This is the face of a harlot. A wonton hussy. This is Newt.
I'm really in a bad place today. I'm in this place where I'm questioning what the hell I'm doing, second guessing myself in every possible way, but mainly about mushing.
Mushing has been a dream I've wanted to fulfill for nearly 10 years, and suddenly, starting when I was in the U.P. a couple weeks ago, I started wondering if I've got what it takes, what I'm doing spending $400 on a pallet of dog food and who all these crazy beasts are jumping around in my yard. Our neighbor's dog jumped the fence, and I woke to him barking in our yard at 5:30 this morning. Newt is in heat; he could smell Newt's phermones, apparently. He jumped the fence about five times today. He woke Elise up, and as I tried to get her back to sleep at 5:30, I thought to myself: what the hell am I doing? I scoop poop before I feed my family every day after work, and my parents think I've gone nuts. Sometimes I think I've gone nuts. I can't even start thinking about how much money I spend on these animals every month. Vaccinations, food, medications, supplements. The damned dogs eat better than we do!