I look rather dazed in this head gear, don’t I? After having surgery to remove a pesky growth on my eye, I awoke with this thing around my neck. True to form, my good-natured Daddy saw the humor in it. The Mommy, on the other hand, fretted, so we had both ends of that spectrum covered. In fact, The Mommy made several phone calls to the uber-patient veterinary staff: “Are you sure this is the right one for her? It’s so, well, big and clumsy. I don’t mean to second-guess you, but she doesn’t seem to be adjusting well; she looks so sad. Isn’t there something else we could try?” Because they had heard it all before, they simply reassured her that I would be fine. I can almost hear them saying “Just breathe….”
While The Mommy was practicing her breathing, I was learning to call forth my inner stoic as I knocked into walls and fumbled my way down the stairs. Then, a light bulb moment! With no peripheral vision and my snout having lost its free range, I soon realized that I qualified as Doggie with a Disability. Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I was looking for special treatment, it’s just that my bumptious plastic cone never failed to elicit grave concern. The Humanoids I ran into (literally, that is) asked, “Oh no, what happened?” In response, I’d nuzzle up to them as best I could in that contraption, and they’d pet me for a looooooong time. How could I resist? There were other advantages, too. Getting to my roasted chicken(mmmm) and kibble grub presented a unique challenge. But no worries, as The Mommy was quick to settle in on the floor to hand-feed me my meals. A girl could get used to such indulgence. Now, it wasn’t all a walk in the park. For example, I never did figure out how to play with my babies or to engage in my signature SSR: sniff, scratch and roll. But here’s the thing: I adapted. I took the good with the bad. Just as you do. Once the obnoxious head gear was finally removed (14 days!) I went to the doggie day spa and chocked it all up to experience.
I’m told that Humanoids don’t write using words anymore, much less sentences. I thought I’d give it a shot and use an all-in-caps acronym to get your attention. Not sure how I feel about that because attention isn’t what I’m all about….which brings me to my most-frequently-ascribed-attribute, my MFAA. In a word, three syllables, it’s composure. No matter what I see or hear, I’m “good with it.” You know what I mean. I just cross my paws, lean decidedly in your direction, fix my inimitable canine stare on you and look deeply into your soul. No worries; I won’t tell. I’ve a confession or two of my own, to wit: My well-noted and duly ascribed composure has evolved. Well, perhaps it’s devolved into Composure. Ah, the difference an upper-case consonant makes! Taking things in stride was my strong suit. But lately, you might say that I am a tad more tightly-wound. But I’m convinced that as long as I stay faithful to my Downward Dog and my morning constitutional, a homeopathic dose of Composure can do a girl like me a world of good. Case in point: I like routine, predictability, and the consistently-timed doling out of meals and treats. There’s a reassuring rhythm to it: 6 a.m., breakfast. 10 a.m., snack. Noon: snack. 2 p.m. however, is a challenge. The Mommy is usually on a deadline of one ilk or another, so I have to get her attention and carry on in the hope that she’ll give in so that I will let her finish. These Humanoids. I don’t get it. Anyway, it’s 4 p.m. that I long for: dinner! Now, don’t get me wrong; a treat around here is a mere tease of a morsel. So when something willy-nilly interrupts the timing of the food chain, a girl can become a tad agitated. But, alas, “no worries,” to quote The Mommy. With my newfound Composure, I can muster up the composure of patience, or at least the illusion thereof. You see, I really do get it….
Too much of a good thing can get a girl in a wee bit of trouble. So first, a little context: I am “all about” self-awareness, and I don’t mean “in theory.” Okay, so, you’re looking for an example, right? Let’s start with the fact that lounging about is my biggest strength. I have so refined the many variations on the theme that I’ve elevated it to an art form. The Mommy has a veritable treasure trove of visual examples…caught in the enviable act, you might say. (Now there’s a weakness: digression. I know, I know). Well anyway, one sunny Sunday afternoon, sans our beloved guests, I decided to saunter onto the rolling expanse of hillside to bask in the primal beauty of the day. For me, cute and clueless, that constitutes a bold move. Surprised by an errant sniff, I scratched–very dog-like, I might add. Then, I rolled. No, really, I did, shamelessly. One watusi maneuver and I was in doggie heaven. Contorting in the clover, I lost myself. That’s where a tad more self awareness would have come in handy. A girl has to know when to call it quits, kaput! But, not me. I managed a bloody scratch just under my left eye. To see The Mommy at the mere sight of that trickle of crimson on my face was enough to reinforce the lesson: stick with your strengths. It’s back to lounging for me.
Need I say anything more? Well, okay….a brief update:
Thanks to Karen, I am now sporting my spring do. And yes, I look forward to my spring respite with you, on the front porch. After all, a girl has to be flexible: repose, respite, you get the idea.
I am sure you’ve noticed. The things you apologize for have a certain repetition factor, a “Here-I-go-again” quality about them. And so it is with me. I have been lax in putting paw to print, and know that you have heard all of this this before (it’s a little like therapy, no?). Indulge me; I’ll get to you in a moment. After all, you, my patient and forgiving reader, know my reasons: I am caught up in the moment, filled with good intentions, insufficient time and yes, an absence of follow through. Know thyself.
And speaking of insufficient time, I HAVE been busy. Eureka! I recently discovered that my humanoids are experimenting with the guest chocolate…you know, branching out and getting a little extravagant. And one day, due to a bit of a communication faux pas, a management mishap, lo and behold, there it was: the promised land (Promised Land???) within reach of my expectant snout. As discipline is not my strong suit (Do I hear an AMEN????), that bad-boy chocolate tasted so good going down, oh yeah! It was the 3 a.m. after effect that interrupted my reverie. The Mommy wasn’t thrilled about stepping in it. Ugh…she went on and on in that disapproving tone as my tail hung obligingly between my legs.
Ah, but she does forgive….as we must.
In your world, you call it “being human.” I think that bad and good and good and bad are blurred lines at best. They transcend species. You understand. Forgive. Move on. There’s more life to be lived.
I wasn’t dreaming of a white Christmas. Truth be told, it was pigs-in-a-blanket. Know thyself. What could be more tempting to a canine foodie? I mean, really… Alas, there were none to be had. So I managed to work off my despair by consoling myself with Babies-in-a-Basket–you know, my collection of stuffed representatives of the animal kingdom. I made a bee-line for my menagerie and sunk my teeth into Curious George, then Anguish. They’re so compliant. But when that wasn’t enough to work off my profound disappointment, I went for Phee-Two. She’s the replacement for Phee-One, otherwise known as Phoebe. Once I tore the stuffing out of her, along came Phee-Two, who is almost half my size. Tackling her is quite the ambitious undertaking. Ah, I feel better just thinking about it…
Despite the absence of those dreamy pigs-in-a-blanket I had a great Christmas. First, my Auntie Lynda brought me a brand, spanking-new baby: Bob. He’s just the cutest thing. We’re in that getting-to-know-you phase, and off to a great start. Then, my Cousin Megan wrote an entire song about me. DA-Dah!!!!!!!!! I don’t naturally crave the spotlight, but I was so moved from within, that I attempted to sing along. It wasn’t encouraged…
My humans say that life is about the memories, the moments of genuine connection and selflessness that we create and experience. No masks, no posturing, no subterfuge. It’s true, I know, because that is the “magic” that happens here. Not always, but enough to know that it sustains us. I’m getting too deep…. And so, in stark counterpoint, my canine self resolves to get my snout on a few pigs-in-the-blanket in 2014.