So I’ve been pet-sitting these chickens. I’m not so sure about chickens. There are flies everywhere, and poop. The dog eats the poop and probably the flies. Then he tracks the poop in the house and I have to follow him around with a rag. But the dog, I love the dog. I always love the dog and I never want to leave the dog. It’s a problem. Once I wrote a story about a woman who steals a cat from a cat show and maybe it was a premonition. Since I care for pets professionally, I should take this time to reassure “you” that I am only joking.
Anyway, there were supposed to be five chickens. I counted five along with my client. But wouldn’t you know there are actually six. Six chickens. I wonder, will my client come home tomorrow and think I stole her a new chicken? And, because I’m me, I also wonder if I’ll lose my job and get arrested and then get evicted as a result of my heinous crime. I didn’t do it, I swear!
I have this strange urge to “blog” but I don’t know that anyone reads these things. I don’t care about SEO and blogger-speak. I can’t even read other peoples’ blogs because it’s all so dry and heartless. I feel so old-man-yells-at-cloud about the Internet sometimes.
Here are my Google searches from the past few days:
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