...Would Help Me Get Over My
Obsessive-Compulsive Tendencies.
Not!

Okay, I admit it. I'm obsessive-compulsive. I check to make sure doors I know are locked are still locked. Like there's a gremlin hiding out in my house whose sole duty is to unlock the doors after I've locked them. I get halfway to work, wonder if I turned off the coffeepot and head back home only to remember it's the kind that turns itself off. But I go home anyway just to make sure. Same with the iron. And my calculator. And don't forget the garage door. Although it doesn't close on its own, I panic, thinking I forgot to shut it. And somebody might break into the house and carry my computer away. With my beloved manuscripts, most of which have sat idle on the hard drive for years. Like they're gonna want those! Anyway, when I get home, the door is always shut. But I check to make sure someone can't manually raise it. Then I go inside just to make sure the coffeepot, iron — well, you get it.

I can't imagine the amount of fuel I've wasted going home just to "make sure".

Wooden floors drive me nuts. If there's a smudge in the shine, out come the damp mop and a soft towel. Flecks on mirrors will be disposed of promptly. Do not leave the cap off the toothpaste or silverware/dinnerware lying around the counter space. Dirty dishes in the sink? Not in my house. Pictures must hang evenly, rugs in a straight line, knickknacks and books aligned just so. I vacuum floors every day and sofa cushions every other day. Bathrooms are scrubbed three times a week. (That last one shows I can be helped, right?) Once a week, I do what my daughter and her friends ironically call "spring cleaning". I wish.

Then we got a dog which has now grown to three more and becomes four when my daughter, Meghann, breaks up with her boyfriend. Which seems to happen every other week. I figured dogs would be a sure-fire cure for OCD. They track in dirt and mud, shed fur all over the place, drool water from the water bowl, smudge penis snot and real snot on floors, doors and walls, carry fleas and ticks in, chew up shoes and plastics, shred paper, steal food off the counter, and generally make an OCD day hell.

Our Weimaraner is a stay-in-the-house dog. He doesn’t shed too much and his worst vice is trailing water from the water bowl. I keep him occupied by giving him his favorite toy, a three-foot stuffed grizzly bear. He spends hours humping that bear. Poor thing. But when it's hot, I let our other two dogs in the house. Well, also when it's cold outside or raining or thundering and lightning. Okay, I admit it, they're probably in the house 90% of the time. Maybe one month out of the year they are actually outside. One is a black lab who sheds worse than a cat and the other is an Australian Blue Heeler, who is a really good dog, except he likes to beat up on our Weimaraner. Imagine a dog 1/4th the size of a very large dog, snarling and snapping and the large dog crying like a baby. I break them up and the Weimaraner goes back for more. Go figure.

So, basically, that's my life - breaking up dog fights, cleaning, and hiding the three-foot grizzly when my Weimaraner's eyes roll back in his head. No wonder I never finish a manuscript.

At night, the dogs sleep in our mud room. Confined to one space, they can't cause too much work for me, right? Nope. Every morning, there are smudges on the French doors, so I get out the window cleaner and clean glass. There's also dog fur and dirt and who knows what else on the floor and their dog pillows. So I vacuum and mop the space to get all that crap up. Of course, once the vacuum's out, I go ahead and vacuum the other floors. And since the damp mop is out, mop the wooden floors. And there's always a window or mirror or glass door that needs a touch up.

I give up!

During the day, dog prints mysteriously appear on that danged wooden floor. I do not know how in the world they do that! So I'm constantly trying to get those smudged prints up and, if not, I'm worrying about it.

I am so sick.

But one good thing: our Weimaraner chewed up the fringe on an Oriental rug, leaving a gap. That rug drove me nuts; I was always lining up the fringe just right. But what relief. After he created the gap, out came the scissors and I cut off all the fringe. Now I don't have to worry about it. So, one less thing to deal with. Which probably took up one minute of my time each day. But, hey, it's a start.