Buffer

Although I never for a minute take K’s presence in my life for granted, it is on the intermittent occasions when she spends significant amounts of time away from the Farm, as in overnight trips to nether-regions of the state, when I realize there are specific functions K performs that I may take for granted.

Not the obvious ones, like cleaning up dog regurgitation.

No, things like providing a buffer between me and her precious Azure. So I do not clobber Azure with my bare hands when she insists on jumping up to investigate the contents of the kitchen counter, toaster over, stove top, or sink.

When she uses the bed I am using for repose as a trampoline/springboard combination for a 1 a.m. routine.

When she plunks down for an intense toy destruction session right where I am headed with the vacuum.

When she insists on barking because I won’t let her into the goat pasture, because other cars dare use the road we live on, because someone has a bone she wants to sample, or just because her existence needs affirming. When she dumps over the dog toy box for the exclusive sport of stringing its entire contents across the living room, which inevitably results in me stepping on things like nylabones, partially consumed cow hooves, or soggy, eviscerated fleecy toys.

When she constantly “bumps” my arm as I am trying to use the computer or put a loaded spoon in my mouth.

Hopefully, our buffer will be home soon. At least before the ground thaws.