Choices.

So I’m walking the boys and I’m grumbling and all the sudden Cutter bristles and sits down.

I tug at his leash but he just glares at me.

What the fuck is the matter with you now, he asks.

I stare at him and then look away. Whatta you mean? I ask.

You’re being pissy, Cutter says.

Yeah, Tug says, straining at the end of his leash to smell some poop.

I stand and I look skyward and I say, I don’t know. I’m just tired. Work and working on the house and working on oceandoggy.com and other stuff is just wearing me down. I feel like I don’t have any time for the things I wanna do.

And Cutter says, hoo, boy, that’s some kinda good shit right there. I’d laugh if I had lips.

He fidgets for a minute and then sits up straighter, glaring at me. So, let’s check it, he says- you live the life you want to live and do pretty much what you want to do and you’re pissed because of the choices you made feel like you don’t have the time to do the things you want to do, even though they’re what you chose to do? I’m confused, he says.

It’s baffling, Tug barks, coming up and sitting next to Cutter.

Yeah, well, ya know, when you put it in THAT context, I say, you’re right, I sound like a big whiny pussy.

And what other context would I put it in?, Cutter hisses. (I hate it when he schools me)

Content, Tug says, licking himself.

Put it in perspective, Cutter says, standing up, YOU have ALL the choices. You get to choose what you want to do and when you want to do it. Your life is a dog’s dream of happiness and heaven.

Lifting a leg and peeing, Cutter says, think about it- we don’t even get to choose when we get to go to the bathroom. Think dude, he says, taking off after a feral cat and snapping my arm.

Yeah, dude, Tug says, slamming past me and surging to the end of his leash after his brother.