Lambiedog

Is she my owner or my mother?

She is my Ur-god.  The person whose nose and upper lip I lick with the most abandon.  The person I sleep next to every night.  The person who feeds me, and who picks the foxtails from my paws.  I am a great non-verbal communicator, but she is my voice.

Is she my mother?

She takes care of me.  As the mother of my brothers, logically she would be my mom as well.  Yet, given the species issue, it seems a bit twee to claim parent-child status.

Though I've referred to her here as my owner, the connotations of slavery always make me wince.  I am a free dog. 

Maybe I should refer to her as my holder.  That suggests more of a voluntary situation.  And she does in fact hold me a lot.

Reader suggestions are welcome.   In the meantime I may experiment with different appellations to see what feels most natural.

Kerry Ryan

A very good man died yesterday of a very bad disease, ALS. 

Kerry was thoughtful, smart, and generous; a sweet friend with a wicked sense of humor.  He always made me feel appreciated, in the neighborhood and out at the bluffs.

He will be remembered, and missed.

Wedding house

The house was filled with excitement when Sam and Seema got married. 

Seema's mom and dad and sister Rinki came from India.

 

 

Sage came, and Grandpa and Marj came.

It was a very happy time.

 

Taking stock

So much to catch up on.  The past two months have been exceptionally action-packed, even for me.

In October we went on a stair walk with Teresa.

In early November Aunt Margie drove down in her new car for a visit.

   

The next week Thomas and his friend Devin were here for a few days on a film shoot.

And the end of November was marked by fireworks:  Charlie's 21st birthday, Thanksgiving, and, most remarkably, a wedding (to which I was inexplicably not invited).

Reviews: "A 100% Angel Gentleman!" "Spry!"

I've been staying at Earnest's while my owner is gone.  Nancy sent a glowing report about me:

"He's been a joy and is eating well, snuggling a lot, walking energetically, guarding the house from his couch top a lot, and happily sleeping with E and me on the bed! A 100% Angel Gentleman!"

And here's one from Jackie, owner of Winnie and Oliver: 

"Wanted to let you know that Jeff and I bumped into Nancy this afternoon while walking the dogs and that Lambie looked very happy! He was spry and gave me a nice friendly greeting."

It's so nice to have friends who care.

Dog in headlights

Here I am with my pal Hannah trying to combat my tied-to-my-mother's-apron-strings complex.

Welcome to the danger zone

Charlie came down for the weekend with some friends, Connor and Kathleen. We had a convivial time -- until they started playing with an old gun. In a flash, things turned deadly. 

    I found myself looking down a gun barrel held, in the ultimate betrayal, by my own brother.  This Thiel Fellowship may be disrupting his moral compass.

At least he did put the gun down after I remonstrated with him.

That's when he told me it was a toy. Ha ha ha.

Once they'd had their laughs, the three of them fell all over themselves apologizing.

 

Could they have had too many Twinkies?

I forgave them, and we went for a nice hike.

My Independence Day

The poodle seen marching in the parade above is not me.

Instead, I was the guy on the sidelines watching the festivities unfold.

It was the Fourth of July and, as is my wont, I took an understated approach.

Instead of the traditional tri-color red, white, and blue, I went with a simpler white and blue. I like to leave something for the onlooker's eye to fill in.

Oliver and Winnie and I attended the parade together. 

We saw lots of bands....

 

    and received some fashion inspiration.

In the end, though, it was really about relationships. 

It was a chance to enjoy the day with individuals who were all happy to share in the celebration of our magnificent albeit flawed democracy.

Brothers home

My brothers have been home recently.

Two of them were here at the same time.

  Soon after they left, the third brother arrived.

I basked in the company.  While they were here it felt like Camelot, with The Most Important Guy front and center.

           

But now I'm back to my dreary life, making do with whatever dregs of attention I can get.

In the hands of a master journalist

I was standing around at the bluff the other day when a photojournalist came rushing up in search of subjects for a piece he was doing on dogs. 

This was not a completely disinterested reporter.  We are social acquaintances. 

Thus, I may be forgiven for assuming that if he wanted to interview a dog he'd focus on me.  I quickly tried to remember which side was my most photogenic. 

But to my chagrin, this reporter's attention and camera -- shot upon shot --  were directed at an unknown dog standing nearby.

 

I thought of crying foul, but the truth is that I respect this reporter too much.  I've worked with him before.  I know that he's the real thing.  He'll follow a story wherever it takes him.

He's a man of great integrity.  Actually, the fact that he rose above our connection made me respect him even more. 

So I stood by patiently while he captured Unknown Dog from every angle.  It gave me time to gather my thoughts and recollect that my right side is my noblest profile.

Finally, he shifted his attention to me. 

I turned slightly, to give him the good profile and my Blue Steel far-away gaze. 

 He captured my essence in a single shot.

Then he zoomed off, in pursuit of another promising lead.