dog, cat, mouse, broom; dog, cat, mouse, broom.

A writer is to their handwriting as an owner walking their dog.

I lifted that line from my old notebook. Now to tease it out. A dog's snout can sniff up a whirlwind of scents, but we, the owners, can't lay claim to the olfactory of our beloved animals. We can just see that they enjoy what they're doing. And vicariously, we feel joy in doing, sensing, the doggie busy-body.

Isn't that enough? You, the selfish, who would lay claim to both beast and burden? Let it go. Let them have their way. You don't need to micromanage your dog or cat with bird songs. You still have the dishes to do, by the way. And bills to pay.

And when winter comes along, if those bills aren't paid, are you gonna be able to afford Jordy's new four-leg sweater in the cold months, his once luxurious fur thinning out through his exponentially sped up doggie years?

Focus on your own olfactory. Take joy sensed through your own five. Stop stopping off at the hamper to huff on yesterday's merits. Stop climbing down the ladders you've risen just to rise again and admire the view of past competitor's receding hair lines.

These are the dog days of summer, I've been told. They are followed by the cat days of fall, chasing the mouse days of winter, and the mouse shits on the broom of spring that knocks about the dog, cat, mouse, broom; dog, cat, mouse, broom.

Coda

Soften the softener used in said laundry when you do finally wash out the clothes stored in said hamper of the past glories.

The dryer sheets of the mind add nothing to the design and cleaning the lint before is futile. Only clean after.

Sensory deprivation will get you no invitation to the ball. On the other hand, trying to own your pet's best senses will only get you invited to the pound.

Without construct, there is only missed opportunities to destruct.

Without a claim, you will still most likely be allowed to retrieve your dry cleaning. But its a hassle.