At Dolce's party the other day some of the dogs were running and jumping and splashing about madly. And then there were more bashful dogs. Me, for example. I found a little corner where I felt safe, and I mostly just stayed there.
I'm just not a hale-fellow-well-met kind of guy. I'm more comfortable in small groups, with dogs like Ella and Fred, who have temperaments similar to mine.
We're not really party animals.
Dolce had a party yesterday to celebrate her first birthday.
It was quite a scene. At least a dozen dogs were there.
It was a pool party, with lots of splashing.
Frosty Paws were served as a treat.
Dolce really enjoyed her Frosty Paws. After she finished it she polished off what was left on other dogs' plates.
This was the first time I'd ever had Frosty Paws. I was excited, but also a little confused about how to approach this huge frozen confection.
A visiting Scotsman was kind enough to cut my food into bites for me.
A lot of new experiences for me to reflect on.
The tea and madeleines took me back....
No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me....
And suddenly the memory revealed itself. The taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray (because on those mornings I did not go out before mass), when I went to say good morning to her in her bedroom, my aunt Leonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of tea or tisane. And as soon as I had recognized the taste of the piece of madeleine soaked in her decoction of lime-blossom which my aunt used to give me (although I did not yet know and must long postpone the discovery of why this memory made me so happy) immediately the old grey house upon the street, where her room was, rose up like a stage set to attach itself to the little pavilion opening on to the garden which had been built out behind it for my parents (the isolated segment which until that moment had been all that I could see); and with the house the town, from morning to night and in all weathers, the Square where I used to be sent before lunch, the streets along which I used to run errands, the country roads we took when it was fine. And as in the game wherein the Japanese amuse themselves by filling a porcelain bowl with water and steeping in it little pieces of paper which until then are without character or form, but, the moment they become wet, stretch and twist and take on colour and distinctive shape, become flowers or houses or people, solid and recognizable, so in that moment all the flowers in our garden and in M. Swann's park, and the water-lilies on the Vivonne and the good folk of the village and their little dwellings and the parish church and the whole of Combray and its surroundings, taking shape and solidity, sprang into being, town and gardens alike, from my cup of tea.
-From Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past, Vol. 1: Swann's Way.
We had a party here Sunday night. That meant I had a lot of schmoozing to do.
I tried to circulate constantly to ensure that my guests were having a good time, and to ensure that each of them had some meaningful moments with me.
It's a big responsibility to know that the success of the party depends on oneself.
There is nothing more rewarding than meeting with fans of my blog. Last night a party atmosphere prevailed here, as Thomas' friends Maggie,Mina, Melanie, Shaly, Ben and Dustin came over. I already knew Maggie and Dustin, of course, but the others were new friends.
We had a great time hanging out together in an informal setting, around the fire pit and in front of the dinosaur fountain. I am always amazed that college students would be so nice to me, a humble dog without even a high school degree.
Bottom line: The language of friendship and humor transcends culture, species and socio-economic status. We had a special evening discussing art, politics, bones, religion and travel. At the end, we posed for photographs to remember our special night together.
I know this is a crazy fantasy for a dog without any formal education, but I wish I could go to NYU with them. Perhaps I should look into getting my G.E.D. as a first step. Of course, I'd also have to look deep into my heart to see if I was really ready to leave my home and the bluffs.
Actually, Charlie does know a lot about fitness.
In fact, I'm trying to convince him to be my healthy lifestyle coach. I'm sure I would slim down if he trained me to run cross-country with him.
He is not enthusiastic -- he says I have short legs and will get tired too fast and mess up his runs.
But he will give me a chance.
Thomas is home now and he looks really skinny. He and Maggie think I am looking fat. So we did a weigh-in, and they're right -- I've been gaining weight. That's got to be reversed.
Everyone says that the key to weight control is a combination of exercise and diet.
As far as exercise, the problem is that my squirrel work, though it takes place outdoors, is mostly cerebral. You don't burn calories staring intently into squirrel holes. I suppose I could force myself to take long hikes.
Although I don't really think it is my exercise level that is responsible for the weight gain. I've always been a laid-back guy in the exercise department.
More, what has changed in the last couple of months is that I've gone from being a guy who ate to live, to being an individual who truly appreciates my food. The chef improved my meals, and they've become so tasty that I devour them, rather than grazing as I used to. I have a feeling that the kitchen is going to be instituting some changes soon that I'm not going to like.
My toast was well-received.
