Doing Nothing

What a day yesterday. I did nothing. I don’t have too many of those kinds of days, but when they present themselves, it is delightful. I passed on breakfast but had an early lunch of Chinese left-overs. I added more Soy and some hot sauce. It made it better.

It was rainy here, off and on all day. I watched a puddle get sprinkled with drops in a melodic cadence that blended with the Flight of the Bumblebee, an orchestral interlude written by Rimsky-Korsakov which I had playing on the stereo. The sputter and patter of the drops mimicked the beat of the composition. The rain pelted furiously for a few minutes then the rain rhythm would change into a Strauss waltz and then into a Texas two-step as the rain abated. What a glorious day.

I then tried to take my spiritual advisor for a walk. “McGee” doesn’t do rain, she doesn’t do snow, she doesn’t do heat. She waits, and looks, and waits some more. If it’s wet, white, or hot, she looks at me with the question of, “why are we doing this?”

I couldn’t answer her inquisitive look. All I can do is suggest, with a gentle nudge on the leash, that peeing outside is better that peeing inside.