Okay, I’m an official dog-geek now. Look, it’s Odin, Prince Rainier’s faithful, six-and-one-half year old dog following his coffin through the streets of Monaco. The news wire said that Odin followed along "limping slightly." Make me cry already.
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How did I live to be this old before realizing what fabulous television this is? I dropped the dogs off this morning to be cleaned up — it’s been a long winter and they were shaggy and dirty — and Barb, the dog groomer, mentioned that tonight was the sporting dog division (as my boys were, uncharacteristically, sitting and being attentive). So this afternoon, I checked out the USA network, and last night’s dog show was on during the afternoon. Who knew? I LOVE the dog show. The dogs are so fabulous (although the handlers, as a group, need a…
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The boys were downstairs last night, goofing off in the basement guest room (which they’ve sort of colonized) when I heard Owen yelp, and then he came running upstairs on three legs, holding his left hind leg hitched up behind him. He jumped on the couch, and I felt all along his hip and knee and hock, looked at his pads, and nothing seemed to be overtly wrong so instead of panicking and calling the Vet’s 24-hour emergency number, I waited until morning. This morning, he was still gimping around on three legs, so we didn’t go to the dog…
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The dogs love skiing but we have one little problem — they get snow stuck to the fur between their toes and it ices up in hard little balls that really bother them — and because the ice balls hurt, the dogs stop and lick them, which only makes them worse. Owen, my puppy, also has problems with snowballs adhering to his feathers, especially in the back. He’ll be running along with tennis-ball sized snowballs hanging off his ass, which looks really funny, but doesn’t make him happy. So, what’s the solution? Pam cooking spray! Who knew? They didn’t like…
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I should have paid closer attention when I came home last night, but I’d been to a party and I figured the dogs had just been hanging out downstairs on the guest bed, because, well, it’s the guest bed. This morning, however, it was clear something was up. Raymond had been scratching at the door intermittently during the night, which was odd because he’s three, and long past not being able to make it through the night, and when I got up at seven-thirty, he bolted out the door in a way that isn’t typical for him. I was lettting…
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Sitting. Dogs don’t get meditation. Cats, they get meditation, dogs, not so much. This morning I was on my cushion, trying to pay attention when I felt a small dog nose poke me in the back, right between my shoulderblades. So Owen poked at me a little, then went to examine the incense smoke for a moment, then tried to curl up on my crossed legs, but there wasn’t really enough room on the cushion, and he kept sliding off. Eventually, he got bored and went away. Ah, I thought. He’s learning. And tried to bring my attention back to…
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Because we can’t get delivery here in Montana, I get the Sunday New York Times a week late. It usually comes on Thursday or Friday and I save it so I have a Times to read on Sunday morning. This is what two years of one’s youth spent in Manhattan will get you — a lifetime addiction to a big fat Sunday paper. So Sunday I was reading the Style section and there, in the Weddings, was my cousin George on his father’s vintage motorcycle with Jen, who is now his wife. It’s a really cute picture and I tossed…
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Things you can do instead of planning Part Two of your new novel. I finished Part One the other day … well I didn’t exactly “finish” it but I do have a draft that seems sort of alive and is stable enough that I have to stop tinkering with it and go on to the next part of the book. I’m trying not to dwell on the fact that it’s taken me almost four years to get to this point, nor to dwell on the fact that I’m back at the edge of terra incongnita, that place where I have…