I came home from the gym–tired, triumphant, smelly. I peeled off my sweat-ridden clothes, wrinkling my nose at the acrid smell of dried sweat.

“Gotta wash these with some vinegar,” I thought, knowing full well that I wouldn’t. That would require effort. Remembering to buy vinegar. Remembering to USE the vinegar. Too much work.

I turned the squeaking plastic dials of the shower to “on” and gingerly stepped in–careful to avoid the cold water before it had a chance to warm up. Waiting required patience–yet another virtue I do not possess. As the hot water ran down my back, I peered out past the shower curtain and over the back deck, to where Runt was currently gnawing on our potted spider plant.


“RUNT!” I shouted, lowering my voice to show I full well meant business, dammit.

He stopped.

He looked back in my general direction, the gears in his head turning, trying to work out his perplexion. Where was I?

Slowly, he turned back to the plant, ears twisted backwards, listening. Doubtfully, this time, he began to nibble.

“RUNT! STAHBIT!” He whipped back around–was–was she here? Plant…glider…’nother plant…his finely-honed canine senses battling with his sheer stupidity.




…she’s on the roof?

He looked up, the plant now forgotten. Where was she? In the trees, maybe? Probably that…wait…no…

Baffled and in awe, he walked back inside the house, still occasionally glancing at the branches of the walnut tree, doubtful.