The dog is barking. Always barking. Day, night, in my sleep, waking me up from my sleep, probably while I'm elsewhere. Bark, bark, bark.
Earlier this summer, in order to save my sanity, I decided to play a game about the bark, bark, barking dog. One bark was worth one hundred dollars. Two barks were worth three hundred dollars. Three barks were worth five. I carried a 3x5 card and a pen when I was sitting on the lawn swings and she barked. I carried it when I was in the bedroom and heard her barking. I carried it when I was in the bathroom and heard her and barking. I marked down how many hundreds of dollars would magically be deposited in my bank account.
In less than two days the amount was over $750,000. I only got credit for the barks I actually heard, mind you. If I had marked them all I'd be one of the richest women in the world. I could buy the dog her own farm with her own dog attendant and she could eat steak at every meal. She's a sweet dog, honestly she is, she just needs to be out of her pen more hours than she is. When she gets played with or walked on a consistant basis she is quiet.
So for now, I guess I might start another 3x5 card or else just go quietly insane.
Bark, bark, bark--five hundred. Bark, bark bark--a thousand. I can't type fast enough, she's up to three thousand five hundred. I'll be rich before midnight. I'll take you to lunch. We'll go shopping. It will be fun.
Bark, bark, bark. I'm beginning to twitch. That money is gong to come in handy because I'm going to need therapy--lots and lots of therapy. Bark, bark, bark.