On elimination, extortion and heirarchy of need.

Lying down with dogs, one awakens with fleas. We are living with Maggie, the black curly rapidly growing puppy whose bladder is still roughly walnut sized. In the end, I think she will have trained us to let her out whenever she barks at the door. She rewards us with one of two forms of elimination. For this reward, we also let her sleep with us.

Our rationale for sleeping with a dog is that she doesn't eliminate where she sleeps (except for the first night when she "baptized" my leg not once but twice!). Looked at another way, it's a matter of "let me sleep with you or I'll shit on your floor!" This is a very effective form of persuasion, one I should have considered as a desperate and lonely young man.

Sleeps is a euphemism for what happens, really. Maggie alternates between lying near our legs and lying on our about our heads, on our pillows. It must be difficult to choose, because she alternates these positions with some frequency, occasionally using her scratchy back toenails to push off from our foreheads. This is an effective method of propulsion for her, but for us is a problematic interruption of REM sleep. "Let me sit on your head or I'll shit on your floor!"

This morning, Walker came into our room at 5:30 a.m. in order to iron his shirt for work. He was at a party until midnight last night and so did not have time to iron his shirt at a more traditional hour. "Do you mind if I turn on the overhead light so I can see to iron?" he asked thoughtfully. We declined. Maggie suggested that Walker take her outside for her duties (our reward), and Walker thoughtfully declined, suggesting that he was busy ironing. Maggie began barking at him insistently. Walker submitted to the will of the puppy and took her out. "Let me iron shirts in your room at the butt crack of dawn or I will shit on your floor!"

Soon Walker drove off to work, neatly pressed shirt and all. Robyn fell back to sleep. Maggie and I lay around in bed and she eventually came up and gave me many wet licky kisses. Cuteness, softness and cuddliness are evolutionary adaptations which enable dogs to survive their formative years. (How does this explain the survival Chihuahuas and Yorkshire terriers, or those hideous Chinese Crested dogs with no hair except for a stringy mohawk?)

I got up, made coffee and assisted our canines in once again visiting the back yard. I have diverted Maggie from chewing on multiple household items, including me (reduced as I am to the status of household item). After about an hour of this, both dogs are lying peacefully on the floor, convincing imitations of the reality I dreamed I'd inhabit when we added a puppy. Dogs living in harmony, sprawled on the floor in postures of domestic bliss. Soon I'll drive to Iowa City to see a client or two. I will stay awake for a while due to massive doses of caffeine administered orally.

Later I'm coming to YOUR house. "Let me take a nap, or I'll shit on your floor!"

Dahlia

Dogs are good for the soul. We felt our souls would benefit from more doggy karma and so we have added another mutt. She's a mix between a large poodle and a lab or a golden retriever. Time will tell, I guess. At any rate she's soft black and curly.

Maggie and Tye are settling in pretty well now. First Tye ignored her and played catch furiously. Next he growled at her when she came near and took all the toys for himself. At this point Maggie realized he was harmless and began to torment him mercilessly. At this point we got to see some fine doggy drama as Tye did his best imitation of a HUGE ALPHA DOG and Maggie yi-yi-yiped her way under the sofa. Balance was soon restored and Maggie was more respectful.

Now we have reached the air humping stage. Perhaps my dog is the only one that does this, but I suspect not. At some point, he will become so overwhelmed and aroused that he gets a doggy erection and humps air right there in the room with you. Tye is now air humping directly above Maggie. My daughter says this is wrong in so many ways. She points out that in dog years Tye is 63 years old and Maggie is 14 months old.

Friends, my dog is a creepy old guy.

Every time I think about where I was a year ago, I shudder a little. Then I stand up, walk across the room, bend over, pick something up, turn my head and smile. Every day this summer feels like a gift. Having sat and looked at summer passed through a series of windows, enjoying it as a participant is gratifying.

I had a flat on the way home Friday afternoon. The flat tire light came on on the console and I pulled over to see a small metal screw punching into my tire. There was a hissing noise as air escaped around it. I figured that I'd had the screw there for a while and that it was probably a slow leak, so I tried to make it closer to home before I ran out of air. It was a sunny afternoon and I pulled way over on the shoulder and changed my tire. I also discovered that my car has a full size spare! Who knew?

Good to change a tire, not to be helpless in an untoward circumstance. Good to feel self-sufficient. Good to go back to enjoying Friday afternoon off.

You just don't realize how fragile it all is. We slip at the top of the stairs, we give in to impulse, we apply the brakes and nothing happens but a fishtail and a sick feeling.

That bastard ahead of me may be doing fifty-five in a sixty-five zone in the left hand lane, holding up a parade of traffic trailing behind, and me trapped in it. I may be tired and hot and maybe even a little sore. . . but. . . my jaw is not wired shut, and if I want to I can go out into the front yard and jump up and down. I can wiggle my toes, ears too, for that matter.

I had lunch and a couple beers with some old friends outside the Bread Garden yesterday. It was sunny and we compared notes as old friends will. The city is putting upright pianos around the pedestrian mall, apparently at the same time they're trying to stop musicians for playing outside and putting out a case for donations. A guy in a ball cap sat down and played some boogie-woogie and the sun shone and children ran toward the play equipment.

I have a list of tasks as long as a leg to which I must attend this week. I have been undisciplined and far too easy on myself. I must get some check-marks put into some little boxes, goddammit! But for the rest of the evening I'm going to lie around the shack.

It's too wet to plow. Too dark to mow. To windy to stack buckshot.