Cinderella and the Itchy Pug

Now that Pearl has decamped our house for a life of fancy treats and pool parties, it's time to read the new room. In just a few days, we went from a household of dogs that seemed to run on energy drinks to one that looks like a cannabis bistro.
As I write this, Sophie and Viggo are both lallygagging under the kitchen table, opening an eye now and then when I get up to stir the soup. Occasionally, Viggo, the 90-pound lab, tries to hump Sophie the pint sized pug, who reacts by lunging at him like a disturbed rattlesnake. He takes it all in stride, and lopes over to the table and falls from a great height in sleep mode.
The first day after Pearl left for the Logans, I was heartbroken. I hadn't felt that sad in a long time. Rehoming a dog, especially one as special as Pearl, is not a decision one takes lightly. I felt like my heart had been blenderized and  was sinking into my toes.
It's been nine months since the fighting between our nine-year-old pug and Pearl, the two-year-old Aussie, turned our house upside down, and required sequestering of both dogs for periods of the day.
We were always on edge, always on high alert in case a door was opened accidentally and a Gladiator-style fight ensued. We'd managed, so far, to keep the peace. But when Rick's dog died, we knew we'd found a home for Pearl, who has been renamed Luna since Rick's Czech wife Jarmila was unable to pronounced the "P".
I now know we made the right decision. Pearl was always a princess and demanded that kind of treatment and she simply didn't get it here bookended as she was between an old pug and a young chocolate lab. When Rick called to say that Pearl/Luna was out with mama and going to a pool party, my mood changed and I felt good again. Pearl had realized her little dream. Within minutes of her arrival, she had morphed from Ella the floor cleaner into Cinderella attending the ball in a pumpkin carriage.
This week, I turned my attention to Sophie who has been scratching herself silly with allergies. I had a conference call with our vet and he recommended some very pricey pills and lotions that I started to give her two days ago. Miraculously, the regime is working and she is finally sleeping through the night instead of leaping, bolt up right, and mashing the hell out of her ears, and shimmying like Chubbie Checkers.

Sitting quietly with my own thoughts last night, I realized that sometimes I use the dogs as an excuse to shut myself off from the world. I've been pretty depressed for about a year since I lost my job, and the pandemic didn't help. The dogs always gave me the right amount of distraction that allowed me to get out of my head. Now that I've had time to think, I'm trying to put together a plan so that I don't just fester and die in my chair in the grips of video games and CNN.
On July 2nd, I'll turn 64 which is, in my view, a shitty birthday. You're not quite an elder, not quite just "middle aged". Having watched several very good friends leave this world not much older than me, I know I have no time to lose. If I'm going to do anything with my life, I better get started.
On Monday, I got new glasses which is always an indication that I'm getting ready to go back to work. And today, I'm visiting a spa just for the heck of it. On Friday, I'm meeting a friend I made on Twitter for patio drinks with a side of gossip.
Funnily enough, the universe must have noticed that I was forging a new path, and setting positive intentions for myself. I got hot leads on a couple of good jobs -- the first in a whole year.
I'm excited for the future for the first time in a while.
While the dogs are sleeping, maybe it's time to get this party started.