A unanimous verdict

So today I am hanging out with the East Side Gang. Dogs upstairs, dogs downstairs, dogs everywhere - that's what I'm talkin' about. Petsitting while my friends go dancing at a wedding in Talkeetna, where I suspect wedding dances are quite festive - I mean, this is a place that auctions off its bachelors.

This week I've been tired and careworn, grieving the loss of a friendship that just didn't have to be lost. I've done my internal work quickly - recoiling in pain, yes, but I never felt anything but loving and centered toward the person who's rejected me, relatively certain that I'd really done my best and with absolutely pure intention in every encounter we've had. The loss remains as does the love. Note to self: Being expendable to someone doesn't actually make you worthless. I'm guessing someone's already written a book about that.

But before I get too complacent, I decided to consult the most reliable judges of character that there are. And how often do you get the chance to convene a literal jury of them too. I asked the twelve dogs here to tell me if I'm just blowing smoke. The verdict is in and the fact is they know who I am, and they think who I am is actually kind of swell. And that was before the rawhide chewie treats, so they were not swayed by any misconduct. So I'm thinking my cred is only getting better and better as the night goes on. And they are healing me in a dozen ways.