Sunday, June 6, 2010

Women who vacuum too much

So, I'm just settling onto the guest room bed after a long, drippy walk in the Hunnewell woods. I'm all stretched out, cooling off. You think I could get some shuteye? Nope, because here comes Mom with her vacuum!

Next, I head to my white shag beanbag, the perfect place to cuddle. Mom decides it's long past time to scoop up my pawprints in the study. While she's at it, she'll dust off the books. Then, she tries to dust off me.

That's an exaggeration, but practically speaking, it's pretty close. Mom believes vacuuming every possible surface is the ultimate way to cleanliness. Constantly. I mean, if Tiger Woods could characterize his misbehavior as an addiction, extreme vacuuming definitely earns a place in the compendium of personality disorders.

I believe that this syndrome, Obsessive Compulsive Hoovering, is genetic. Grandma used to wake up her sleepy teens by vacuuming, and when they were on the phone too long, the extension was duly dusted as well. Mom was so shocked that her friend didn't have a vacuum that she quickly donated one of her many extras. There's one for the car, one for the basement, etc., etc.

Fortunately, though the amount of vacuuming seems endless, I have not exhausted the vast number of sleeping places in my domain. I'll just have to keep moving, that's all. Faster than Mom.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Music to my ears: Lou Reed's dog concert

Who says hound dogs can’t appreciate a little culture? Being of the southern persuasion, you might think I’m more into NASCAR than Nijinski, pulled pork rather than Paganini. However, most of my youth has been spent within the cultural context of Massachusetts, curled up in close proximity to my sister’s viola. And let’s not forget my French connection.

Therefore, I’m thinking of journeying to lovely Sydney, Australia, where none other than Lou Reed is giving a concert for dogs. No kidding! Plus, it’s free. And, it’s at that gorgeous Opera House. Perhaps I could demonstrate my perfect pitch there—like a true artiste, I of course would not need a microphone.

Some folks are making a big deal that Reed's canine music is inaudible to the human ear. I say, if a tree falls in the forest…some dog is bound to hear it, and doesn't that count for anything? Life is entirely too human-centered for me. However, NPR wouldn't exist without them, so check out their story, Going to the Dogs.

“Music for Dogs,” inspired by Reed and his wife Laurie Anderson’s rat terrier, Lollabelle, will be held June 5. The concert will be 20 minutes, and there’s talk of a canine mosh pit! Plus, Anderson promises no sudden noises, thank goodness. Sign me up!

Cost of ticket to Sydney, business class, Qantas airlines: $4,110
Canine package at four star hotel, the Hughenden Boutique: Room, $228/night (a steal!) Here are the details from their website:
"Queen Victorian Room with private glass atrium or courtyard
Full Cooked Breakfast for two
Complimentary gift for your favourite pet
Quaifes Cafe and Restaurant has a number of areas reserved so that your 4 legged best friend can join you for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Centennial Parklands is just across the road for dogs to be walked on a lead or play in leash-free areas." Perfect!
On second thought, since the trip itself is 23 hours, I'd need quite a long stay. Perhaps it would be simpler to ask Lou to move his venue to this continent. Certainly, less expensive. And because I haven’t yet launched my stage career, or any other career, besides eating, sleeping, and racking up outrageous vet bills, I’m not in the position to be jetting about—yet.

Monday, May 31, 2010

Going gaga, ooh-la-la!

Ooh, la la! I hear we are to host a girl from Paree! Must brush up on my French as well as the particulars of my lineage. Maybe even submit to a bath in her honor.

Let's see, was it my great-great-great-great-great-great, times 10-or-so, grand-pere to whom Lafayette belonged? And what was the name of that adorable little bistro on the Left Bank where he would feast on foie gras?

Mademoiselle Marie has visited before, but she and I have not met yet. I hear she owns a horse, so she must love dogs, too, n'est-ce pas? Hope she likes them a lot, because even though Mom already warned me, I have no intention of giving up my room.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Petco unleashed: the horror

Two words: automatic doors.
Need I say more?
Although I realize I am given to blatheration, I must address my latest scare. Face my fears, yes?
'Twas a hot day. Mom says she thought it would be a great idea while, as we sashayed around town during my sister's music lesson, to stop in the new Linden Street store. Two good reasons:
1. air conditioned
2. full of treats
Seemed full of possibilities to me. We passed through the first set of doors. No problem. But as I was about to venture over the invisible threshold of the second, I heard a strange popping noise. Having experienced fireworks just a few days before, I was skittish. And remained so, stuck in a kind of automatic door limbo, 'twixt and 'tween the two sets.
Despite the valiant, patient and kind efforts of the Petco staff, who even proffered an entire bag of treats, tried new leash configurations, backrubs, sweet talk, and the trail o'treats, I was not to be swayed. I knew better. Something scary was in there!
Consolation prize: three pig ears.

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.