The slow descent into the life of a hermit had encroached at such a lazy pace that even Peter hadn’t realised it was happening. Although he had always kept to a routine, that routine had continued to simplify, until it was so simple that Peter didn’t even have to leave the Asylum.
Not too long ago the routine had seen him sleeping at the cabin. He’d go to the animal shelter first and deal with the end of the day business, and get all the animals settled in. And then he would go to the Asylum where he would ensconce himself in his room there; the accounting business could be dealt with online, as could the journal. The book binding and restoration was also done at the Asylum. Before sunrise, he would always return to the cabin where he would feed all the dogs and get them settled before going to sleep himself.
Without Jersey at the cabin, however, it became less and less desirous to go. He had to, of course, to take care of his dogs. All five of them. Of course the cat and Bear had gone with Jersey. They were hers, in the end. She would always have access to the cabin if she wanted it; but if she chose to visit it now she would find it empty and locked up.
See, each night, slowly, Peter had brought another dog home. Until all five of them kept him company at the Asylum, which now acted as his home. He could do his banking there, and it was far easier to get his Styrofoam cup of blood there than it was to get it delivered to the cabin. Peter mainly kicked around in pyjama pants and a plain t-shirt. His hair was always immaculately brushed and his feet always socked, but otherwise he felt no need to get dressed. He plenty of pairs of pyjamas and they all got regularly washed. He hadn’t become that much of a sloth. But life had become much, much simpler.
The sun had set and Peter woke up to a furry blur of dogs around him. They were all well trained, and they knew they had to wait for him to wake up before they could go out and pee. Only after they had done their business would they be fed. Peter always dealt cared for the dogs before he cared for himself, these days. They were his first priority. As soon as he opened the door of his room, the dogs all rushed out in a tumbleweed of claws and fur and panting tongues. One Doberman, two Jack Russells, a Border Collie and a Huskie—all very well groomed, and all very happy. Though all very much oblivious to anyone or anything that might stand in their way. Peter followed along behind them at a slower pace—numb, in a way. But at least he wasn’t anxious.
Not too long ago the routine had seen him sleeping at the cabin. He’d go to the animal shelter first and deal with the end of the day business, and get all the animals settled in. And then he would go to the Asylum where he would ensconce himself in his room there; the accounting business could be dealt with online, as could the journal. The book binding and restoration was also done at the Asylum. Before sunrise, he would always return to the cabin where he would feed all the dogs and get them settled before going to sleep himself.
Without Jersey at the cabin, however, it became less and less desirous to go. He had to, of course, to take care of his dogs. All five of them. Of course the cat and Bear had gone with Jersey. They were hers, in the end. She would always have access to the cabin if she wanted it; but if she chose to visit it now she would find it empty and locked up.
See, each night, slowly, Peter had brought another dog home. Until all five of them kept him company at the Asylum, which now acted as his home. He could do his banking there, and it was far easier to get his Styrofoam cup of blood there than it was to get it delivered to the cabin. Peter mainly kicked around in pyjama pants and a plain t-shirt. His hair was always immaculately brushed and his feet always socked, but otherwise he felt no need to get dressed. He plenty of pairs of pyjamas and they all got regularly washed. He hadn’t become that much of a sloth. But life had become much, much simpler.
The sun had set and Peter woke up to a furry blur of dogs around him. They were all well trained, and they knew they had to wait for him to wake up before they could go out and pee. Only after they had done their business would they be fed. Peter always dealt cared for the dogs before he cared for himself, these days. They were his first priority. As soon as he opened the door of his room, the dogs all rushed out in a tumbleweed of claws and fur and panting tongues. One Doberman, two Jack Russells, a Border Collie and a Huskie—all very well groomed, and all very happy. Though all very much oblivious to anyone or anything that might stand in their way. Peter followed along behind them at a slower pace—numb, in a way. But at least he wasn’t anxious.
