Dog Day Afternoon

Take a second.

Look at her.

Ask yourself:

Self,

What in the world would prevent you from bringing that face home?

Only my desire to eat it just to obtain its power.

That's our potential dog. Someone I'll take anywhere from two seconds to three months to name. Like the time it took me twenty nine days to come up with the name of my favorite cat. We brought him home. He slept. Mom wanted to call him Snoozy. I balked. He had white paws. The name Mittens was kicked around till it rolled near my feet and I kicked it out the door. I told everyone to leave it alone. He'd reveal who he was in due time. This particular feline had an affinity for waking out of a sound sleep and dashing off into any given direction. Zoom? Mom asked, frustrated but aware of how stubborn I can be. One day he snapped to, bolted toward the kitchen, and forgot his claws were no match for linoleum. Headfirst into the cabinet his name was finally revealed: Dizzy.

Of course there were surnames: Dizzy Machismo (Diz Machiz for short), Dizzle, Cutesie Wootsie Dizzy Whizzie. The list went on.

I've always wanted a dog but now, in the face of the most stability I've ever known, I cower in the face of a decsion with long lasting ramifications. It's like Rachel says, "You always do this whenever you're faced with something big to decide." She's right.

I am neurotic to the point to paralyzation. Too many what-ifs to consider. Most notably: What if I fail? What if I ever look at that adorable little face and consider it a nuisance? There's never a good enough time or a good enough place.

I have a tattoo. A wolf howling. I got it because it was always a dream of Mom's and mine to see wolves in their natural habitiat. Mom wrote in her diary that she regretted never doing it before cancer took her. I got the tattoo to remind me that life is too short to wait. To date I've seen that nature show with all the wolves but not my dream. Time is ticking.

Maybe I should get a dog.