When Princess Pops, the Weather's Gonna Break

Sunday morning, I went out for a little recovery ride in a light snowfall. The temperature was just under freezing, but I wanted to get my ride in before the day reached its forecast high of 35 degrees, and the snow turned into a cold rain.

Oh, the things that I will do to ride.

Anyhow, the snow turned to sleet, which was pelting my face as I head home into a stiff wind, and I began to wonder if the universe hated me.

We all get these thoughts from time to time. You're running late for something, and the traffic lights are all against you, and you begin to wonder if the universe hates you. Or you have a big date coming up and a huge zit sprouts in the middle of your forehead, and you post on facebook that the universe hates you.

Of course, the more I thought about it Sunday morning, the more I decided that the universe does not really hate me. To imagine that the universe cared one whit about me would be crazy, and although the jury is still out on some of my other personalities, the main one is mostly sane.

Yes, there are undoubtedly a few yahoos out there that a proper universe should have it in for, but it's not out to get you or me or (unfortunately) even them.

The universe is, however, out to get Princess.

("Arf, arf. Kill me, universe")

Princess is my dog ... well, technically, Princess is RandoGirl's dog. The RandoDaughter would argue that Princess is her dog, but we all know whose feet Princess wants to lay on every night. My feet are nefariously flesh-coated icebergs that nobody wants to get near -- much less lie on -- so she's not my dog. As this is the way that dogs claim their property (at least girl dogs -- you don't want to be claimed the property of a boy dog) RandoGirl belongs to Princess.

Of course, that won't save her, because the universe hates Princess. And the rest of us must suffer because of it.

You see, Princess grew up in Florida, so she is not comfortable with snow. As a very simple beast, she does not adapt well, and so she has not yet figured how to go outside in the snow and ... well, do what dogs have to do when they go outside. Nonetheless, Princess is a good dog and behaves indoors, which means not breaking that most cardinal rule for dogs:

Don't pee or poop on my floor.

("Arf, arf. I am constipated")

So, the universe is not really torturing us -- it's just trying to make my dog explode. When Princess pops, the universe will be satisfied, and we can all go outside and ride our bicycles again.

I'm not telling you to wish bad things for my dog, of course. That would be wrong, and very selfish of me.

But, as I said earlier, Princess is not my dog.