Sunday, May 16, 2010

In which I am injured, body and soul

I don't know what came over my girl Miss L— last week, but suddenly she turned on me. The result: a fat lip, and a bit bloody, too. My first injury, wounding not only body but soul.

It happened this way. At a very sniffy patch in the road, its appeal puzzling to my human handler (Dad), but who humored me nonetheless, I stopped to enjoy myself. I was out walking with Dad, Miss L—, and her Mom, D—. For some reason, Miss L— became incensed. Perhaps I was not paying attention to her lovely and appealing scent? Was it a crime that I found someone else's more intriguing? It could have been a passing fancy, but she gave me no time to explain.

I couldn't see the problem. After all, we're not affianced or anything, just neighbors. It's a kind of girl-next-door thing, you know. She's cute and everything, but do I really want to be tied down, at this stage in my young life?

Whatever my perspective, Miss L— completely lost her veneer of cool, and pounced. Right in the kisser. Ouch.

Friday, May 7, 2010

Give me an inch, and I'll take...the Plop O'Doom

I've been thinking, and you know that always leads to trouble.

This morning I was walking around Lake Waban. Well, not all the way around, because partway, I heard what sounded like a shot, so I performed a perfect Plop O'Doom and pointed northward. Mom, of course, wanted to head south, along the lake and drink in the view.

Once my alarm was assuaged, I decided it would be far better to gallop over the boardwalk, fling myself over the bridge, and drink the water.

Guess who won?

My thinking is, rather than actually wait for someone to give the inch, just take the mile. After all, what would I be waiting for? I know I'm going to win anyway, so why not take what's rightfully mine?

Mom has been threatening to call Cesar Millan. I say, bring him on. He will never have met as stubborn a dog. Or as wily. Here's my plan. Cesar comes. I put on my recalcitrant show, then make him think that he's master of me. He feels good, I suffer, but only briefly. What's a bit of tarnished pride?

Then, Cesar the Great leaves, and I go back to my true, obdurate, stubborn, smart, and very handsome, self. No measurement needed.

Speaking of inches, even though Dr. S tried really hard to come up with a medical reason for why I continue to put on some poundage, it turns out I am perfectly well. The result of the weigh-in? Let's, let's not.

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Molly and me

Cantered around Lake Waban today, amid the whitecaps and the waves splatting against the Italian Garden. Correction: didn't canter all the way around, just enough to trim a few ounces in advance of my visit to Dr. Schettino tomorrow. That's right, the dreaded weigh-in.

My pal Kelly says that she thinks I've dropped a pound, maybe two! We'll see. Though I'm maniacal as usual, it's also good to just plop down in the sun every once in a while. You know, rest.

While I was plopped, my new friend Molly ran by, not once, not twice, but three times. That's quite a lot of lake circumference there, all added up and everything. Her mom, Susan, and my mom, knew each other long ago when they both had Dalmatians. Susan was always walking Missy and Prissy, and Mom took Sparky absolutely everywhere.

I was thinking: because Sparky was really a prince, and treated like one, my family must have had to make sure their next dog also had exceedingly special qualities. It's hard to be humble.

Molly and I had a playdate last week, and we gorged on fertilizer (organic, but still...). Now Mom really does have to call the rug guy.