It was a pretty big day for Lois. On her morning walk with Mike to the place we call the Magical Toy Forest, she found an exciting new toy. Now, Lois find toys there all the time, hence the clever name. But today she found a particularly thrilling deflated white rubber soccer ball, and the two have been inseparable ever since.
Seriously. She wouldn’t put it down, so Mike let her carry it home. The two of them got so dirty playing together (Ball and Lois, not Lois and Mike) that she had to stay in the backyard for the next two hours – where they played together the whole time. Then Mike and I took her for a 45 minute walk. She brought Ball along, carrying him the whole way. Finally, I decided if she wasn’t going to put the disgusting thing down after four hours, I was just going to have to give the both of them a bath.
Now, they’re both clean, happily playing together.
Lois doesn’t do things halfway. I like that about her. Actually, I’m a little jealous of her. Sometimes I get an idea that I’m really excited about, that I’m really attached to, and simply because it’s so intense and overwhelming and if I give it an inch it will take up the next four hours of my life, I put it right down. I decide I’ll come back to it later. Why not, right? It’ll still be there.
It’s never as exciting though, to come back to super amazing idea later and break it into little, manageable chunks. I want to give myself permission to glom on to inspiration the way Lois glommed on to Ball. I want to refuse to put it down, even if it’s time to go home or time for a walk or time for a bath.
Sometimes being an adult human with a job makes that more difficult than it is for a 2-year-old dog whose main job is doing cute things her owners can put on the internet. But I’d like to think it’s possible.