Between the dogs getting brought in and bedded down at 8:30 last night, and us rolling into town at 2:45 or so this morning, somebody had an extra burst of separation anxiety. We came home to a debris field. Saoirse had found a dense foam block that had served as padding for the twin bed frame I got last month, and at some point she lay on a Pakistani rug that we used for transition between rooms, and as she chewed a bone, she just migrated over and chewed up the rug. Now, as mad as I want to be over that rug, it was a sacrifice to the cats for claw sharpening, so they would leave nicer rugs alone, so I have to temper my disappointment. I also need to plan on never leaving that dog again. She didn't take it well. The cats were pleased we returned, and Murray has been feeling pretty down since Elsa died and hasn't changed, but Saoirse has been a mess.
The drive was hard. I'm sure I'm not the only one tired and sore, but where I am swearing I will stay home and do next to nothing, the Mr needs to make a trip up to the cabin before his off-road rally this weekend. Ugh. How can he stand the thought of driving any more, especially on bumpy roads? I believe I shall spend the time he is gone with ice cream and streaming TV.
Our kids came over this evening, to let Val get some grandparent time. That was the best part of coming home, getting a big welcome from the baby. She is picking up skills left and right, and learned some new ones while we were gone, like saying polysyllabic words. Or one, anyway. Everything is now a "bappo," apparently, including apples. She gave us plenty of smiles while she was here, and lots of giggles. Suddenly I feel refreshed and can leave behind the fatigue of the road.
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