Oh, ignore the barking dog.

Tried napping after lunch, had the usual hot bath while Carol was off playing bridge.  Gunther barked about 40 times, I don’t know, didn’t count.  I switched on the bathroom fan.  Noisy.  I give her bed A+ for firmness, yet so kind and gentle to my tired self.  Gunther’s barking stopped.  Then it started again.  I decided I can ignore it.

Great sleep.  Wait.  What if he needed out to poop or pee?  I got up, light-headed from the four pills prescribed by my psychiatrist and the five prescribed by my internist.  Look.  I’m a pharmacist.  Retired, yes, but a pharmacist through and through and I … have gotten off the track here.  My normal standing blood pressure returns.

I slept a great nap.  The dog?  Man, I’d better let him out.  In fact, the little guy was right next to the door, looking out.  Oh. he tore up a bit of carpet.  Son of a bitch.

In fact the son of a dog had torn up a corner of carpet in front of the door.  In an obvious place.  I tried to tuck it in, to hide it.  I considered finding some glue and gluing the pile of yarn onto the torn place.  Maybe weigh it all down with a rock.  What if I cut the wild yarns?  I look around for scissors.  None in the old desk drawers.  I remember seeing a fingernail clipper in the bathroom, on the edge of the sink.

It is not there.  I look in the medicine cabinet and lo!  I return to the damaged carpet and with a bit of effort, clip off the offensive yarns.  I hide the evidence in the kitchen trash.

I try to imagine Carol’s reaction upon seeing the destruction.  Is she too old and decrepit to notice?

Finally good sense returns.  I’ll confess to the obvious damage and repair the carpet.

If I haven’t become a responsible man in 67 years, then when can may I anticipate becoming one?