I’m blessed. My daily commute to work is 23.4 seconds down a flight of stairs and I can do it in my pajamas. So there are several days a week I don’t have to leave my house. A stricter interpretation is that I literately don’t need to leave my house – to even step outside of my house. We have Will to check the mail and take out the trash. That’s what kids are for, right?

But I do have a dysfunctional 8 year old rescue mutt named Toby who will do a little 360 spin to tell me he wants to go for a walk. Some days I’m a crotchety old man and I’ll ignore him. Other days he’ll get just close enough to my heart to touch it and we’ll go for a walk. It really does us both good – him for reasons left unspoken.

Yeah, there’s times when it’s a pain to have a dog, especially one who can’t completely overcome his abused childhood to get 100% housebroken, but Toby does help keep the house from breaking me.

There’s value in that, for sure. You can read more about Toby here or just search at the bottom for Toby. We’ve come a long way.

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