I finally figured it out! The meaning of life? Um, nope. The cure for cancer? Not so much. I finally figured out why I have 17 books on my nightstand. This may not mean much to you but for me it is a revelation. It has been bothering me that much.

See that cute little puppy on your left. Yes, the little white one. Max. The puppy-love of my life. My sweet little white fluffy man. My little pumpkin head. Yes folks, it is all his fault. Now Max is a Bichon Frise which in French means curly-haired lap dog. There is a reason this breed of dog is named that because there is rarely a microsecond in the day that he is not in your face or lap. He is so needy that Dr. Phil should have a special chair reserved for him on his show. The Dog Whisperer would have a field day with him. Now really, I don't mind that one little bit except when it comes time to read.

It finally dawned on me that I play with the dog and don't have time to read. He is such an upkeep that any time there is down time he is bringing me his ball or woofie to play with, or he needs to go potty, he wants a cookie, needs a tummy rub, or a bath or brushing out. Furthermore, when I do read Max will put his head in my book or his paws on the pages and makes it impossible to read. I know that some of this is my fault but I deflect as much of that responsibility as I can.

I always wanted a Bichon. Bichons were my dream breed. Kevin dreams of owning a crapped out '68 Road Runner, but me, it was Bichons. So when I got one, I spoiled him just a very, little, tiny bit. A smidge if you will. And the books have suffered. A small price to pay for sweet puppy kisses 24/7. I can't imagine what it will be like when we get a whole herd of Bichons. I think I will never read again, and as much as I love to read, I can live with that.

~ame