Worst-case Planning

Instead of working on the paneling yesterday, I took our CIA-engineered puppy to an undisclosed location for his secret training, though it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see what's going on.

Maybe today I can paint the archway and finish off the project for good. The baseboards are all in, and Friday I squirted some adhesive caulk between the edge of the panels and the arched doorway so that hopefully it won't splinter to pieces when a suitcase or other missile strikes a glancing blow. Who knows what might happen?

Years ago, in a previous life, I lived alone with my dog Matt in a 100-year old house in Arkansas. My landlord was an eccentric millionaire who came to sit, dressed in overalls, in the old work shed out back, sentimental about his childhood home. He would straighten old bent nails and behave, generally, like someone who could not afford a pot to piss in.

Matt and I would go out to visit with him--at the time I was a musician with no other job. I remember he warned me never to put money in the stock market (this was about 25 years ago). I don't know, maybe he thought I was wealthy, too, since I had time to hang out with him.

Late one night the guys in the band and some aimless loser drunks from the club came over to my house. Matt was a good judge of character--he sniffed everyone more than once, no wagging tail, and looked at me with some pity as if to say Is this the best you can do?

Then a commotion erupted in kitchen. The guitar player had taken a hammer that I'd left on the counter and was banging it on the stove over and over, singing some idiotic song. Matt rushed into the kitchen with his teeth bared and the laughing stopped immediately. I took the hammer away and told everyone to leave--before Matt did something excessive.

The moral: always plan for the unexpected. I may need to put up a corner guard to protect the doorway opening. You never know what might happen.