with Mir Kamin
I'm a freelance writer and mother of two working from home, which theoretically means I can set my own schedule so as to best accommodate my family. In reality, "flexible hours" often equals "working too much." Yes, I'm my own boss; no, that doesn't mean life is easy. It's hard to leave the office when you live there. But I love what I do and feel very lucky. And not just because I get paid to work in my pajamas.
To learn more about Mir, check out her profile on Work It, Mom! or visit her blog at http://www.wouldashoulda.com/
Although I enjoy hanging around with my family and friends, I am, by nature, a rather solitary person. Loneliness is a common freelancer’s lament—long days in the home office, all alone, can start to feel like a lifetime in a cave—but for the most part I relish the quiet.
But I got to thinking that a dog would be awesome, because I’m here all the time, and it would give me some companionship during the day and the kids would be delighted to have a pet again (we haven’t had a dog since they were very small), and it all seemed like such a good idea. So the husband and I did our research and drove out to a rescue in the country and agreed to foster a particularly timid dog for two weeks. In two weeks we would see if he would come out of his shell and maybe be a good fit for our family.
Within three hours of getting him home, he bolted through the slats in the gate. That was four days ago, and the good news is that the dog is fine; he’s lounging around our neighborhood and when he’s not somewhere we can see him, the neighbors are calling to report he’s in their yards eating their cat food. The bad news is that no human can get within 10 feet of him.
The rescue isn’t returning my calls, and my local Animal Control office lent us a live trap but can’t do much more than that. A couple of nights ago we actually caught him in the trap and brought him back to the house…
… where he promptly slipped out of his collar and took off again.
Go ahead. Ask me how much work I’ve gotten done since this dog came home with us.
I have work I need to do. I’m still behind from the last bit of travel I did, and I have plenty to keep me busy. But I keep looking out the window. And fielding calls from the neighbors. And checking and rechecking the two (yeah, we went and got another one) traps we’ve set for him.
And all of that is aside from the crushing guilt I feel over having bungled this. Instead of the “surprise! we got you a dog!” announcement I was looking forward to giving my kids, they’ve become embroiled in The Hunt as well, and every morning they ask me if he’s been caught. At this point, the kids understand the dog will go back to the rescue if we’re able to trap him, but they’re still worried about him. As am I. Though it certainly looks like he can take care of himself; four days of scavenging in our neighborhood and he’s swaggering around like he owns the place. As long as you don’t get near him.
I can’t keep saying, “Well, I’ll get that done once the dog is safe.” As much as it pains me, I don’t know when or if that will happen. And in the meantime, I need to get to work or I’m going to have bigger problems than a lost dog.
While I was sitting here typing this, I watched him out my office window. He managed to spring the trap and run off.
*banging my head on the desk*
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