Dog is my copilot

I'm still adjusting to this whole “not working” thing — I spent my first two full days off tackling several ambitious home projects, and my third at a Mariners day game (a tight, crafty 16-K pitching duel between Moyer and Kazmir, with the only run of the game scored on a balk by Moyer, who presumably sawed off his offending foot immediately after the game).

Today, Day 4, I'm settling in at my brand-new writing desk (the assembly of which consumed the entirety of Day 2) and cracking my knuckles concerto-style for a day of actual writing.

One character in my life whose support of my unemployment plan has been steadily on the rise is Linus. At first, he seemed mildly perplexed by my strange new “work” hours, but now he seems completely sold on the idea. He still naps most of the day, of course, but if I disappear into the kitchen for more than 20 seconds, he ambles in half-asleep to see what's shakin'. He also knows there will be a walk in the afternoon — I don't even have to say the magic words anymore. He can tell by the way I stand up and stretch that it's time to assemble the away team.

But the best part is his fascination with my new desk — whenever I'm sitting at it. He repeatedly tries to crawl up into my lap, so he can see what it is I'm staring at so intently. And once up, he just sits patiently and watches me type. Doesn't insist on attention or even get in the way, except for occasionally blocking my view. He just wants to participate, to be in on the deal, and to help out if he can.

What I really need is a second chair next to mine — a Chewbacca seat on my right, so that my new wingman can observe in comfort and dignity, and maybe solicit an occasional scratch behind the ears. Or yawn pointedly whenever I write about something of no interest to anyone but myself.

Sort of like this.