every morning

I took the dogs on a brisk, half-hour walk this morning. I do this every morning. I then came back, toodled around on the sites that I have to check before I can begin work, while Shadow lay snoozing at my feet. After the obligatory ten minutes of compulsive site-checking, I rose, gathered the notes I'd made over breakfast, and prepared to work on my novel. This involved getting my binder, moving a chair, grabbing a blanket b/c I get very cold sitting at a desk without moving, and retrieving my stone-cold cup of coffee from my bureau.

It also involved Dido.

Dido is a dear, sweet dog, with a massive anxiety complex and more than a touch of OCD. Because I was moving, she felt compelled to follow me, stopping whenever I stopped and looking up with very mournful black eyes, as if to say 'but what about me?'

Which is why I sat down, patted her head, and said, 'my turn. it's my turn. you already had your turn.'

and then I dragged her bed into the study so she can lie in the corner and beam dog-walking/patting thoughts at me in comfort.