Mon 19 Jun 06

Sometimes when I get home from work, sleepy and tired, after an eight hour shift and greet my dopey dogs who’ve been cooped up for close to nine hours, I let them out to do their dirty sinful business, then race back inside, lie down face first on the basement carpet, and proceed to let 150 pounds of dog frolick all over my back. They wrestle and claw and growl at each other or at me if I poke my head up. I love it. There’s something so peaceful about their exuberance. Maybe I just associate it with being free from work for a little while. Sometimes I even fall asleep underneath all the excitement, usually waking to some sort of dog tongue to the face.

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