Lambiedog

Transitional object

I love my bone.

During the day I keep it hidden in various bedrooms.  Then, in the evening when I feel we're having a nice family time with everyone gathered, I go get it to add to the relaxed mood.

 

When I go to bed I make sure to bring my bone upstairs with me.

 

Behind the benches

    I think I will use the calm provided by the squirrels' mysterious summer absence to work on another of my interests:  history. My research will focus on the six benches scattered along the bluffs, each of them dedicated to the memory of a different person or persons.

    Who what when where why -- that's the classic reporter's brief, and it will be mine too.  I've already answered the 'where' -- it's the bluff.  But the rest remains to be discovered.

In the shadow of a crackdown

With summer here, attendance at the bluffs has declined a bit, or perhaps I should say it has become more diffuse, as dogs less constrained by school-year schedules show up at more widely varying times.

This situation provides opportunities for more intimate encounters, such as the one I had the other morning with Scooby and a dog whose name I unfortunately did not get.  

Interestingly, I was the only one of us not on a leash.  Perhaps these other dogs' owners were influenced by the recent front-page story in the local paper about an early-morning raid on other local dog parks, resulting in citations for owners of unleashed dogs.

Call me a daredevil for not wearing my leash, but in my own modest way I like to defy authority. Someone's got to stand up to The Man.

Bluffs post-squirrel

The bluff is not completely devoid of squirrels, it turns out.  I did see two of them this morning.  They were not excessively fast on their paws.  I surmise that they might be elderly members of the clan who were unable to make the trek to wherever the rest of the squirrels go for the summer.  I hope I am wrong in this interpretation, as it is most distressing to imagine that squirrel culture is one in which the elders are abandoned by selfish younger squirrels who just want to go have fun in new climes.  

Be that as it may, the squirrel exodus is doing good things for my social life.  I was perhaps neglecting my social obligations in my zest for the job.  Now I have been able to re-immerse myself in the hubbub of the bluffs, and have found it quite restorative.

Tonight most of the regulars were out, partaking of the exercise and the fellowship.

I surprised even myself with how how seamlessly I fit back in.

Where have all the squirrels gone?

 

After being temporarily felled by another seizure a couple of days ago, I'm back in business.  But when I went out to the bluffs to investigate the squirrel situation, the landscape had subtly changed.

The squirrels are gone.

Where did they go?  Have they migrated for the summer?

I feel forlorn.  So much for my grand passion.  I guess it's going to have to be a seasonal passion.  And that's assuming that the squirrels eventually return.

Some of my wealthier friends have gone away for the summer, to better squirrel climes like Colorado. Summering elsewhere is not an option for me.

I think I'll take up birding, or possible rabbit-watching.  Or I guess I could just work on perfecting the latest draft of that novella I've been working on.

But I do miss the squirrels.  We had a good time together.  At least, I did.

Houseguest

 

The Benjamin Franklin quote is,"Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days."  Presumably, if you apply the dog years algorithm to this saying, it would go, "Guests, like fish, begin to smell after about ten hours."   However, in the case of my recent houseguest, Mr. Buddy Mai of Santa Barbara, California, I felt he began to smell almost immediately.

    OK, I admit it -- I felt threatened by his presence.  He's cute, Thomas and Maggie made a fuss over him, he got to go out for a ride in the car with everyone else while I had to stay home alone, and, perhaps worst of all, he had more interesting food than me.

    I watched him eating his food and after one of those black pellet things fell on the ground unnoticed by him I pounced and got it myself.

   

Then I acted innocent.

 

   

We had a portrait session before Maggie and Buddy left but I decided to boycott it by jumping off the sofa just in time. 

When will my hair grow in?

The way Crystal shaved my nose so close makes me look like Anubis .  

I don't want to look like Anubis.

That's Tinseltown

When I was invited to be part of a photo shoot I was quite excited.  Then it turned out that my role was less than minimal.

I can't help but feel exploited.

Not my best haircut

Crystal went a little too short this time. She scraped the bridge of my nose.  And I fancy I see a stripe along my left side.

That's OK though.  This will give me insight into what it feels like to be one of the less attractive kids.  It will develop my empathy muscles.  And then my hair will grow back.

      

Haiku

Haircut and bath soon

Good thing -- I smell like vomit

Soft constitution.