One of the problems I think with limiting yourself to calling it a mid-life crisis is no one can define how long they’ll actually live. So, with that in mind, if we start freaking out and acting oddly at 60, does that mean we’ll live to a ripe old age of 120?
I find myself debating again on the question, “Am I a dog person, or a cat person?”
My father proclaimed to be a dog person, and my mother is a cat person.
I have cats, but want a dog. This time, I think I’ve learned a lesson or two – I”m trying to pick a breed that’s a little less aggressive toward cats – Collies.
Never in my life have I ever thought about Collies – I always imagined myself will a Bull Terrier, or a German Shepherd or possibly a Scottish Terrier (since there seems to be something about them with our family). Never a Collie.
I’ve talked with one of my dog trainer friends and her first comment was “What? Collies are crazy!” and my other friend who was nearby said, “Yeah, those dogs are nuts!”. A lot of evidence proves otherwise, I’m just not sure if involving myself with a herding dog is the wisest move right now.
I’ve been sick for the last week or so, it may be the roving plague, but it also prompted me to go onto a drinking hiatus.
I had a shot of some King Cake Vodka for Fat Tuesday but other than that my liver has been spared.
