I’ve had very little interest in my inner workings this week. I careened in a perpetual fog, coughing my way between the sofa and the bed in a complete state of disarray. I guess you can say I was sick. Bewildered, my poor dog had to accept the short pee-breaks that were once satisfyingly long walks. “We’re going to go in and out, alright buddy? Pee and poo, okay?” I was hoping that wearing more layers than what’s considered acceptable for the end of February would prevent fellow dog owners from approaching me. I thought the disheveled look would read don’t-talk-to-me, but the cuteness of my dog overcomes every effort, or lack there of, being perceived as social.