It's cold and windy out this morning. It is winter in Canada after all, so it's to be expected. At least it's bright and sunny and it's February. That makes me a little happier. Spring will inevitably come this way. I went out to have a cigarette on the front porch. I normally smoke inside, but the nurses were coming and I didn't think it fair to give them cancer.
I found it somewhat difficult managing a coffee in one hand with Chewie on his leash in same hand, my crutch tucked under the opposite arm, my bag of antibiotics around my neck, another bag containing the vacuum over my shoulder, tubing twisted and hanging out of my pants and the arm of my shirt and a cigarette hanging out of my mouth. Of course, right away, Chewie starts to chase something I can not see as my coffee spills all over the cold snowy porch, hitting my slippers on the way down. I stood there not daring to move. Falling is not an option. Why do I smoke? I have no idea, especially under these circumstances. I am a little proud of myself however, as I have learned to manage carrying many contraptions on and around my body and still say sane. Relatively sane that is.
I quickly puffed away, only half finishing my cigarette before I decided to come back in. It's not that I didn't want to finish the cigarette, because I did, but Chewie was dancing around trying to get indoors. He had finished peeing on the garbage pail. His job was done and he wanted nothing to do with the cold wind. Plus, I was afraid he'd get tangled in the tubing, already starting to freeze up and get brittle at this point. I didn't want him to pull them out of my body. I didn't want to fall, perhaps landing on top of him. That wouldn't be a nice site to see. He's also afraid of my crutch. Perhaps it is because, on occasion, he has been in it's path and I have stumbled over him causing, an already anxious poodle, to be, well, even more hyper.
I must have looked like a total idiot on the porch this morning.
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