Brandon and I have friends coming to visit this week, so our Sunday was mostly about deep-cleaning our house. It had been kind of an embarrassingly long time since we had really cleaned, so I cracked a bottle of zinfandel to help get us through the process.
I actually like cleaning most of the time - I find it cathartic, and I'm generally just more at peace in an orderly space. Brandon does not share this opinion. Left to his own devices, Brandon is apt to live most of his life in the bedroom, eating dinner in bed while playing video games and letting dirty dishes pile up everywhere. (I can't really give you more details because I start to visibly twitch when I think about it for too long.)
After restoring our house to a state of order and lemon-scented bliss, we took Maisy out into the yard to play fetch. Our neighbor came out with her dog, Sampson - a labradoodle who is Maisy's best friend in the entire world - and our quick trip outside stretched into a few hours spent drinking wine and enjoying the evening light and the spring weather.
We so majorly lucked out with our apartment. We have the entire ground floor of an old rambling house - think pocket doors and fireplaces - which sits next to another identical house across a small alley. We're right next to downtown, which means tons of fun stuff is walkable (including my office), but most of all we lucked out with our neighbors. They're friendly and fantastic and willing to enjoy a cocktail with us out on the patio while not judging my birthday tiara. I hope we spend a hundred more nights like this during the spring and summer.
In between running around with Sampson, Maisy partook in one of her top-five favorite activities: HUNTING STICKS. Once she's found one, forget it. You may as well not exist.
You'd be like, "Hey Maisy, my leg is on fire." And she'd be like...
You're like, "Hey Maisy, there's a faultline right here and the ground is about to swallow you." And she's like...
There is a real chance that she will never love us as much as she loves sticks on the ground. Also, if the zombie apocalypse is a real thing, I hope Maisy isn't chewing a stick when they come for my brains.