Welcome to my life with Glamis. She's not a cat, but a dog. Even though she is a dog, she has cat tendencies. I am her mouse. She loves to play with me.
Last night, after funeral and services, MLK celebrations and dossiers, youth academies for 85 kids and a dossier due, Glamis decided that at 12:30 p.m. it would be a great evening to hop the fence and run from Bryan. Why? Because Bryan was in shorts, a t-shirt and slippers and Bryan was beyond fried and exhausted. Bryan spent two 12-hour days in his office trying to showcase what he does for a living because the higher education process requires such justification.
I finished most of my dossier at midnight, and after finishing a few items, I went outside with Glamis to let her pee one more time. That is when she leaped the fence and made a game called, "Dodge Crandall at any cost, but let him get close enough so he thinks you're tiring out."
Seriously. The game lasted two hours. A leash. Biscuits. Talking. Nothing worked. She always remained two steps beyond me and loved the fact that she escaped the yard, it was the middle of the night, and she was in control of me.
I wanted to kill her, but more importantly I wanted her inside.
The winning strategy was falling to the ground, face down, at 2 a.m. in the middle of some person's yard. I began to fake cry like I was an infant and this, THIS, seemed to get her attention. She got on all fours and crawled my way, eventually licking my face. As she did this, I went into bear hug mode and carried her all the way home. I couldn't even think about discipline. I only wanted her in the crate and sleeping so I could sleep, too.
Exhaustion. Dossier. A week of MLK events and total dedication to my job. This was her post sabbatical revenge ("what do you mean you have to work? um, there's me? what about me? you think it's okay to go back to a 12 hour day? well, let me tell you something...).
And with that I went to bed. The rest of my Monday is a blur. And today is Tuesday, isn't it?
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