December 30, 1999

I really don't have much to report today.

Suffice it to say that I worked all day yesterday, attended a lot of meetings, and got an upset stomach. The only practical thing I did all day was to teach my dog to catch popcorn out of the air. You wouldn't think you'd have to teach a dog a thing like that, but my dog is pretty dumb. At first, he just looked indignant when the popcorn hit him on the nose. But now he gets it. I got the idea from Lisa, whose site is still down even though her pets are there. Perhaps they know something she doesn't.

Speaking of dogs, we learned yesterday why some people keep their dogs in crates until they're two years old. We also learned why so many nine month old dogs wind up in animal shelters bearing signs that say, "I'm a very bad dog; please beat me." Doc has been so well behaved in the house ever since we stopped crating him at four months. This week, however, he's been a holy terror. I usually come home around five to play with him or take him for a walk, but I've been working late and Jeremy doesn't get home until six or seven. I came home for "lunch" yesterday at three, and everything was fine. When I left at four, everything was fine. When Jeremy got home at six-thirty, Doc had shredded my sheets, beaten the hell out of the bath mat (in all honesty, it probably deserved it), and destroyed the lens and lightbulb out of a fancy camp light my mom bought us for Christmas. And we won't even get into all of that Amazon packing material strewn about the house.

Because of the shredded sheets, I camped out with Jeremy last night. Normally the dog sleeps with me until Jeremy comes to bed, at which point he puts Doc in his crate. But the excitement of being in Jeremy's room was just too much for him. We finally had to lock him out so I could get some sleep, because he kept standing on my head to bark at Benny, who was sitting on a window sill. Now I'm glad I don't have any window sills over my bed.

I think Dr. Jones is staying in the kitchen today.

We're almost in the home stretch, and it's a damn good thing.

Jeremy is sick. He won't skip work (he has to save his sick days for mountain biking trips in the summer, you see), but I predict that he will rebel and make me go back to walking the dog once in a while.

I just have five briefs to finish before my vacation starts on Monday. Piece of cake.