Thursday, November 13, 2014

WHAT NOW? EXCUSE ME? YOU’RE THE DOG!


By Laura Walcher

 Presidio Sentinel San Diego, NOVEMBER 2014


The problem is, they think they own the place. And while theyre insistent on their superiority, truth is, theyre pretty lucky were around, tolerant enough to indulge them in this fantasy.

Not that they entirely lack brains.  Our newbie, the young Fen, got quickly comfortable enough to remind us, as we take the last bite of dinner, that its his turn.  And, secure enough to insist, with growing hysteria, that if we are both in a certain kind of motion, we might - no, we are - probably leaving,  and as our exit gift, hell get treats. What else counts?

The Bill Walchers manic-sweet Ginger expresses herself in somewhat different ways. We are, after all, experienced in wrestling sidewalk garbage from our dogs mouths. (I say garbage.  They think, food! )  Thats a fight. But were not quite sure about Ginger;  she clearly has a unique appetite, since her list of find/devour treasures include, but are not limited to:

Pens
pencils
Placemats
Books
Dustpan
Wisk broom
Regular broom
Watering can

Cat poop, too, but thats in the treat category. Nearly normal.

Ive boasted and bragged in earlier columns about how much our dogs love me vs. the Mister.  This is especially painful to him since hes the one who feeds em. Yet, around here, when Mr.  waves the leash, heads for the door, ready to take Fen for a walk, Fen occasionally, yet grudgingly complies. OK, that only  means hes really gotta go.  More often, at the first sign of an outing, hell instead  race around to find me, his black expressive eyes just begging me to save him from a walk with  Mr. whats-his-name. 

Sad to say, the Mr. takes this stuff very seriously.  So much so, in fact, that he makes desperate attempts to elicit deserved but undelivered affection from young Fen.  Mr. invents all kinds of imaginary responsibilities that will keep him from taking Fen to the groomer - a destination probably highest on Fens hate list - lest, thinks Mr. ,  the dog will blame him for the despised experience. 

Isnt there a word, or some disease, for
attributing human emotions to animals?  Never mind.

So I take him to the groomer, and Mr., trusting that he will be deeply appreciated for the rescue, makes himself available for pick-up. (Unfortunately, I havent seen this make a difference in Fens affection for him, but the Mr. keeps trying.) 

Mr. used to keep, nurture tropical fish.  He talked to them, named them, tended them, cleaned their aquariums, fed them. Im certain they really loved him.
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Re:  HOW COOL ARE WE? from last month:  several of you  asked  about  Martine Rothblatt the subject of a New York Magazine feature, in which his/her wife   ”…involves herself in digital immorality, eternal life research, another project she calls trans-religion, and herself, a trans-humanist 

Youve asked me what digital immorality means. How come you didnt ask what trans-religion and trans-humanist means?  Wow! I was hoping youd tell me!














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