Cooler

When I got up, I thought it was a bit chilly and laid it at the feet (or fan blades) of having left the kitchen ceiling fan on all night.

What I didn't realize was that fall had stealthily crept in and shoved the mercury down into its' bulb and chilled the house to a mid 60 degree range. Which meant the outside temps were about 15 degrees cooler.

Naturally, the assassin dog wanted to go out walking and romping through the neighborhood and wasn't taking no for an answer.

Mornings like this, I have to wonder where are the dumb dogs I have heard so much about? The ones who don't know what day it is and have to be reminded every single day what the leash is. I haven't ever owned a dumb dog!

With ease and alacrity, Gypsy streaks past my rubbery and tired legs and begins whining for her morning jog.

The fact that I am holding my head in my hands and moaning means NOTHING to her. Giddy as a schoolgirl on field trip to the museum day, Gypsy is not content to wait out the warmer afternoon temperatures that hover closer to the warm 60's.

Nope, an assassin has a schedule of priorities and she definitely has hers in order and the checklist in hand...uh,...PAW.

The first part of the walk is fine. The i-pod cranks out the tunes to my earphones that are acting as earmuffs today. She is behaving - for now.

Then the fun begins. I take a slightly different route today. This is not fresh information, it just isn't the route we have used for the last couple of weeks. "Princess Pooch" isn't having any of it.

And the wheels in her fertile imagination begin to turn. Already, school traffic has started and my sweet little furbag is looking at the cars in rapt attention.

No, boys and girls, she isn't waiting on the traffic. She is deciding which one to drag me in front of while she scampers away to safety on the other side.

I knew the good behavior wasn't going to last. She was smiling too much.

Finally dragging her to the spot on the shoulder of the road away from the temptations of fully loaded cement trucks, I indicate to her yet again that she is not only most assuredly NOT named as the beneficiary of my will, but that she isn't featured anywhere in my will.

Then, I break the bomb.

I have no will.

Somehow, the expense of filing one that says, "I leave all of my earthly payment books to ___" isn't as thrilling to anyone as finding out that they have inherited something that will make the folks on the Antiques Roadshow look like pikers. But I don't own anything remotely like that.

Even the dog food Gypsy has carefully tucked beneath the couch cushions will not fetch any decent price. But hope springs eternal.

What am I bid for 3 year old kibble?

Oh well. The weights in the gym didn't treat me any kinder today. I believe there should be some sort of karmic trade off where if the dog gives you trouble, the weights should function to make you skinnier, healthier and more well rested in direct proportion to the garbage you have to take off off the hairy hit man...or...dog.

I think I'll watch some TV and plan my next move. With careful preparation, I might be able to sell everything I own for the grandiose sum of twenty-five cents.