Django's being good. Scary good. Other than dragging his food bowl into the den, where, presumably, he could lick it shiny clean at his leisure in carpeted comfort, he's done nothing horrible in days. In fact, he's discovered how to play fetch. Sort of. He's got the chase the ball thing down, but he only has the give the ball back to be thrown again thing intermittently. Usually late at night when I'm in bed, at which point he'll bring me the lovely, drenched tennis ball hopefully.
Other than that, I'm working, being efficient at work (scary, I know) and I saw my therapist this morning and he made me think all kind of deep thoughts which I think I've kind of forgotten. These 9 am therapy appointments are kind of a problem, because I have to hit the absolute magic point of caffeine at 9 am. Too little, and I might as well be still be dreaming; too much and frankly, I'm too damn wired to get anything done, to quote a cartoon I saw long ago.
Now I have to go and drink beer with S and Mojo the puppy. Bye!
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