Old Age is Like a Hangover

Okay, I suppose I'm not that old yet, but I am fast approaching the age mentioned in a certain old Beatles song.

I first worked at anything other than babysitting or selling in my parents' stores when I was fifteen.

I was hired to clean kennels and walk and feed dogs for our local veterinarian. I stayed with the job for a goodly number of years, well up into my twenties.

Those years involved certain behaviors in which I would not indulge today, and indeed have not indulged for decades 'n' decades.

Said activities made Saturday and Sunday mornings spent kneeling on the floor, head in a kennel, cleaning up papers decorated with the results of whatever the occupant did over night, problematic to say the least.

Our patients were sick and scared. Or if they were boarders, very unhappy at not being home with their folks.

They reacted accordingly. The papers were daunting. Weekend mornings were painful.

This morning, straight-laced and sober sided, I picked Mack's papers up off the floor in the kitchen. Though my only indulgence last night was a good dinner and a good night's sleep, I was catapulted back to the days in the dog ward. Headache, yes, queasy, well, not that at least, aching all over? Yup.

 I didn't even have fun getting that way. Oh, well, puppies is worth it....

And I do have a very professional paper piling technique left over from all those kennels...didn't spill a drop.

Or a plop.