I am in my childhood home for the week babysitting my dad's dog. Gravy, is a big bellied little legged butt shaking corgi who is as cute as he is vicious. I take him out for loop around the neighborhood, once around 7pm, and again at 9pm. Apparently the golden doodle across the street has the same schedule. Their rivalry has clearly been unrelenting dating back millennia, the very feud baked into their DNA. Before even catching a glimpse of each other, the (assumingly) putrid scent of the doodle, launches my Gravy into a snarling diatribe, unfettered until I bribe him with a treat and empty promises.
At first, I was frustrated. Like shut up Gravy you're ruining my mellow high. But tonight I found myself looking forward to the neighborly small talk with the doodle's mom. Nothing like masquerading as a home owner and responsible, yet apologetic dog parent to silence the incessant rumination cycle of what my purpose is now that I graduated college. And apparently, I fuck with routine. Who knew?
