{"id":60552,"date":"2021-04-28T01:00:00","date_gmt":"2021-04-28T06:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.success.com\/?p=60552"},"modified":"2024-09-28T13:34:42","modified_gmt":"2024-09-28T18:34:42","slug":"how-i-avoid-loneliness-while-working-alone","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.success.com\/how-i-avoid-loneliness-while-working-alone\/","title":{"rendered":"How I Avoid Loneliness While Working Alone"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Edie\u2019s nose is small and dark, and looks like it belongs to Teddy Ruxpin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her snout was once a similar shade of charcoal, but swards of white fur have sprouted up around the edges of her mouth. I can\u2019t tell you when this occurred. One day it registered that my once entirely black dog had a muzzle that appeared to have been dipped in a bowl of marshmallow fluff. I imagine this is how it must happen for people whose hair goes gray seemingly overnight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Most mornings, I am greeted by this nose as I sprawl in bed, stretching my arms above my head and drifting in and out of consciousness between the intermittent jangle of the snoozed alarm on my phone. I feel it against my forehead or cheek, accompanied by the gentle tickle of whiskers and rapid succession of snuffles. Occasionally, when my tiny dog is deep in dreamland, curled in a doughnut-shaped mound on the pillow next to mine, the role is reversed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

On these mornings, it\u2019s my nose\u2013and if I\u2019m past-due for a laser hair removal appointment, whiskers\u2013prodding her awake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Usually by the time she and I hop down from the mattress to stretch our legs, Lola, my older, less agile mutt, is climbing out of her dog bed, which is positioned on the floor next to the human bed. She greets the day by exposing her pointy teeth with a giant yawn and arching her back in her best attempt at the yoga pose named after her species.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She, like Edie, is small. They\u2019re both roughly 11 pounds. She, unlike Edie, is covered in fiery red fur, with the exception of her chest and three of her four paws, which appear to have been dunked in the same bowl of Jet-Puffed cr\u00e8me as her sister\u2019s snout.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

I slip my feet into a pair of sandals. I fasten the dogs to their leashes. We head outside to the communal patch of grass designated for canines that live in our complex to use as a kind of exclusive washroom. The area is conveniently located two, maybe three, steps from my sliding glass door. I stand there in whatever garment I slept in the night before, grasping the leash handles while the dogs sniff around. After a few minutes of probing the turf with their noses for the perfect spot to relieve themselves, they get down to business.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We go back inside. I serve them kibble on separate plates positioned far enough apart so no territorial snarling transpires. Sometimes I scramble some eggs for them. I feed myself whatever human food is on hand. After we\u2019ve finished eating breakfast, I clip the dogs to their leashes once more and take them back to the patch of grass to do it all over again. We come back inside. I start my day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The transition into working alone was sudden.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Since becoming a full-time freelancer last year, this morning routine has turned into a sort of pillar from which the rest of my day is constructed. It\u2019s similar to the one I had when I was going into an office, minus the breakfast part. I could never wake up early enough to enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee and piece of toast and still make it to my desk by 9:30 a.m. But the act of crawling out of bed and following the same steps from the leashes to the dog food placement hasn\u2019t changed. My days are no longer peppered with meetings, and my email inbox is no longer threatening to bury me alive, but there\u2019s still work to be done. And getting started in a familiar way has been helpful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I guess I\u2019d always assumed that one of the perks of being self-employed is that you get to work from cool places. The pool at my complex has been closed since I moved in last summer due to the pandemic. And the neighborhood coffee shops are currently limited to outdoor seating, so these are not options. The more I think about it, though, the more I wonder whether people actually get anything done at caf\u00e9s or next to shimmering bodies of water. Kind of seems like an elaborate form of procrastination. Like, are you actually being productive? Or just tricking yourself into thinking you\u2019re working when in fact you\u2019re consuming one-too-many overpriced caffeinated beverages or eavesdropping on a conversation between two recent college grads slathering each other with suntan lotion while you scroll Twitter with a Word document open in the background?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Working alone is bearable. Enjoyable, even. And most of the time, having dogs around makes it even better.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Maybe there are people who can work this way. I presume I am not one of them. But I perform like a victor from my bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Some people have the means to create an at-home office more regal than the corner space in a Manhattan skyscraper. But most of us are left to rely on our imaginations in order to make the situation convincing. I have three offices in my small studio apartment in downtown Palm Springs: A round white table next to the sliding glass door with an excellent view of the dog lavatory; a built-in-desk-like-nook-thing facing a wall near my kitchen counter that feels like being in time-out; and my bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My bed is where I tend to be the most productive. Countless studies have been conducted on how we should absolutely, positively, never, ever, work from our beds. It\u2019s bad for our posture, it decreases sleep quality. It blurs the lines between \u201cwork time\u201d and \u201crelaxing time.\u201d Alas, here I am, typing atop my comforter. Whereas some people order designer task chairs for their home offices, I\u2019ve ordered pillows. Lots and lots of pillows. This way, I can be comfortably propped up at my imaginary desk without hunching over my computer like a shrimp on the rim of a martini glass. Also, my fluffy, four-legged colleagues have taken a liking to using the padded mounds for their personal napping requirements. HR should be pleased with how content everybody is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The transition into working alone was sudden. Like so many others, I was confined to my home due to the pandemic. And then, during that time, I was laid off. I took my years of experience and tossed them around for a while before deciding to try out life as a full-time freelancer writer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Had you told me a year ago that I\u2019d be working on my own, without colleagues or a boss, I might have shot you an uneasy glance. I enjoy being around people on most days. Routine chit-chat in an office kitchen doesn\u2019t bother me. Nor does the occasional happy hour with colleagues. I figure if you\u2019re going to spend more time with these people than you do with your friends or family, you might as well become familiar with their hobbies and favorite restaurants. But to my surprise, working alone hasn\u2019t been lonely. There are a handful of editors who I regularly report to, so that\u2019s kind of like having a boss. I\u2019m challenged by what I do, so I\u2019m never bored. Also, I enjoy my own company. Sometime over the past year, I\u2019ve grown to love myself in a way I never have before. That\u2019s a tangent I don\u2019t have enough room to get into on these pages. Point being, working alone is bearable. Enjoyable, even. And most of the time, having dogs around makes it even better.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The companionship my dogs have provided over the years far surpasses what I imagined to be possible when I first welcomed them into my world. They\u2019ve been a constant as life has done what life has always done throughout documented history: the unexpected. There have been moves. Health scares. A divorce. This Godawful pandemic. A job loss due to it. And now, a career shift. But through all of this, my dogs\u2019 love has been unwavering. Maybe it\u2019s because I feed them. But I like to think it runs deeper than that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lola came to me when I first started putting it out into the universe that I wanted a dog. And by this, I mean I got online and started looking for one. I knew I wanted a small breed. And that I wanted a rescue. Everything else was up in the air. A friend who was working at a veterinary clinic at the time told me that a tiny, red puppy had been dropped off at the facility and she needed a home. According to my friend, a maintenance man who worked at the clinic had come across her while he was driving on the highway. She was running alongside the shoulder of the road. Allegedly, he parked his pickup truck sideways to block traffic in order to scoop her up. (This sounds very dangerous and I\u2019m glad nobody was squashed.) I guess he wanted to bring her home, but his wife objected because that they already had five or six dogs. So he dropped her off at the vet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I loved Lola instantly. She was fast as a bullet train when she was a puppy and when worked up enough, could jump three feet off the ground. She\u2019s since mellowed in her autumn years. She\u2019s a smart dog. She took to potty training almost immediately. But she\u2019s wily. She has a penchant for sneaking food off surfaces she shouldn\u2019t be able to reach. Once, while staying at a friend\u2019s cabin, I walked downstairs to find her scurrying across the dining room table. And in her first few months with me, there was an incident involving a slice of pizza that was so brutal that 12 years later, I still use the command \u201cNot your pizza!\u201d to let her know when to back off from my plate. Our main arguments occur over food. I say arguments because she\u2019s stubborn and has no problem testing her boundaries. I have to be firm with her. We typically go back and forth until she convinces me that it would be in both of our best interests if I gave her a nibble of whatever I\u2019m eating. She\u2019s extremely persuasive. It adds to her charm. Pizza thievery aside, she\u2019s a very good dog. A gentle dog. A dog that would sit in my lap for the rest of eternity if I let her. She loves to be loved, and I adore her for that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Edie came into the picture a few years after Lola. I found her on a website for rescue Pomeranians. She didn\u2019t look like a Pomeranian in her photo, though. She looked like a fruit bat who had been born with its wings attached to its head instead of the part of the body where a bat\u2019s wings are supposed to go. I\u2019d never seen a pair of ears so disproportionately huge in comparison to the rest of a puppy\u2019s body. My heart nearly shot out of my thoracic cavity when the woman who was fostering her introduced us. The woman placed her on a couch next to me; she was so tiny but with these ears that could signal Martians. Any time one of the other foster dogs got too close, she trembled and growled like a terrified satellite dish. I signed the paperwork, wrapped her in a blanket and carried her out of there pressed tightly against my chest like a mother bringing her baby home from the maternity ward. I named her Edith after the three greats: Bouvier Beale, Piaf and Sedgwick. She goes by Edie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I love these dogs, but don\u2019t get me wrong. Not all days with them are perfect. My patience is frequently tried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There are times when the convenience of being close to the pooch potty is overshadowed by the chaos it attracts. I enjoy working with my blinds open. If I\u2019m seated at my round white table, and I look out my window, and then past the patch of grass, and then beyond the parking lot filled with Volkswagen Golfs and Mazda sedans, I can see the San Jacinto Mountains. They\u2019re striking and I enjoy gazing at them. The trouble with working this way is that canine neighbors, on their way to do their business, are in clear view. I haven\u2019t trained my dogs not to bark at other dogs. We\u2019ve been working on it but with limited success. Sometimes, if I\u2019m lucky, they\u2019re curled up taking a nap on one of my many pillows when the neighbors pass with their own dogs. But other times, they\u2019re standing ready like the Queen\u2019s Guard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just last week, I was in the throes of coming up with the right adjective to describe a falafel when my concentration was decimated by Edie, who was dragging her rear across my Persian rug. And then there was the gingerbread man incident. My sister recently sent my dogs a plush toy in the shape of the holiday cookie. It\u2019s one of those toys that appears totally innocent, but when chomped down on, produces a sound so piercing it could wake the dead. This soon became a favorite plaything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One afternoon, not long after settling into my new work environment, my train of thought was eradicated by the gingerbread man\u2019s death shriek.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

So I removed the toy from Edie\u2019s mouth and placed him on the kitchen counter. Not two minutes after being reunited with my focus, I was yanked away by a Bark! Bark! Bark!<\/em> My dog was standing in the kitchen, staring at the counter where the toy lay. So I picked him up and tossed him in the bathroom and shut the door. Out of my dog\u2019s sight, out of my dog\u2019s mind, right?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wrong. Within seconds, there was a Scratch! Scratch! Scratch!<\/em> at the door. It became clear she was not going to let this go. She would not stop until his festive round body was back in her possession. So I scooped up the toy from the bathroom floor, took him into the kitchen, grabbed a steak knife from a drawer, placed him on a cutting board, and in the middle of his belly, beneath a red candy-shaped felt button, I Stabbed! Stabbed! Stabbed!<\/em> Each pierce of the blade sent a penetrating screech into the atmosphere. My dog sat at my feet, thrilled by the commotion, her tail flipping enthusiastically. Once he squeaked his last squeak, I handed the gingerbread man back to her. She pranced victoriously around the room with the toy clenched between her jaws. Now when she bites down on his abdomen, he makes a kind of muffled clicking sound. She\u2019s fine with it. And so am I because it means that I can get back to clicking on my keyboard without interruption. At least for a while. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

After the workday is finished, and I\u2019m no longer using my bed as an office, but instead for the purpose it was originally intended, my dogs and I curl up together and prepare to do it all over again. Nighttime stillness is broken up by the soft wheeze of pup snores and the jangle of collars as my tiny family members reposition themselves to get comfortable. It\u2019s never fully silent in my apartment. But that\u2019s work-life balance these days. It\u2019s noisy and imperfect. I doze off effortlessly knowing that morning brings a new day of doing what I love.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This article originally appeared in the May\/June 2021 issue of SUCCESS magazine.<\/em>
Photo courtesy of \u00a9 Catherine Downes<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Our writer finds that building
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I can\u2019t tell you when this occurred. One day it registered that my once entirely black dog had a muzzle that appeared to have been dipped in a bowl of marshmallow fluff. I imagine this is how it must happen for people whose hair goes gray seemingly overnight.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>Most mornings, I am greeted by this nose as I sprawl in bed, stretching my arms above my head and drifting in and out of consciousness between the intermittent jangle of the snoozed alarm on my phone. I feel it against my forehead or cheek, accompanied by the gentle tickle of whiskers and rapid succession of snuffles. Occasionally, when my tiny dog is deep in dreamland, curled in a doughnut-shaped mound on the pillow next to mine, the role is reversed.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:image {\"align\":\"left\",\"id\":60551,\"width\":300,\"height\":300,\"sizeSlug\":\"large\",\"linkDestination\":\"none\"} -->\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\"><figure class=\"alignleft size-large is-resized\"><img src=\"https:\/\/www.success.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/04\/Doggie.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-60551\" width=\"300\" height=\"300\"\/><\/figure><\/div>\n<!-- \/wp:image -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>On these mornings, it\u2019s my nose\u2013and if I\u2019m past-due for a laser hair removal appointment, whiskers\u2013prodding her awake.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>Usually by the time she and I hop down from the mattress to stretch our legs, Lola, my older, less agile mutt, is climbing out of her dog bed, which is positioned on the floor next to the human bed. She greets the day by exposing her pointy teeth with a giant yawn and arching her back in her best attempt at the yoga pose named after her species.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>She, like Edie, is small. They\u2019re both roughly 11 pounds. She, unlike Edie, is covered in fiery red fur, with the exception of her chest and three of her four paws, which appear to have been dunked in the same bowl of Jet-Puffed cr\u00e8me as her sister\u2019s snout.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:image {\"align\":\"right\",\"id\":60549,\"sizeSlug\":\"large\",\"linkDestination\":\"none\"} -->\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\"><figure class=\"alignright size-large\"><img src=\"https:\/\/www.success.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/04\/Dog2.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-60549\"\/><\/figure><\/div>\n<!-- \/wp:image -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>I slip my feet into a pair of sandals. I fasten the dogs to their leashes. We head outside to the communal patch of grass designated for canines that live in our complex to use as a kind of exclusive washroom. The area is conveniently located two, maybe three, steps from my sliding glass door. I stand there in whatever garment I slept in the night before, grasping the leash handles while the dogs sniff around. After a few minutes of probing the turf with their noses for the perfect spot to relieve themselves, they get down to business.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>We go back inside. I serve them kibble on separate plates positioned far enough apart so no territorial snarling transpires. Sometimes I scramble some eggs for them. I feed myself whatever human food is on hand. After we\u2019ve finished eating breakfast, I clip the dogs to their leashes once more and take them back to the patch of grass to do it all over again. We come back inside. I start my day.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:quote {\"className\":\"is-style-large\"} -->\n<blockquote class=\"wp-block-quote is-style-large\"><p>The transition into working alone was sudden.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<!-- \/wp:quote -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>Since becoming a full-time freelancer last year, this morning routine has turned into a sort of pillar from which the rest of my day is constructed. It\u2019s similar to the one I had when I was going into an office, minus the breakfast part. I could never wake up early enough to enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee and piece of toast and still make it to my desk by 9:30 a.m. But the act of crawling out of bed and following the same steps from the leashes to the dog food placement hasn\u2019t changed. My days are no longer peppered with meetings, and my email inbox is no longer threatening to bury me alive, but there\u2019s still work to be done. And getting started in a familiar way has been helpful.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>I guess I\u2019d always assumed that one of the perks of being self-employed is that you get to work from cool places. The pool at my complex has been closed since I moved in last summer due to the pandemic. And the neighborhood coffee shops are currently limited to outdoor seating, so these are not options. The more I think about it, though, the more I wonder whether people actually get anything done at caf\u00e9s or next to shimmering bodies of water. Kind of seems like an elaborate form of procrastination. Like, are you actually being productive? Or just tricking yourself into thinking you\u2019re working when in fact you\u2019re consuming one-too-many overpriced caffeinated beverages or eavesdropping on a conversation between two recent college grads slathering each other with suntan lotion while you scroll Twitter with a Word document open in the background?<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:quote {\"className\":\"is-style-large\"} -->\n<blockquote class=\"wp-block-quote is-style-large\"><p>Working alone is bearable. Enjoyable, even. And most of the time, having dogs around makes it even better.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<!-- \/wp:quote -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>Maybe there are people who can work this way. I presume I am not one of them. But I perform like a victor from my bed.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>Some people have the means to create an at-home office more regal than the corner space in a Manhattan skyscraper. But most of us are left to rely on our imaginations in order to make the situation convincing. I have three offices in my small studio apartment in downtown Palm Springs: A round white table next to the sliding glass door with an excellent view of the dog lavatory; a built-in-desk-like-nook-thing facing a wall near my kitchen counter that feels like being in time-out; and my bed.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>My bed is where I tend to be the most productive. Countless studies have been conducted on how we should absolutely, positively, never, ever, work from our beds. It\u2019s bad for our posture, it decreases sleep quality. It blurs the lines between \u201cwork time\u201d and \u201crelaxing time.\u201d Alas, here I am, typing atop my comforter. Whereas some people order designer task chairs for their home offices, I\u2019ve ordered pillows. Lots and lots of pillows. This way, I can be comfortably propped up at my imaginary desk without hunching over my computer like a shrimp on the rim of a martini glass. Also, my fluffy, four-legged colleagues have taken a liking to using the padded mounds for their personal napping requirements. HR should be pleased with how content everybody is.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>The transition into working alone was sudden. Like so many others, I was confined to my home due to the pandemic. And then, during that time, I was laid off. I took my years of experience and tossed them around for a while before deciding to try out life as a full-time freelancer writer.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>Had you told me a year ago that I\u2019d be working on my own, without colleagues or a boss, I might have shot you an uneasy glance. I enjoy being around people on most days. Routine chit-chat in an office kitchen doesn\u2019t bother me. Nor does the occasional happy hour with colleagues. I figure if you\u2019re going to spend more time with these people than you do with your friends or family, you might as well become familiar with their hobbies and favorite restaurants. But to my surprise, working alone hasn\u2019t been lonely. There are a handful of editors who I regularly report to, so that\u2019s kind of like having a boss. I\u2019m challenged by what I do, so I\u2019m never bored. Also, I enjoy my own company. Sometime over the past year, I\u2019ve grown to love myself in a way I never have before. That\u2019s a tangent I don\u2019t have enough room to get into on these pages. Point being, working alone is bearable. Enjoyable, even. And most of the time, having dogs around makes it even better.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>The companionship my dogs have provided over the years far surpasses what I imagined to be possible when I first welcomed them into my world. They\u2019ve been a constant as life has done what life has always done throughout documented history: the unexpected. There have been moves. Health scares. A divorce. This Godawful pandemic. A job loss due to it. And now, a career shift. But through all of this, my dogs\u2019 love has been unwavering. Maybe it\u2019s because I feed them. But I like to think it runs deeper than that.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>Lola came to me when I first started putting it out into the universe that I wanted a dog. And by this, I mean I got online and started looking for one. I knew I wanted a small breed. And that I wanted a rescue. Everything else was up in the air. A friend who was working at a veterinary clinic at the time told me that a tiny, red puppy had been dropped off at the facility and she needed a home. According to my friend, a maintenance man who worked at the clinic had come across her while he was driving on the highway. She was running alongside the shoulder of the road. Allegedly, he parked his pickup truck sideways to block traffic in order to scoop her up. (This sounds very dangerous and I\u2019m glad nobody was squashed.) I guess he wanted to bring her home, but his wife objected because that they already had five or six dogs. So he dropped her off at the vet.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>I loved Lola instantly. She was fast as a bullet train when she was a puppy and when worked up enough, could jump three feet off the ground. She\u2019s since mellowed in her autumn years. She\u2019s a smart dog. She took to potty training almost immediately. But she\u2019s wily. She has a penchant for sneaking food off surfaces she shouldn\u2019t be able to reach. Once, while staying at a friend\u2019s cabin, I walked downstairs to find her scurrying across the dining room table. And in her first few months with me, there was an incident involving a slice of pizza that was so brutal that 12 years later, I still use the command \u201cNot your pizza!\u201d to let her know when to back off from my plate. Our main arguments occur over food. I say arguments because she\u2019s stubborn and has no problem testing her boundaries. I have to be firm with her. We typically go back and forth until she convinces me that it would be in both of our best interests if I gave her a nibble of whatever I\u2019m eating. She\u2019s extremely persuasive. It adds to her charm. Pizza thievery aside, she\u2019s a very good dog. A gentle dog. A dog that would sit in my lap for the rest of eternity if I let her. She loves to be loved, and I adore her for that.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>Edie came into the picture a few years after Lola. I found her on a website for rescue Pomeranians. She didn\u2019t look like a Pomeranian in her photo, though. She looked like a fruit bat who had been born with its wings attached to its head instead of the part of the body where a bat\u2019s wings are supposed to go. I\u2019d never seen a pair of ears so disproportionately huge in comparison to the rest of a puppy\u2019s body. My heart nearly shot out of my thoracic cavity when the woman who was fostering her introduced us. The woman placed her on a couch next to me; she was so tiny but with these ears that could signal Martians. Any time one of the other foster dogs got too close, she trembled and growled like a terrified satellite dish. I signed the paperwork, wrapped her in a blanket and carried her out of there pressed tightly against my chest like a mother bringing her baby home from the maternity ward. I named her Edith after the three greats: Bouvier Beale, Piaf and Sedgwick. She goes by Edie.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>I love these dogs, but don\u2019t get me wrong. Not all days with them are perfect. My patience is frequently tried.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>There are times when the convenience of being close to the pooch potty is overshadowed by the chaos it attracts. I enjoy working with my blinds open. If I\u2019m seated at my round white table, and I look out my window, and then past the patch of grass, and then beyond the parking lot filled with Volkswagen Golfs and Mazda sedans, I can see the San Jacinto Mountains. They\u2019re striking and I enjoy gazing at them. The trouble with working this way is that canine neighbors, on their way to do their business, are in clear view. I haven\u2019t trained my dogs not to bark at other dogs. We\u2019ve been working on it but with limited success. Sometimes, if I\u2019m lucky, they\u2019re curled up taking a nap on one of my many pillows when the neighbors pass with their own dogs. But other times, they\u2019re standing ready like the Queen\u2019s Guard.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>Just last week, I was in the throes of coming up with the right adjective to describe a falafel when my concentration was decimated by Edie, who was dragging her rear across my Persian rug. And then there was the gingerbread man incident. My sister recently sent my dogs a plush toy in the shape of the holiday cookie. It\u2019s one of those toys that appears totally innocent, but when chomped down on, produces a sound so piercing it could wake the dead. This soon became a favorite plaything.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>One afternoon, not long after settling into my new work environment, my train of thought was eradicated by the gingerbread man\u2019s death shriek.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p><em>Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!<\/em><\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>So I removed the toy from Edie\u2019s mouth and placed him on the kitchen counter. Not two minutes after being reunited with my focus, I was yanked away by a <em>Bark! Bark! Bark!<\/em> My dog was standing in the kitchen, staring at the counter where the toy lay. So I picked him up and tossed him in the bathroom and shut the door. Out of my dog\u2019s sight, out of my dog\u2019s mind, right?<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>Wrong. Within seconds, there was a <em>Scratch! Scratch! Scratch!<\/em> at the door. It became clear she was not going to let this go. She would not stop until his festive round body was back in her possession. So I scooped up the toy from the bathroom floor, took him into the kitchen, grabbed a steak knife from a drawer, placed him on a cutting board, and in the middle of his belly, beneath a red candy-shaped felt button, I <em>Stabbed! Stabbed! Stabbed!<\/em> Each pierce of the blade sent a penetrating screech into the atmosphere. My dog sat at my feet, thrilled by the commotion, her tail flipping enthusiastically. Once he squeaked his last squeak, I handed the gingerbread man back to her. She pranced victoriously around the room with the toy clenched between her jaws. Now when she bites down on his abdomen, he makes a kind of muffled clicking sound. She\u2019s fine with it. And so am I because it means that I can get back to clicking on my keyboard without interruption. At least for a while. <\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p>After the workday is finished, and I\u2019m no longer using my bed as an office, but instead for the purpose it was originally intended, my dogs and I curl up together and prepare to do it all over again. Nighttime stillness is broken up by the soft wheeze of pup snores and the jangle of collars as my tiny family members reposition themselves to get comfortable. It\u2019s never fully silent in my apartment. But that\u2019s work-life balance these days. It\u2019s noisy and imperfect. I doze off effortlessly knowing that morning brings a new day of doing what I love.<\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p><\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->\n\n<!-- wp:paragraph -->\n<p><em>This article originally appeared in the May\/June 2021 issue of SUCCESS magazine.<\/em><br><em>Photo courtesy of \u00a9 Catherine Downes<\/em><\/p>\n<!-- \/wp:paragraph -->","tag_names":[],"post_attachment_urls":["https:\/\/www.success.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/04\/Doggie.jpg","https:\/\/www.success.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/04\/Dog2.jpg"],"author_email":"catherine-downes@mailinator.com","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.success.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/60552","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.success.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.success.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.success.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/32224"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.success.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=60552"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.success.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/60552\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.success.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/60550"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.success.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=60552"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.success.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=60552"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.success.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=60552"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}