Dogged

Walker, aka: Lil’ Kramer, Tiny Tyson, Son, Wee Walker.

Cattle Dog. 13 years old.

Mode of travel: Quickly, spastically.

Its one of those days when entirely too much sits entirely too heavily.  Sure, sure, I’ve been around awhile, lived long enough to know that worry is just a part of it all. Anticipating the negative swirls around my cranium, bouncing around like a pinball.  Where’s a guys next meal gonna come from?  My advice: lick the floor for every morsel on the off chance that those few will be the calories that pull you through the lean times.  You can never be too prepared.  Recently, I discovered traces of food particles on pant legs, it feels like things are really starting to look up.  Then there’s that Blue girl.  Oh, the Blue girl.  I’d roll my eyes if I could right now, but I’m still figuring that trick out. She makes relentless passes, flirts or some strangeness and it’s just too much.  Too much.  Hold on.  One second.  Sorry, some dude and a yellow lab were just walking out front, had to yell at them, clear the sidewalk of such vermin.  I mean, really, walking in front of the house.  A yellow lab.  Gross.  As I was saying, I really dig the meals in the joint these days and the little extras here and there and all.  What?  That’s where we left off right?  Before I heard the mail man at the door and had to give him a little piece of my mind, right? Is that a Magpie in the yard?  Be right back.

Dear crabby lady with the obese Labrador,

Perhaps you remember me, we met on the hill the other night. You were hiking with your largess black Labrador complete with testicles, me with the two spotted cattle dogs, one spayed female, one not “intact” male. I was but one of the folks to which you gave a hefty dose of the what-for. Though in your very special way you explained that your beloved dog was just a “sweet, sweet, lab,” I might point out that the problem was not at all with his disposition, but rather it was with the bulbous body part so many other dogs are, thankfully, lacking in this town.

To jog your memory, I have the blue dog who, upon meeting your grossly over-weight dog, began wagging relentlessly– her tail first, then her entire hind quarters. She then threw herself at your dog, yes, you were laughing. I was, however, calling for my other dog, the black-and-white one, because I know that once blue dog goes Britney Spears, trouble is moments round the corner. Read the rest of this entry »

My dogs sleep with me.  Well, actually, I share my bed with two dogs splayed out, dreaming wildly, and another restless on the floor, snoring– it’s a crowd and not at all conducive to actual sleep. Sandwiched in between contentedly tired dogs is a moment of the day I have come to relish. Despite all of this delight, my sleeping arrangement is highly contentious and on so many different levels. Read the rest of this entry »