Hey, I should blog about that.

I had no such moment of blogspiration today. Unless blogspiration is an unbelievably clever way of saying perspiration or respiration rather than inspiration. In which case... well, that didn't happen either. It was a lazy day to recharge and watch Syracuse lose another football game. I made some iced tea. Pretty exciting all the way around. I'm outside now, reflecting on the glorious nothing that today was for me. There's a lot of barking going on to the east and west. Maggie responds with a muffled harumph bark. She sits on the deck waiting for a chance to go back inside and get on the bed. There is still time for a nap before bedtime. She scratches the door. Then looks behind here, Now looks at me, wagging. A longing look in her eye. She retreats back down the stairs and sits back on the deck. Mickey pops up to me for a quick sniff of my shoulder, repeated licks on my cheek and hand, then sits close, sidled up to my left arm. An idiot cries out in the distant. The barking intensifies. Maggie keeps her muffled bark, now growls. Mickey leans in close so I can't see the screen. Another lick. Maggie's down, now up. Another look to me, a blank stare into the distance. She knows I know she wants to go inside. She sniffs and wags. Mickey walks off. Another scratch on the door and I'll let Maggie go inside. But for now, she is filling the page. Back down to the deck. Sitting and staring. Mickey scratches the ground nearby. I clap once. he comes back to me. Yawns. Sniffs, I can't see the screen. He sniffs some more. Some interesting things are in the air. His tail is up as he daintily heads out into the darkness. Maggie sits, listening. Another climb up the stairs. She looks at me. Looks inside. Sniffs the door. Inhales. I expect a small cry. Nothing yet. Mickey is out of sight. Probably camped out by the air conditioner. There's a whimper from Maggie. Back down to the deck. She sits down licks her chops twice then lets out a silent yawn. Mickey reappears from the left... somehow he outflanked me, maybe making a full walk counter-clockwise around the perimeter of the yard. He sighs as he sits on the top step next to me. Maggie lays down. She looks at me again. Crickets chirping and other animal noises fill the yard. I hear someone in the distance sutting a trash can bin repeatedly. It's quiet out here, so any sound carries. I wonder about the nights when I'm out here playing my guitar and singing to no one. I wonder who hears me. I wonder if they like it, if they mind it, or if they make no judgment at all. If it was me, I'd have to think something. I'd probably think, "I wish that guy would play some different songs." Maggie is back up in my face. She hits the door with her nose. Mickey sniffs her butt. She cries quietly. Looks at me and wags. Cries again. Wags. She wins. I open the door and she slinks inside, surely followed by a mad dash for the bed or couch. Quite possibly she's already asleep and snoring. Mickey stands next to me, his tail in my armpit. Now he sits and stares off. He tried to scratch his belly with his left rear leg, but missed completely. Paw prints are all over the stairs and deck. Mickey just ran out and grabbed his basketball. Panting, growling and squeezing. His pushing it against my leg. Time to play.