Walking The Dog


I can’t effing believe it, I practically broke my ankle, and cannot walk the dog for at least a few days.  It’s like pulling teeth to get anyone to walk Lizzie.  What’s so damn hard about it?  Put the leash on her and walk her around the block.  They’re all too lazy to do it.

Will you walk Lizzie for me?

Yeah, maybe later.

She’s used to going earlier than this.

Why doesn’t T take her?

He said you were going to take her.

Never mind, if she craps in the house, I’m not cleaning it up.

I’ll do it later.

Never mind, I’ll do it myself.  I’ll be back in about an hour.

No, no, I’ll take her.

And so with huffing and puffing and short tempers, my poor dog reluctantly gets walked. Only a five minute walk, and she and I are usually gone 20-30 minutes or longer.  I know she misses being out longer.  I can’t wait for my ankle to heal.  I don’t know how long I can cope with the dragging feet to do something so simple.  Can’t they look at it like they are doing something for me that right now I can’t do myself?  Yes, but they each want someone else to do the favor.

I knew they couldn’t keep up the effort to help me very long.  It’s not depressing me, yet, but right now it’s making me a little angry.

4 thoughts on “Walking The Dog

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