This morning, Sophie woke with the devil in her. She wanted to run and bark at squirrels and generally be out of control. A little after seven, I fed her, let her out, had to call her name and offer “Cheese!” several times before she came back in. But she did, and I went back to bed. That was my valued time for an hour of “second sleep.” Usually it works; this morning it did not. I barely got scrunched down in the covers, all comfy and warm, when she began that little dance by my bed, clicking her nails on the hardwood floor. I explained gently; didn’t work. So then I got a bit more stern; still made no impression. Finally—I am ashamed to admit this—I yelled at her. She went to her crate, and I was left with guilt—what if she really needed to pee or there was some compelling reason for her to be outside?
I have heard and read that
dogs abandoned in shelters cry, great tears running down their faces. So when I
went back to sleep, I dreamt that Sophie was not just crying, but lying on the
floor sobbing. Like a two-year-old when Mom has hurt the feelings. And then I
was on the floor, holding her, reassuring her that I loved her, and so on.
About that time, she came happily bouncing up to the bed and began her little
dance again. We’ve had a frosty relationship all day, though I think it’s
beginning to mend. Dogs do not forget, but then, neither do I.
Most mornings, I am dismayed
by the news, these days particularly the genocide taking place in Gaza. But the
Republicans, bless their hearts, are always good for a bit of a laugh, even if
it is a bitter one. Texas’ impeached AG, Ken Paxton, has sued Pfizer for
misleading the public about their COVID vaccine. His complaint: It didn’t end
the pandemic as quickly as they promised it would. Even I can see the hole in
this argument: wasn’t it Paxton and his good pal, the guv, who loosened
restrictions on masks and vaccination requirements. Of course, the pandemic
didn’t end. And it may well come again, since there is now a state law that
businesses cannot require masks and vaccinations.
And then there’s Marjorie
Taylor Greene, who is complaining about low unemployment in the country. What?
Low unemployment is one of the signature accomplishments of the Biden
administration as it avoided a recession. It’s a good thing. People are back at
work after the pandemic. That’s democracy functioning as it should. Yes, it’s
harder for employers to find good help, because not everyone is desperate for a
job these days. But Greene, in her own benighted way, knows what the problem
is: not enough women are spitting out enough babies to fill those jobs. Never
mind that there’s at least an eighteen-year gap before those babies could fill
the jobs. Or that Republican reproductive restrictions have made the idea of
pregnancy scary for most women. Or that just maybe population growth is one of
the world’s major problems. Greene marches to a drummer the rest of us hope
never to hear.
Finally there’s the Florida
couple, he the GOP chairman for the state and she, a co-founder of the
extremist Moms for Liberty who fight against LGBTQ and sexual content of any
kind in schools. They ban books with abandonment. Except, oops, on the side,
out of sight, they have engaged in a little menage a trois activity, and he has
now been accused of rape. Yep, those, good, upright, morally responsible
Republicans. Maybe we should just assume everyone has their little peccadilloes?
I don’t think so.
Nice happy hour tonight with a
relatively new friend. We talked about publishing and the Texas Book Festival
and book people we know in Texas—and the state of the world. Then Jordan and I
made a supper of Hassebrock kielbasa and green bean casserole. A lovely,
relaxing evening. And I think I’m beginning to get a handle on Christmas. Today
I got the new Discover card I needed after my account was closed because of
possible fraud. I am still bothered by that and want to be assured that iStock
really understands I am cancelling a $700 contract I had no idea I signed. But
at least I can finish my online shopping. And then there’s the text telling me
I have a ticket on the North Tollway Express—since I haven’t driven in over
three years, that’s a bit impossible. I think the text is phishing, but
Christian has promised to help me sort it out. I hate loose ends, unsolved
problems.
Still, this is the season of great
good will and lots of hope. I hope you feel that.
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