Work Hard, Play Hard

Mercenary Creativist. I think that's my official title.

I had to do some freelancey work today. Last night, I called about 40 people to collect email addresses for my hairdresser's email mailing list (she's opening a new salon and I'm becoming her marketing/events diva). I only connected with about 10 of them, but I left a bunch of messages and then designed a marketing email for her. I had to finish it up and plug in all the email addresses this morning. I was working from the bedroom upstairs because one whole wall is a window and until about 5pm, it's the warmest room in the house. But Gotham was incredibly bored while I was working and alternated between napping, staring out the window, carrying various toys around the bedroom and crawling under the bed and whining for about 4 hours. I took him out a few times, all the while promising him a grand adventure as soon as I finished.

I didn't finish quickly enough though and even though I swore I wouldn't until he was older, I ended up pulling him up on the bed with me. It was the only way I could get some peace. He promptly went to sleep at my feet. Stinker.

Anyway, I finished around 1:15 and as soon as I could get my shoes on, we were out the door. It's a beautiful day here. Still kind cold (46ish) but the sun's out and there's not a cloud in the sky. We walked several blocks and wove through different neighborhoods before running into the gate of Frenchtown Dog Park, which is just 2 blocks from our house. Gotham is just barely old enough to be admitted (4 months), and annual dues are $40 (which we don't have to spend on him right now). So we're standing at the numberpadlocked gate, surveying the scene, and an older lady with three dogs asks if we want to come in and try it out! They were the only ones there and she was sweet enough to let us in to play with her terrier Chloe (who thought she was a person), her chow mix, Lucky and her Rott/Aussie Shepherd, Jack (who tried to force himself upon every male dog upon arrival, except Gotham. That's right. He must've sensed that I would've kicked him in his happy little nutsack if he tried to hump my baby.)

Anyway, we weren't there for 10 minutes before another guy showed up with his German Shepherd mix and his Pit mix (Eli and Peyton, respectively) and another older gent came in with his 10 month old Boxer boy, Moses, who was huge. I can't believe how big Gotham's going to get.

Anyway, he had a blast. Mostly with Eli & Moses, even though they were considerably bigger and stronger. By the time we left, he was panting and exhausted and happy and homeless-looking. I mean, COVERED in dirt and hay and LOVING it.

So I walked my little mongrel home and stuck him straight in the tub. He smells like chamomile and flowers now, and he's out cold behind me on the couch. It's been a good day. :)