First week in new place, not first week sober, to clarify. I’m actually 6 short weeks away from having ONE YEAR SOBER. Which is amazing. Time has truly flown. I’ve had few urges to break sobriety but one happened a few days ago. I had seen two bottles of red in the kitchen pantry. My mind did the you’ve been so good, you deserve a drink bullshit with a side of it’s been such a tumultuous day, come on, what would it hurt? Ha! the bottles were empty-just hanging out waiting for recycling. Damn good thing too, as I’m about 60% certain I would have opened one and taken at least a few sweet sips. I’m grateful it wasn’t a choice I could make.
I love the new place-cannot overstate this. The people are awesome, it’s tranquil AF and there are absolutely no tourists clogging the wide, empty, brick paved streets. My new neighbors are around for comments and commiseration, gossip and local tips. The water is like glass in the morning with a private 24/7 nature show continuously running. Hailey’s behavior clearly belies she’s not a service dog despite records on file, and still she’s been accepted into the fold, though she’s struggling mightily sharing the space with resident cats.
We were returning from a walk. Amazon had delivered a large package so I let Hailey in the door, propped it open and grabbed the box. As I was setting it down I heard growls and howls from the bedroom. I figured Hailey had caught her leash on something and was tangled. No. A cat had snuck in and they were nose to nose, hair on both backs raised sky high. I’m not sure who made the first move, but in moments, blood was flying. I secured the dog, punctures under both eyes, on jaw and shredded ear, in the bathroom. The cat (15yrs old named ‘Ol Dirty Bastard) was calmly sitting under the bed, completely unscathed. Now, whenever Hailey sees him, she looks at him like Ivan Drago looked at Apollo in Rocky IV; like she won’t rest until she has revenge.