The Big River, which runs through it (my backyard, I mean) is very close to spilling over its banks. It won’t, I’m reasonably reassured, but I’m tired of looking at it rush by on its way to the Gulf of Mexico. I’m tired of hearing it. Tired of escorting the dogs outside four times a day because I’m afraid, because of their walnut-sized brains, that they will get a sudden urge to tip their toes in it and thus end up in the Gulf of Mexico. I’m tired of listening to the older of my dogs, Sylvia, sitting on the back of the couch and growling non-stop all day at the debris she sees floating down the river–Is that a goat? Ggggrrrrr. Is that…is that a dead body of a meth lab employee? Ggggggrrrrr!
Oh well, I suppose it could be worse. I could be sitting here in the house as the Big River actually flows through it.