Je déteste que

they took Bruno on a short notice.

they ignored the issues between the dogs.

Bruno got attacked and injured.

they didn’t get him looked after properly after the incident.

they didn’t let us visit him.

they have completely ghosted on us about Bruno’s condition.

they never cared to share the reason for cutting us off.

I’ll never get to see Bruno again.

.

.

.

I can’t walk on some of my favourite routes because they were Bruno’s favourite walk routes, and my heart aches with thoughts of him at every turn.

Anxiety

Woke up with a low brooding feeling of dread. I’m not sure what it is that I’m dreading. It could be Bruno’s injury, or parents’ health, or something at work, or Tories further changing the country permanently, or Modi further changing the country permanently, or something entirely different.

It’s hard to manage this anxiety when I’m not even sure what’s causing it.

All in a day’s work

Morning—Work.
2 horas of work, 2 commits, one publish. An hour off. 2 hours of work, including responding to half a dozen emails.

Break.
Walk the dogs. Lunch. Watch an episode of Star Trek Discovery.

Afternoon—Fix the tap.
Clean the working area under the sink. Wiggle into the tiny space under the sink and remove the old kitchen tap. Boys try to join me under the sink, and lick me to ensure I’m fine. Find two right sized pieces of wood from the pile under the shed (thank you previous owners). Spend another 5 minutes trying to get both the dogs out from under the shed, and into the house. Saw them (the wood pieces, not the dogs) into correct size and shape. Measure, mark, drill holes for the piping into the wood pieces. Fit the piping and the tap on top of the kitchen board. Realise the hole is too small for the top, thick part of piping. Disassemble everything, drill a smaller secondary hole. Reassemble everything. Wiggle back under the sink and fit everything together. Connect the water pipes. The little dog has dozed off with my right leg as his pillow. After a few minutes of fruitless cajoling, replace my leg with my rolled-up hoodie for his pillow. Get up and test everything is working. Wiggle back under the sink and tighten all the connections. Clean all the tools and the removed tap. The little one is still sleeping on my hoodie next to the sink. Open the fridge. Both the dogs are awake and ready for something, anything, from in there.

All this while cooking the little one’s meal (boiled chicken and rice) for next 24 hours.

Late afternoon—work.
The big one is sleeping behind me on the carpet. The little one is sleeping across us on the bed. I’m trying to work. Good luck to me!