OT: My Dog, Henry

My dog's name is Henry. He is a year and four months old. He is a black lab mixed with some combination of boxer and basset hound, probably among other things. He howls.

I read somewhere (probably on Pinterest) that dogs have such short lives because they already know in ten years what humans are still trying to figure out in ninety. Henry, I believe, is no exception to this. So many times in his short life has he saved me. Saved me from boredom. Saved me from wanting to kill my mother boyfriend co-workers [insert noun here]. Saved me from myself.

Today was one of the later days.

For a little bit now, I have been feeling off. Not sick. Not depressed. Just off. I think my friend said it best as, "your soul is hurting." I know that sounds like such a load of corn-ball, hippie, nonsense....but that's how it feels. Or, felt.

[Side note: I had to leave Henry with Drew's parents today because he has conveniently decided to take a 'boy's trip" down to North Carolina in the middle of the week, while I am working. Yes, I could probably leave my dog home for ten hours, but I chose not to. I don't think he would appreciate that.}

So there I am, on the way home with Hen, when I hear THE SOUND. The guttural sound that everyone dreads, human or not. My dog is getting sick in my car. Not even on the floor mats or the seat. In the cup holder. And down the crack. You know, the one where everything gets lost and you can never find it again. That crack. And not once might I add, but three times. THREE EFFING TIMES.

In the middle of cursing the dog, the car, my job, my boyfriend, and going into hysterics and crying because I am so fed up with my life and why is everything going wrong and why do I feel off, I pull over at Dunkin Donuts. I need to grab some napkins. I can't even be mad at the dog because he looks so sad, like he think I am angry with him for doing something wrong. I can't let him think that, because I'm not. It's nothing a few napkins and some Lysol wipes can't fix. And it wasn't his fault anyway.

Henry wins again. When life is throwing a lot of little things at you, it starts to pile up. Eventually, there are too many things on the pile and it collapses. That was me today. A lot of people would curse their dog for that, but I'll thank mine. He cleared the pile and now I don't feel so off. I know that must sound odd.

Thus, the end of the day has been better than the beginning. I am home. Henry is sleeping. I am writing and not studying (which I should be doing, but I think I just need and deserve a break today). I will soon be eating dinner (probably mac and cheese because let's face it I'm still mostly a kid) and watching Master Chef on my DVR. Cheesy noodles, Gordon Ramsay, and a sleeping puppy. Can't ask for more than that.