boss. My mentor. My conscience. My champion. My friend. When I started c...

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