I forget how utterly miserable the two weeks before Christmas break are EVERY, SINGLE, FREAKING year. I forget this is when we send off alllll of the people pages (about 100 or so) and we make sure all the other pages from first semester are gone, and we are returning all of the proofs. It's a lot of work. And this year, it turns out English may not be the mother tongue of half the staff. Really, that is the only explanation that makes sense. They don't understand the comma. (My dad is snorting at this point because, yes, I had problems with the comma into my twenties.) They also don't know the difference between men and man. And spellcheck. That is totally and completely a foreign concept to them. So, yesterday when I started saying I HAD to go to take care of the dogs, one of the editors-in-chief hopped up and said she would take care of it.
"Are you sure? My dogs are crazy."
"Yes, I can do it. You must stay here and keep grading."
"Sigh. Ok"
When she got back, she did warn me of what I would see when I arrived after 7:30 after being in the yearbook room all dang day . . . Notice Sabrina trying to look innocent. From this angle it doesn't look tooooo bad. . .
But then I got closer. That (blue thing in the middle of the feathers) used to be a very big, full, feather pillow sitting on my couch.
The white material used to be the lining. . .I think.
And, yes, I feel confident that I know who the culprit is. . . the joyful dog playing in the feathers. That dog. Notice the bag in the background. That is the first bag of feathers. There is a second. And it took ALL evening to clean up.
The fact that they aren't dead is a miracle. Cause death was close.
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