Sunny Daze Ahead (Probably)

March 17th, 1996, Star Patricia entered the world. I was not there, but I have no doubt she was standing, then running, at a record pace. Star was not one for casual milestones; rather she would often skip steps or do it all at once. I can imagine her gangly, filly body, running as fast as it could, slamming on the brakes and then spooking at nothing. This picture makes me smile.

I can imagine this pretty confidently because she was up to the same shenanigans; running full speed, slamming on her brakes, and spooking at nothing (just chubbier) when I fell in love with her 9 years later. But that’s kind of just how Star was: all or nothing. She was either a top-speed, bucking machine or you couldn’t get her to move. I preferred my bucking bronc.

And truly, that’s pretty much how she died: going 100 miles an hour, living a happy and healthy life, bossing everyone around, and then, just like that, it was over. She didn’t suffer. She didn’t wait around. But then again, she didn’t wait around for anyone, even me.

I lost her December 26, 2019. March 17th, 2020 was to be the first time in 15 years that I didn’t celebrate her birthday with her.

You see, I know it’s Saint Patrick’s Day, and perhaps more tellingly, I’m even Irish. But March 17th is and will always be Star’s birthday to me.

Ironically, March 17th, 2020, was also the day that the world ended in Omaha due to COVID. All businesses (besides essential) were shut down, we were advised to take our office equipment home “for the time being” and the grocery store pick up lines flooded onto the highways.

In a way, it wasn’t surprising, part of my world ended when Star died… and I didn’t expect the first birthday without her to be any less “world-ending”.

But at the same time, WOW, the world as we knew it, pre-pandemic, really was changing. I had no idea it would be months before I saw my family again. I had no idea it would be months before I saw my friends and my office again. I had no idea that making doctors appointments, and eye appointments, and dental appointments, would become impossible. I had no idea we would soon be fighting for toilet paper, and nonperishable foods, and that limitations for permissible amount of Clorox Wipes purchased would be set.

I don’t think any of us saw the world changing, quite like this, and I considered myself “braced” for a world change.

I had prepared myself for the first year without Star. I knew things like her birthday would be hard. So, OCD Ashley planned. On March 17th, 2020, I made a goal to make 24 people smile (Star would have been 24). I preordered flowers for all my favorite ladies, I sent candy bouquets, I paid it forward in the coffee line, I brought my team breakfast (which no one would eat, thanks COVID). I planned for the worst, or what I thought was going to be the worst, and knew how to face it. Smiles. 24 to be exact.

I planned on collecting 24 “good for my soul” memories in 2020 to honor Star. I had trips planned, I had concert tickets purchased, girls weekends were calendared in. The whole shebang, I was not going to spend 2020 sad, because I knew that is not what Star would have wanted.

But then the world ended (basically). Concerts were called off, shows cancelled, sporting events skipped, trips postponed. I spent 3 months inside, terrified to infect anyone I love, and mostly alone. Praise the Lord for Matty and the dogs. 🥰

My experience was not unique. I worried about my granny, I worried about my family. I missed restaurants. I missed social gatherings (only kinda). I mostly missed going to the grocery store without people yelling at me for going down the aisle the wrong way.

I even watched Tiger King (which I still feel really weird about – this needs to be a discussion board topic someday)

After a while, a lack of routine started to get to me. My need to separate work and home was becoming increasingly evident. I was starting to hate all the other dog owner’s in my neighborhood for being the most active/dedicated dog walkers in America. I got bored of books, and Netflix, and DoorDash. I started to mourn the normalcy for the elderly, the kindergarteners and the seniors in high-school that I feared they were missing. I even missed random smiles from strangers on the streets, without a mask blocking the view.

Selfishly, I missed concerts and trips and restaurants. I wanted to patio drink without a mask on my face. I missed clothes shopping with dressing rooms and recognizing people when I passed by. I missed being able to see my family and friends without worrying that they were going to get infected.

This is not unique. I am not unique. We all missed those things/still miss those things, and we all still worry about these things. And we all, want the world to go back to the way it was, before March 17th 2020. (Or whatever day was the day before COVID interrupted your life).

Well.. if I could have it my way, I’d go all the way back to December 26, 2019, but that is neither here nor there. Besides, I can’t imagine what all I would have missed by avoiding the “end of the world”.

I would have lost out on experiencing the most true, humbling, and profound gratitude for those around me. I would have missed out on moments and times with friends and family that I will cherish for the rest of my life. I would have robbed of my extra long visits home, if the world hadn’t “ended.” These were the longest visits I have had at home since I moved. I would have been at bars instead of doing puzzles with my family. I would have been traveling instead of using the time to just be. I would have been busy, but not really mourning.

You see, I had every intention of living every single day as if Star wasn’t dead and the best way to do that, at the time and in my mind, was to throw myself, face first into living. But then… the world shut down.

In the last year, I have cried more times than I can count. I have wished for five more minutes an infinite amount. I have begged to not be stuck at home, to not be stuck in my thoughts, and to get out of my own memories. But I’ve come to realize… that is living. The world had to end, my world had to end (so to speak) so that I could learn how to live, and feel, and hurt again. I had to learn to be strong, to count on myself, to entertain myself, to control my mind, to control my self-talk, and to love myself.. all by myself. Star was a part of me, a huge part of me, and she was easy to love. It was a lot harder to love me, without the most me-part-of-me.

So Star, I’m sorry, but my world didn’t end December 26, 2019. It also didn’t end March 17th, 2020. Despite the world’s best efforts, I still grew, I still loved and I learned how to trust and rely on myself. I still prefer me with you and I would much, much rather be telling a story about you kicking me off and being sassy or something silly, but that’s not the purpose of this blog.

March 17, 1996, an absolute force to be reckoned with, my best friend, MY horse, Star was born and with her life, she taught me bravery, she made me both physically and mentally strong, she brought me more joy than can be quantified and some of the most precious memories of my life.

March 17, 2020, the world as we knew it, collapsed. Spirits were crushed, people were lost, morale was low, and honestly, it has been a very hard year.

But March 17, 2021, I’m here to celebrate: to fresh beginnings, to renewed hope, to personal growth, to setting boundaries, and to loving myself. On what should have been your 25th birthday, I will do nothing special, I’m not going to go out of my way to make people smile, but I can promise you, I’ll remember you, I look back at our memories together, I’ll cry into your mane a little, and I’ll miss you. But then I’ll grab myself by the bootstraps, roll around in some dirt, and take off running to a better, happier, brighter future – just like you would want. Your lessons haven’t left me, even in end of world times.

I said you didn’t wait around for anyone, even me, and that’s sort of true. But I believe now, more than ever, that your presence is always with me. I know you’re not much of a waiter, but I still have a lot of life to live, so wait for me at rainbow bridge, will ya?

Miss you Star, with all my heart. Happy birthday, baby. ❤️

PS: you really dodged a bullet Star, you would have HATED covid.

Sunny daze ahead friends (probably). 🌞

I wish I could tell you I emerged from my mother’s womb, gavel in hand, yelling “objection,” with my tiny baby briefcase clutched in my little baby fist, but that’s simply not the case. In fact, I distinctly remember telling my father (who is both an attorney and a banker) that I would never, ever, ever, in a billion years, want to do what he does – sit in an office all day long, reading documents and arguing with people over email.

This was nothing against my father. My father is easily the smartest man in the universe (at least to me) and there is no one I look up to more than him. I would absolutely love to be 1/3 the person he is. Just… not on a professional level (at least, not then).

Also, I’m pretty sure he does more than sit in an office all day long, reading documents and arguing with people over email, but that’s what I thought at the time.

And yet, here we are: Ashley B., Attorney-at-Law, esquire… okay I’m already out of fun titles and bored. Whatever – I’m a freaking attorney. So what gives?

Again, I wish I could tell you that I had a clairvoyant epiphany in college, midway through my Shakespearean studies, that justice was my calling and that all would not be right in my world until I was preserving that very justice myself. Or even that I suddenly realized that there was no better party in my generation to prosecute the guilty or defend the innocent than me. But, that also did not happen.

In reality, I sucked at med school stuff. My favorite professor (who I looked up to and respected so much (and still do)) would not recommend me for the English graduate program, and basically, there was just not a ton of careers searching for a B average student, with an unclear path, a degree in English and an emphasis in creative writing. I didn’t bother to take any business classes, because I would never do that! (This now seems like the safest, most sure-fire, route to employment- heed my advice). I “took” one accounting class, but mostly used it as an excuse to flirt with a guy I thought was cute (update: I was wrong, he was NOT cute) and those stupid balancing T-charts never evened out, ever. I even took the GRE and failed to take note that MATH would be on it, and got a whopping “not good” score there too.

Honestly, I would tell you how bad I did on the GRE but I don’t remember. I was so detached and disinterested. I can’t even remember the scoring system. I’m not even sure I’m using the right letters to identify the test. 🙄 I just remember being FLABBERGASTED that there was math on it and I hadn’t looked in a math book in years, not since the trauma that was calculus. Clearly, I set myself up for success here, haha. Note: I have no doubt it was a horrifying score.

So.. I’m set to graduate, and the future is looking… bleak. I’m looking poor, my animals are looking expensive, and I am suddenly having a real-life Come to Jesus moment with myself regarding the fact that life is about to drastically change. My parents were also having these meetings with me (and Jesus), but they were a little less “YOU ARE GOING TO BE HOMELESS. YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE TO EAT THE RABBITS FOR FOOD. YOU WILL HAVE TO SHARE YOUR HORSE’S STALL WITH HER AND USE HER BODY AS WARMTH TO GET THROUGH THE WINTER” and a little more like “Ashley, we want to see you happy, what will make you happy? Where do you see yourself in 10 years? Where do your passions lie (besides with every dog in America)?”

Potato, Pahtato. Things were bleak.

So, my dad dared me to take the LSAT and I’ve never been one to turn down a dare. Besides, it wasn’t like opportunities to demonstrate my extensive knowledge of Hamlet were lining up left and right. So i figured, what the hell? I’ll take it, I’ll fail it, and THEN I’ll be homeless.

But I didn’t fail. I actually did pretty well. Apparently I had marked that the test scorer’s could send my scores out to local law schools (which just goes to show how confident I was that I was GOING TO FAIL), and before I knew it.. law schools were calling and offering scholarships. (Not a ton, I don’t want to sound like I’m tooting my own horn here, a few law schools called and offered nominal scholarships). No one likes a horn tooter.

But like… I wasn’t busy. My master plan was still in its infancy, not even revealing itself to me (the creator). For the record, I am still unsure of the master plan. But again, I thought, what the hell? It’s not like I have a bunch of other super cool shit going on.

So I went to the meeting, apparently sold myself well, and was offered a spot in the class of 2015… orientation starting Thursday. It was Tuesday.

And just like that.. I went to law school. I figured, someone has to stand up for the pit bulls. (I went into law school thinking that I was going to practice animal law. Hint: animals don’t have rights and I’ve never cried more in a class in my life.. including chemistry).

So now, I do real estate work, title work, and I sit in my office all day long, read tons of documents and argue with people over email, just like I said I never would. Man, I lawyer the hell out everything. Kinda.

It is what it is. Is it where my passions lie? Not exactly, but my dogs are and I love being able to pay their vet bills and take them to daycare, and spoil the shit out of them. I like my work, I feel like I do important work, and I look forward to (most) of my work days, which is better than some people can say.

So.. in the end, it works. It all worked out. Now, I’m a lawyer and my dogs have a yard, I never had to use my horse for warmth and my rabbits died a natural death, and not from being consumed.

In sum, I guess we call this a win. I turned out just like my favorite guy after all. Case dismissed.

Sunny daze ahead, sweet friends. 🌞

After the catastrophe that was September 2020, and the major screw up with my medication change, I decided I needed to see a psychiatrist, or at least, a doctor that had more knowledge about mental illness and medication that affects the brain.

I wasn’t thrilled about the prospect, since I already knew; I have generalized anxiety, always have. I didn’t really care to be hyper-diagnosed, by a woman that didn’t know me OR my lifelong anxiety journey. Plus, my mom kind of freaked me out, with cautionary tales about psychiatrists just trying to push all the drugs on you, whether you need it or not.

It probably won’t surprise you that 45 minutes into our conversation, she told me that she thought I may have OCD, and I thought about punching her through the screen (I was in a BAD place people!) I was so frustrated. I don’t obsessively turn knobs 3 times, I don’t open and close the door 6 times (on purpose), my volume doesn’t have to be on an odd number or an even number. I DO check that my straightener is off like 8 times before I leave the house.. but I have determined that is a normal/healthy safety measure.

So, I was pissed. This woman, whom I was desperately reaching out to for relief, was making up more conditions for me. She wasn’t hearing me and I just needed someone to listen and CHANGE my mental state, stat.

This just goes to show how little I knew about and understood OCD. I know the stereotypes. But I had no idea that most people’s OCD doesn’t actually manifest in obsessive cleaning, loyalty to certain numbers, and unusual tics.

OCD looks like a downward spiral for me. One gigantic, twisty slide into Doomsville. It’s intrusive thoughts. It’s absolutely paralyzing fear that something bad is going to happen to me or my loved ones.

OCD looks like unanswered calls turning into a full blown panic attack that my mom is missing. It’s calling all my mom’s sisters and my dad to try to track her down. It looks like going through traffic alerts and listening to the KC scanner, to make sure I don’t recognize any cars that have been reportedly wrecked. It’s calling hospitals to make sure she’s not a patient. Seriously, it has happened.

OCD looks like endless vet visits and constantly being convinced Lucy is going to die of cancer. It’s panic attacks in the parking lot of the vet office and tears. It’s requests for unnecessary blood work and X-rays. It looks like money that my dad would argue is (wasted) but also my only solace. I can’t sleep or eat or if I think she’s unwell.

(I do blame Harley for this one, FYI)

It’s mulling over conversations when I should be sleeping. Worrying that I was misunderstood or made someone angry. It’s worrying that a lack of response via text message means I’m in trouble. It’s worrying that my communications were misconstrued or that I didn’t say what I meant.

It’s worrying when friends and family members have check ups. It’s timing how long it should take my loved ones to get somewhere when they’re traveling. It’s watching flight paths and monitoring flight conditions. It’s weather alerts, in every single state, county and city where my loved ones are located. It’s crying when the weather is bad and I don’t want my family out in it.

It’s crying every time I leave in KC, because it “may be the last time I see my parents”. It’s begging my friends to never drink and drive, because I don’t want to lose them.

It’s worrying that my truck is going to explode on the highway, but my dogs miraculously escape, only to be hit by a car on the highway. This one is new, the car explosion in my backyard did NOT help me out.

It’s freezing when I don’t know exactly what to do or how to fix something. It’s being afraid to make a mistake. It’s avoiding certain things because it’s easier not to do it, than flounder.

It’s almost uncontrollable, my mind is truly more comfortable spiraling to the worst of the worst, and convincing myself it’s going to happen, than rationalization. OCD is living in the shadows of the worst-case-scenario, begging God to protect my loved ones, and straddling the line between a complete mess and a functioning human being.

The worst part: knowing that I have been so blessed with the health and safety of my loved ones, that Lucy is healthy and well, and being absolutely terrified that God is going to punish me for not being “appreciative enough” for all he’s given me and how well he’s protected me.

I thought this was normal. I thought this is how everyone felt. I thought it was okay to be prepared for the worst-case-scenario at all times. I thought it was okay to be afraid that God will show me true loss and true pain, because I’m stuck in this state of mind.

That’s silly and it’s irrational, but OCD is silly, irrational, and just plain evil sometimes.

OCD has forced me to live in fight or flight mode, nonstop, for years at a time. It has convinced me to sit on the sidelines of my own life, to preserve my own safety. OCD has turned me into the crazy “mother-hen” to my family and friends. It has caused me so much stress, and anxiety, and heartache. I have spent hours mourning things that haven’t happened, and quite honestly, may never happen. Allowing myself to feel this way.. is just stupid, and frankly, I’m tired of it.

Bad things are going to happen, it is inevitable. But instead of sitting here, waiting for the metaphorical shit to hit the fan, frozen in place and time and not really living at all, I can choose to live. I want to live, but not like I have been.

It’s time to change the game, change the habit, and teach my brain to channel positivity. At the the end of the day, I know I am strong. I know that 99.9% of the time, the worst-case-scenario rarely happens & even if it does: I can’t stop it, all I can do is live through it, grow from it, and love as hard as I can.

I refuse to live in fear anymore, I’m robbing myself of my happiness. Mistakes happen, accidents happen, tragedy strikes, and people still survive. Living doesn’t mean living in survival mode 24/7. And I want to live! ❤️

Sunny daze ahead, sweet friends (absolutely).

After 25 years in the same house, my granny is moving. It would seem utterly unrelated to me in the slightest, EXCEPT my granny’s basement sort of became a storage unit for my home.

To distill a complicated spiral of events into a few sentences: I got into law school (unexpectedly- I know, a story for another time. I’ll get into it someday), I was in a toxic relationship, I was commuting 1.5 hours each day to and from law school, and I decided I needed to move. STAT.

So I packed up my house, my home for the four prior years, moved into my parents fully furnished basement, and happily deposited all my “home” in granny’s basement. And there it is has stayed since 2015.

I always thought I would get a house after law school, so I always thought holding onto my “home” was a good idea. Besides, any time I missed it, it was just down the street and down a flight of creepy stairs. And trust me, there were times I could have sat in that dark basement for hours, just be home.

But then, plot twist: 2017, I met Matt, who lived in Omaha, and had his own house. By the time my 2018 graduation rolled around, he had a career and a home and was settled… and I lived in my parents basement. It made more sense to leave my home and join his home. So I packed up my dog, my clothes, and a good pillow, pulled away from my childhood home, to embark on my Nebraska journey to find home.

And I’ve been in Nebraska for almost 3 years. In fact, I just established residency (despite no diamond, which I SWORE would never happen). Damn me for telling the police on myself!

So.. If you’re keeping track, I now have my home that’s stored in granny’s basement, remaining parts of home stored at my parents, and the home that Matt and I have built together over the last 2.5 years. So like, 3 homes, or at least, 3 pieces of home scattered along the Midwest. 😩

Back to present time: I have to clean out granny’s basement. I’ve been dreading it all week. Pulling out my old decorations and my old furniture, my old pictures and my old horseback riding stuff, is going to inevitably hurt. Last time I was in my Lawrence home, Harley was still alive, Star was still alive, I was two bunnies richer. I had different friendships and relationships. My 5 year trajectory looked NOTHING like my current life.

No seriously, if you told me when I moved out of the 1800, I would eventually live in Nebraska, I would have laughed in your face. But hey, life has its own plans 🤷🏻‍♀️

But the more I think about it, the more I realize home is just a concept. It’s a person, it’s a place, and it’s a thing, and sometimes it’s all three.

Home is where Matt and my dogs are. Not where my outdated decorations are or my beach-themed bathroom set is.

Home is where my parents are, not with my broken living room chair and my scratched kitchen table.

Home is with Star’s ashes (which still kills me, btw) not with every halter she’s ever worn and every hoof pick I’ve owned.

Home is spending the evening with loved ones, laughing about old memories, and cherishing all the other “homes” you’ve shared.

Home is the place where the people that you share it with are the most important part.

Home is currently dark walnut floors, covered in muddy paw prints, and an empty, but still running fish tank (because for some reason, I just can’t get the damn fish to stay alive).

Home is having drums as the background beat to my life.

Home is paws on my face, blankets hogged, and sleepy kisses from my guy.

Home changes, invariably. Time changes home, people leave home, people start a new home with new people, friends move forward, you (or in this case, I) move forward (or northern 🤣). Home is ever-evolving.

The more I’ve considered it, the less home is about an address and the more it’s about a feeling; a comfort; safety. Home can be filled with furniture and decorations, but those are merely things. The invaluable pieces of home are the memories made within the walls, the laughter that still hurts your stomach to think back on, the feeling of safety beneath your roof, and a place to grow.

Home isn’t my things. I’m not getting rid of home today, by going through granny’s basement. Rather, I’m reminiscing on an old home, a place of growth, and a place of tremendous, irreplaceable memories. That growth and those memories will never leave me, as they are not tied to things that filled that house.

Today, I’m going through my old things; some I will keep to add to my new home, and some I am ready to let go of, because they never really made home, home anyways.

Home is priceless, but not because of the things in it. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. Sunny daze ahead, sweet friends (probably).

It’s no secret that I’m a dog lover, proud dog mother, and a self-proclaimed spokesperson of all things dog related. Nearly all my clothing items have some version of “dog mom” or “can I pet your dog” or “dogs > people” ostentatiously stamped across the front of it. There is no shame in the game, folks. Don’t hate me for finding the members of society that don’t suck. I take my groupie responsibilities very seriously. Besides, talking about dogs is my pageant talent. 🤷🏻‍♀️

True story: Matt and I discuss, at least once a week, which dog of ours we would be, if we got the chance. Obviously, Lucy is the sweetest, but she’s got some joint issues. Brantley, is confident, but also yells all the time. Ultimately, we both end up choosing Zeppelyn, because she is truly the happiest being on the planet. Nothing bothers her. Her feelings are never hurt, she is never stressed, she sleeps well, wakes up well, and gets around great.

So, as always 99% of my brain was thinking about how great dogs are, and somehow, someway, I got sidetracked into thinking about how much better people would be… if they would just be more like dogs. Stick with me here. 🤣

Lucy, Brantley and Zeppelyn wake up every single day happy and ready to embrace the day. They don’t care if they have a hard day ahead of them, they aren’t dreading socialization, they aren’t even worried about what’s for breakfast. They just want to take their morning potty break, then snuggle up for a quick morning cuddle session and then enjoy a good stretch. What if we, as people, woke up, took a quick potty break, and then took a minute to cuddle up with all our favorite people and enjoy a good morning stretch?

Every single day, when Matt and I get home, all three of our beasts coming running at us, full speed, just to say hello. What if we made this a common practice? What if we ran to the people we love, and showed them how happy we are to see them, unabashedly and without excuse? For the record, I started practicing this in my own relationship, greeting Matt with excitement and a big smile/smooch, no matter what kind of day I have had. It’s a game changer for both of US.

Our dogs EXUDE joy. They don’t care if it’s an old toy to play with, or the same breakfast they’ve had the last 365 days, or a simple ear rub, they are happy. They love the mundane. Simple acts of affection, a full meal, and attention, and they’re happy. What if we woke up everyday simply happy and were able to find pleasure in the little things?

Everything is an adventure to our babes. A car ride, even to the vet, is exciting. An open window and ears flapping in the wind is pure bliss. What if we approached every car ride as an adventure, and every adventure as if it’s the first time we’ve ever taken one? I’m trying – I enjoy my drive more when I’m not in a hurry, I like the fresh air hitting my face (even if it’s cold) to wake me up. I want (and am working) to approach each day as an adventure, surrounded by my loved ones.

Do you know what my dogs do when I pull out the leash or mutter W-A-L-…? They run to the door, they sit down, wait for the leash click and then take off for the hills. Lucy has never once said: “wow mom, not with these knees” or “did you forget about my arthritis?” Or “in this weather”. (Matt said I should clarify that there’s millions of other words Lucy has never said, because she does not speak English – much to my disappointment). She, of all creatures, has every right to fight exercise, and she is thrilled for any opportunity to move that big, achy body of hers. I want to be like that. I want to approach exercise, like it is my favorite activity, like my joints don’t ache, like I didn’t have a long day. Let’s move our bodies, let’s be excited about it, let’s not make any more excuses.

Let’s be enthusiastic about the day, excited to be alive, excited to go on an adventure with our people, and delighted to feel the fresh air on our faces, the wind in our hair. Let’s enjoy belly rubs from loved ones, simple things like brushing our hair, sharing our “toys” with our favorite people, and moving our bodies around. Let’s enjoy the outdoors, no matter the weather. Let’s jump into the cold water to take a quick swim, shake it off, and sunbathe, just because we can. Let’s share kisses and eye contact, freely and fully, with our loved ones (Lucy!). Let’s yell when we need to, scream hello to our neighbors, and bite the feet of people we don’t like (Brantley!). Let’s lay in front of the fireplace, enjoy the peace, and just cuddle. Let’s snuggle up and share a nap. Let’s practice loyalty and self-confidence, let’s love our bodies, the way they are. Let’s lose track of time, forget when we’ve been wronged, and just drop the drama (Zeppelyn!) It’s easier to just cuddle it out anyways. Let’s love one another, like our dogs love us. 💕

It would be irresponsible if I just left it at that. So quickly, we should probably take a second to talk about when it is not a good idea to embrace “being the dog”:

1. Don’t shit in the wilderness (unless you’re camping I guess, but in that case, you’re beyond my help).

2. Don’t sniff your friend’s butts. Don’t sniff stranger’s butts either. In fact, just don’t sniff any butts. It’s weird. It’s not how we make friends.

3. Don’t hump any legs. We aren’t in middle school anymore. Actually, just don’t hump anything, especially in front of others.

4. Don’t sort through the trash, looking for tissues full of snot to chow down on. It’s not cute, it’s not appetizing, and I’m pretty sure it could lead to a bigger health concerns.

5. Don’t eat the shoes. I don’t care how delicious they look, how spiteful you feel, or how ugly they are, leather is not as replaceable as you think. Or the couch (Zeppelyn!)

6. Don’t chew on bones. Especially human bones. Your dentist will thank you, and it turns out, we (as a people) aren’t overly thrilled with cannibalism. Think Ted Bundy – not the most liked person in the universe.

7. Avoid eating things off the ground. Especially, ESPECIALLY, if you didn’t drop it and have no idea when it was dropped. I’m all for the 5 second rule, the 10 second rule, whatever your family abides by, but don’t, and I mean do NOT, eat random things off the floor. It’s bad practice.

8. Use a shower to clean yourself. Shower, water, soap. Maybe a nice squeegee. No one cools licks themselves clean. And by cool, I mean, no one without major hygiene issues.

There’s a lot worse things to channel in the world, than to channel being like a dog. Be happy, be cuddly, be loving, be forgiving, be kind, and smile… a lot. Sunny daze ahead, sweet friends, be like the dog. 🐶