I'm bad at occupying a given space (at a given time.)
Turns out I was good at spelling all along.
If our children have the technology to 'know' all things at all times, oh! When will they wonder?
My woman was restless, and I laid near as we waited for sleep to take (subdue) her.
After a moment of silence, she cooed, "Ooo..."
"What is it, lover?"
"Oh, I'd just like us to have a little cafe together. I'd make apple cider donuts."
"Did you just think about this now?"
"No, I just had a nice dream about it."
She's exactly as wholesome while awake.
"You've never mentioned Gabby," she said the other day.
Which is true.
I've never mentioned Gabby, which, considering how many times I've watched her defecate, is surprising.
Gabby is a pet nose.
She is a showman's orphan.
Gabby is (probably) a Basset Hound that Andie adopted.
This came about after Gabby lost eight of her previous ten races on the circuit.
All Basset Hounds are midgets, did you know that?
It's true.
Basset Hounds are all, medically speaking, dwarfs.
In the human world, this shortcoming [intended] equates low cupboards and difficulty driving.
However, in the dog world, dwarfism begets one factor over all others:
Marketability.
Observe and agree:
Actually, perhaps both parties could make this claim.
"Is that a Basset Hound!?"
"Awww! Look at his ears! He's so cute!"
The greater rush you're in, the more people notice her.
She really does look sad constantly.
Imagine giving a 3-year old an ice cream cone.
"There ya go, ruddiger."
And then imagine snatching it back, seconds later.
"Gimme that, ya scamp! Beat it!"
The face that would result from this is the one that she wears at all times.
You can sell anything with that.
I had this gag where I'd get Gabby to do impersonations.
"Gabby, let's go clean-cut tonight and give me your best Tom Hanks."
Pause.
"Flawless, as usual."
It's (barely) funny because her expression never alters.
THIS FARSIDE IS MISSING ITS CAPTION, BUT IT READS (PARAPHRASED):
THE MANY MOODS OF AN IRISH SETTER
Why should I?
She's never picked up mine.
One time I got high and left a by-the-slice pizza crust on the bedroom floor.
And to get away with eating it, she tried to swallow the entire thing whole, like a Boa Constrictor.
She didn't pull it off, though.
"What in the fuck is that noise?"
We took her camping in Wolfville.
This was the same trip, by the way, where Andie and I mistook a plastic bag for a porcupine.
It really looked like an animal. It was dark.
Andie got closer to it (I'm a sensible pussy and stayed behind her, thank you) and whispered, "I think it's a porcupine."
"Get back! Get over here, quick!" I exclaimed this because I could imagine us in Emerg., getting quills out of her snout and ass.
Camping trip over.
But it was a plastic bag.
Anyway, we suspect Gabby ate some bad s'mores because she became desperately sick a day after our return.
Taking no food. Taking no water. Vomiting.
Nothing good.
A day later I ultimately had no choice but to take her to the vet when she began, err, pooping blood.
I'm here to say that be it child or dog or whatever, if a loved one begins pooing blood, it's really scary.
So, she and I eyed the overpriced clinical food as we waited to get in to see the vet.
We entered the examination room with the young assistant, and Gabby immediately yakked on the floor.
A leaf came out of her.
And the assistant and I looked at the jaundiced pools and I wondered:
"Alright, what's the protocol here? Am I supposed to clean that?
Isn't that her job? Isn't she a nurse for dogs and cats?
Nurses handle the gross fluids, yes?"
It was uncomfortable.
I cleaned it up and we left a small amount for the doctor to check out.
Vet entered.
Flirtation flirtation description of symptoms.
Vet left.
The vet returned with an estimate of $300-$700 to make her normal.
Let me think about it.
Meanwhile, Gabby pooed more blood.
It's much more vivid indoors.
The vet returned, saw this, said, "This changes things somewhat," and left again.
Came back with an estimate amounting to twice as much as the first.
It was at this point that I decided, "The assistant can clean up this one."
They had to keep her overnight because too much stuff was coming out of her to keep her in a residence.
And so they could inject her with children's Aspirin, or whatever --
Oh! That reminds me.
Just because it says "Children's Tylenol" on the label, that doesn't mean children can take an indefinite number of them.
This should be obvious enough, I know, but I've recently learned that some parents just aren't reading the labels.
While you're at it, don't leave the Javex in an unmarked jar next to the milk.
Anyway, watching the vet lead Gabby away, I got choked up -- what of it!?
At the end of the day, no one wants their dog to die.
Their neighbor's dog, on the other hand...
Andie frequently asks me whether or not I love the dog.
This is an important and extremely relative question for her.
I'm not comfortable to say so one way or the other because the question seems just mildly bizarre (posed regularly, anyway.)
So, let me state here, before Blog and man alike:
I love the dog as far as I'm willing to love dogs.
Which is second base.
Goodnight, everybody!
