drip, drip, drip

We live in an old house with what is politely known as personality. The long list of things that need simple repairs is low priority when something else is dripping, sparking or overflowing. Except for the occasional lightning strike destroying the a/c or a hail storm destroying the roof and siding, repairs are limited to the balance in our savings account. I constantly hope for a moment of home repair calm to allow progress on the master list of repairs.

After an entire week without anything odd, like water dripping from a ceiling fixture, I began to mentally plan for a weekend of home improvement instead of home disaster intervention. I went to load the washing machine housed under the staircase and carefully tried to avoid yet another concussion caused by failing to duck my head at the washer. As I measured the soap, I felt moisture on my head. I hadn’t whacked my head so it couldn’t be blood like last time. I reached up to touch my head and another drip splashed on my hand. I sighed, mentally ditched my plans for the weekend and cautiously looked up to survey the leak.

A smiling dog looked down at me from the opening in the stair rails where she was leaning to watch me load the washing machine.

A fresh splash of dog slobber landed in my eye.

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