We don’t appreciate
comfort
until the air conditioner
condenser breaks when it’s
40 degrees* out
because dog pee
corroded the evaporator coil.
The steaming
house is broken
and dogs get more expensive
every day.
.
.
*(that’s 104 if you speak Fahrenheit).
.
(good thing we love them, eh?)
Your breath
on this hot day
softly
panting
beside me
is so putrid
I can’t explain
why I adore
you.
.
But
I
do.
.
.
.
(dog love)
Little brown
Dusty dog
shadow at my
feet
Your blind eyes no
longer help you pick a ball out of the air
leaping four times your height
cookies tossed at your mouth
now bounce off your nose.
Your sore hips
aren’t stable enough
for you to beg
or dance
or roll over
any more.
But still you follow
whenever I leave the room
attached to my ankle
just to be beside me,
my little brown
love
shadow.
.
.
.
When this little brown poodle pup came to live with us, his name was MacBeth. As a family we debated whether to call him Dusty (after the Dusty Strings harps, since he’d be the only Dusty I could afford) or Shadow. He became Dusty, but he was always Shadow.
The dog has been slurping in the toilet
He saunters down the hall,
water dripping from his muzzle,
stops beside me, gazing adoringly,
and kisses my arm with long wet strokes.
As he flops to clean his privates,
I go off in search of soap.
Your brown eyes
watch me with an intensity
of adoration that makes my heart glow.
Whenever I come home,
you greet me at the door,
quivering in delight.
You follow me throughout the house
set your head across my knees,
gaze longingly into my eyes.
I scratch your ears and you sigh,
with a satisfaction that trembles
up your spine.
“Such a good boy,” I say,
and your tail thumps
in lazy agreement.
.
The dog
comes inside,
his belly
mewling like he’s swallowed
a litter of kittens
and their yowling mama.
Is it indigestion,
or did that temptress on the fence
finally fall
into his waiting jowls?
Your toe nails
echo in the hall like
a cavalcade of snare drums.
Thundering timpanic tribulation
of tip tapping echoing through my brain,
draining me of peace.
Your toe nails
four times four feet times two
(two square roots of feet)
Are a private percussion section
depriving me of sleep.
.
.
.
I need to trim the dogs’ toe nails.
Arg.
Hot water tap turned with a toe,
A fairy tale is unfolding
In my brain, page by page.
Dusty Dog is curled into a ball
Hubby snoring through the wall
A suspicious rustling
heard down the hall.
“OJ? Are you getting into trouble?” I call
to my incorrigible canine,
plainly awoken from his nap on the couch.
He clicks nearer, ’til he’s
outside the bathroom door.
“Were you getting into something?” I ask softly.
Slow feet start to move away.
“You need to stay out of trouble. Go to your bed, OJ.”
I say in a firm whisper.
Click click
Two steps toward the living room.
“OJ.”
Pause.
“OJ. That’s the wrong way.
Go to bed.” Spoken so silently that
sleeping husband will not hear.
Oh, so, slowly OJ turns
And strolls, almost like it was his idea,
Into his room.
I hear him jump onto his bedroom futon.
Good bad dog.
I turn the page in my book,
and add more hot water with my toes.
Dusty sleeps the blessed sleep of the innocent
on his own bed towel, dreaming dog dreams.
Later, warmly water logged,
I investigate the disaster,
Dusty at my feet.
My purse on a chair, formerly zippered closed
Has been opened and disembowelled.
I pull out the camera to photograph
The scene of the crime.
OJ wanders down the hall,
hopeful.
He meets my eyes.
“OJ. This is bad.” I tell him, shaking my head.
“Very bad.”
He looks at the floor.
“You need to be back in your room before I get angry with you.”
He soulfully studies me, sighs
then takes the circle route,
through the kitchen,
Back to his room.
Such a bad, good dog.
.
.
That black/gold cloth bag is an organizer. Each compartment is usually full of something- pens, makeup, business cards, shopping bags, keys, flashlight, notebook, etc. so things can be transferred easily between purses. The bag was a mess, the organizer as you see.
If you click on the Category POODLES >>> on the right>>> you can read more of OJ’s adventures. He is an incorrigible counter surfer, and food scrounger. He opens packages (he loves ziplock bags, even if there is nothing edible in them). He likes to investigate my purse, whenever I am foolish enough to leave it within his reach. After I yelled at him for eating through linings (on my brand new, expensive bag!) he has not once eaten through another lining, but carefully manipulates the zippers, sometimes a series of zippers, and occasionally buckles in order to explore. I have no idea how. Poodles are considered the second most intelligent dogs (second only to Border collies), and it’s because of their phenomenal problem solving abilities. OJ plays dumb and lazy much of the time, but he has some amazing skills. (I call these “bad talents” and there is a blog series about them.)
Do you have an incorrigible canine character at your house?
.
Dusty Dog and the oh so innocent looking incorrigible OJ:
Dusty and OJ
I ran into this video a few years ago, and every once in awhile I look it up again, just to see if it’s as absurd as I remember. There’s something profoundly strange and disturbing about this, particularly since those back-up poodle exercisers look just like my OJ.
.
Shawn L. Bird 