I could be writing about how I am 25-7 in the tourney, about how I had Butler and Marshall and Kansas State and Syracuse. (Nobody had Maryland Baltimore County, so I can be forgiven on that one.) But nooooo. . .
I could be writing about how Hudson Taylor are about to go on a meteoric rise (long-predicted by me, if I dare say so myself), about how they were on TV in New York this week, about how they got mentioned by Rolling Stone. But nooooo. . .
And why not, you ask?
Because my frakking dog peed in the house again, not 30 minutes after he was taken outside for the second time in the last hour, and it’s got me in a frenzy. I’m so angry. He was right by me. It’s marking behavior. He doesn’t need to do it. He just wants to declare his ownership of one upholstered leg of a living room chair. It ticks me off.
I hate having to clean up after him. I hate the sight of Nature’s Miracle. I hate that we will never be able to have nice things. I hate the fact that dogs can’t be reasoned with.
I love my dog. I do. But sometimes I understand why such a sweet dog was once a homeless stray.
And why, for the time being, he can’t look me in the eye.