The hardest part of retirement

Well, I guess there are two things, but they both involve pets.  I have the cutest little schnoodle, Ozzie, who, I’m afraid (wow, look at all those commas!) I’ve made addicted to playing ball.  Since I’m not working, he is certain that my main function is to throw the ball to him in the back yard.  If I’m not up for that, then surely I must be ready to throw the pumpkin or gorilla stuffed toys we have in the house.  It’s a little hard to get work done when the cutest pup in the world looks up at you with those big brown eyes, just so you can see the whites of them appearing like a crescent moon at the bottom.  That “please . . .PLEASE come play with me” look.  So, I play.  Then I leave him out in the back yard to chew on his toys, dip in his kiddie pool, and chase squirrels.  This is fine, until one of the squirrels decides to sit in the tree or at the top of the fence and taunt him unmercifully.  He barks.  Actually, he’s one of those yappy dogs.  ACK!  Not my little baby?  Yes, it’s true.  Now, if that weren’t bad enough, I also have two cats.  One is a hugely fat orange tabby (Otis, Jr.) whose only interest in life is food.  He will wake me, stalk me, try to trip me, and generally hound me until I fill up his kitty bowl.  I try not to keep it full, because I worry about his weight.  My other orange and white tabby (Vincent) lives on love alone.  He really doesn’t care for treats or anything like that — he just wants his belly rubbed . . . oh!  and a little water in the bathtub.  I’ve been letting him drink in there, because if I leave a bowl of water on the kitchen floor, he will dig in it to get the water (the other cat does this too – I should have named them both Bernadette!) and will dump the whole bowl out.  I regularly step in a large puddle of water in the kitchen.  If I put water in the bathtub, and he drinks there, I’m less likely to have a flood in the kitchen.  Vince will let me know if 1) the bathtub has no water, 2) the litterbox is approaching soiled, and 3) that he needs loving. . . right NOW, by howling.  Or is that YEOWLING?  I swear, people passing on the street would think I’m beating a cat with a baseball bat in this house!

So, while retirement is grand, it’s certainly not at all quiet around here.  Still, a noisy, wobbly, ball-toss filled day at home beats a day in the office every single time!

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