attack of the killer dachshunds - sort of

Yesterday, the blond and I went to the dogpark.  He's a seasoned citizen in the dog community (approaching fifteen years, thank you very much) and has never been much of an alpha.  He lived with an alpha for years and thought he could emerge into the role as alpha when he had his own day in the sun ... it never really worked for him.

Blondie is very much the live and let live type - don't sniff my rump and I won't sniff yours.  It usually works for him and it usually works for me.  Noses, not a problem.  A strange human's hand? No big deal.  The true identity of who/what the other guy is?  Pass - unless he knows the other dog at least a little.

Apparently Tuesday afternoon is/was unofficial dachshund day.  There was a pack of them (no less than five to the same owner and three singles).  Taken one on one, Blondie would have been just fine - sniffed a couple of noses and been about his business watering the bushes.  Unfortunately, the herd mentality took over and they ALL wanted to sniff every inch of him.  It reminded me of Jonathan Swift - the 'giant' golden retriever being subdued by several dogs that were half a dog tall and a dog and a half long ...

In the end, lover boy decided to sit on his dignity since hiding wasn't an option.  Five long minutes of sitting and whining produced peace and a strong hint it was time to leave.

The moral to the story?  There really isn't one other than the Golden Years aren't necessarily easy, not even for a dog.

I never thought I was spoiled. Really.

At one point, I did a 'short' story about a guy who made resolutions each year on his birthday ... one year it was to brush his teeth every day (even if he had to buy a new toothbrush when he remembered he hadn't done it in the morning), later he gave up swearing and just used letters to indicate his frustration.  The next thing he was going to resolve was 'self  honesty'.

I'm lousy at self honesty.  A lot of us probably are.

What's my point?

I'm incredibly spoiled and I don't want to admit it out loud to anyone - ever.

When my computer died, I didn't throw a fit.  I didn't try to abscond with Santa's computer. I figured I'd get the old one out of mothballs and go forth and conquer. Eventually.

I had no recollection of just exactly how much I'd gotten used to the newer technology.  I had  no inkling of exactly how many photographs I'd stored there.  I forgot just how slow the old processor is/was.

Late last night, I decided to take matters into my own hands and re-install the old one.  (It took so long because a desktop takes so much more room than the lap top did/does - at least that's my story.)

For all of my kvetching (spelling) and moaning about the 'new' operating system, I've come to like it.  For all of my kicking and snarling about the newer version of Office, parts of it are really handy. 

So spoiled?  Yes.  Thankful - probably not as much as I should be, but I'm working on it.

Really.