-- Saturday, March 4, 2000 --

3:31 a.m. Sometimes it's a dog's life. Sometimes all you want to do is to crawl into a nice tight ball on the sofa and let someone tuck you in. Fluff up your pillow. Stroke your speckled brow.

Some days you chase butterflies and some days butterflies chase you.

We had a bit more rain today, and I had the unenviable task of trying to switch gears from weekend slack to Photoshop torque. I managed, with plenty of headache to spare. I've really got to stretch out on the couch more often -- and I've got to get a nice crocheted throw while I'm at it.

I wish I could have a good spaghetti dinner every night. I wish I could spend more time with cute little girls in green leprechaun costumes and sweet little boys in red striped shirts. I wish I could make tiramisu like Beth. I wish my strawberries from Ralph's had more flavor.

Sometimes I wish I had a really nice doggie. I have begun to spend a lot of time at the doggie cam, feeling a kinship with the mutt of the day and his chewed-up tennis ball and all those messy papers, all spread out.

I like sausages and wieners and pizza bones. I like chewy treats and dislike having my snout thwapped. Often I feel misunderstood -- some people think I'm a coward, when what I actually am -- is cautious.

Sometimes it rains and I don't feel like going out. Sometimes I don't come when called or bark when threatened. Sometimes I get too tired to care if my hair is shiny or if my bark is worse than my bite. Ah! The bone weariness of it all.

We had deep, rich espresso tonight, with thin shiny slivers of lemon peel picked fresh from the neighbor's tree. We have a videotape of this week's Soprano's! We have one more day of the weekend.

Sometimes it's a dog's life. And sometimes life is good.