Tug’n.

I was being yanked around on our nightly walk and between the herking and jerking and the panting and the cursing Cutter and Tug I got to thinking that I was getting to wear my raincoat WAY more than I’d ever dreamed I’d wanted to.

I was thinking that maybe if it keeps raining all hope will disappear and I’d just somehow get used to the soggy existence that’s been our unending evermore.

Maybe dry, maybe warm, is overrated?

And so I splashed through the road lakes, dodging the spray from cars and trucks and hurrying behind the twin turds.

I know there are way worse places during the winter than our little island I gotta admit age and pussiness are rapidly converging to make me long for sunnier and warmer. And bikinier (new word)

Cause honestly? There’s times, lots of ’em, that I’m over it. Times that I wanna just grab Miss Carol and Cutter and Tug and head south. Waaaaay south.

But then I think, and I remember. And the decades and centuries all pile up and crest over me and I know I’m luckily stuck in a deep mire of old friendships, inescapable.

And so, I’m just keepin’ on as winter grinds on churning ever endlessly and my Cutter and Tug pull me down the road twice a day whether I want to go or not.

Things could be worse.