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I Wish I Were My Dog

Friday, August 25, 2006

That is not Chet's novel next to him. He is reading Middlemarch.

Bored, bored with drawing doves, I turn to you. Do you ever wish you were your dog? I walked into the bedroom to find Chet lounging on the bed, surrounded by blooming orchids, a cool breeze blowing across his skin. This is what he does almost all day. He sleeps, he dreams, he waits for someone to walk in and caress him. Lucky Baker. I wish my daylight hours looked even a little bit like that.

When he thinks no one's looking, Baker cleans up after the kids. When he's sure he's alone, he climbs all the way up on the table and snuffles around. We eat every meal outside as weather permits. This is a wonderful way to connect with nature. These wine-rich autumnal afternoons and evenings are so delicious. The insect music alone is intoxicating. Nighthawks drift over to be counted, lazily. Ahhhh. I live for the evening, sitting out with my family. Baker and I are even on that score.

Chet Baker kisses everybody. Here's our super duper naturalist friend Jason having his facial. Jason is another person whom we heartily suspect of visiting us just to meet the dog. Am I wrong, Jason? When people come bearing three bottles of wine, a luscious pineapple, and then surreptitiously slip a very nice Booda Bone to Chet, they're just trying to conceal their hidden agenda. Jason, being much younger than we are, and of the generation that believes a computer can tell you anything, did not bother to ask directions to our place. Whoops! Mapquest put a little star on the map approximately 8 miles from where our house actually is. It also included some roads that probably have 10" DBH trees growing down the middle of them, roads that haven't been navigable since the 1960's.Poor Jason blew a beautiful evening trying to get to the star, and driving past our mailbox twice in the process. Remember, this is my blog and I can embarrass whomever I please. So far, that's the only blogging rule I've come up with. That, and Rule #2: Everybody except me has to play nice.

Upon arising the next morning, Jason was able to document the first known dog pellet on the living room rug. We agreed that it looked like an oversized owl pellet, perhaps one cast by a great gray owl. This one was comprised of a "grilled chicken" treat, wrapped in Hollofil and grass--indigestibles. Chet has been dragging Hollofil out of Tigger for months now. I knew a certain amount got ingested, and this pellet testifies that it also gets cast out. I've seen a variety of songbirds cast pellets, usually made up of seeds and indigestible beetle elytrae and such: bluebirds, robins, kingbirds, to name a few. Now I can add Boston terriers to my list of animals that cast pellets. Sorry if I'm grossing you out. Well, I'm not really that sorry.Rule # 3. I can gross you out without warning or apology.

Here's Baker kissing Sue the bus driver yesterday morning. He does this every morning: gets on the bus, kisses Sue, then kisses all the kids who crowd to the front of the bus to pet him. I envy Baker his ability to express joyous affection for others. I could kiss Sue for all she does for our kids, but it would probably embarrass her. Dogs get a pass.

Lick the table, cast large indigestibles on the rug, then walk away. Lounge amongst orchids all day. Vigorously kiss anyone you feel like kissing.
Ah, for the life of a dog.


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