Friday, July 4, 2008

A Dog's Life

Yeah, I know I'm pretty. That's why they call me, "Pretty Girl." I have other names, too: Mia, Pumpkin Pia, Little Shit, Fetch. Every day, my Mama takes me to the beach where she throws rubber balls and sticks over my head then screams, "Fetch. Fetch" waving her arms and jumping up and down. Not really sure what that's about.

Mama is busy packing her suitcase which always makes me sad, but she keeps whispering in my ear, "Don't worry, Pretty Girl, I'll be back soon." Papa's sad, too, because he doesn't really like to cook for himself but as Mama often says, we just gotta "cheer the fuck up."

She gave me this little goodbye lecture which of course I'm going to ignore. "Please stop eating dead things, okay, because you know they make you sick and when you ignore your dog food and sleep all day I have to drag your ass to the Vet who's gonna stick a scooper up your butt so he can look at your poop under the microscope before he gives you a big, fat shot and I'm out 65 bucks." Thing is, I love eating dead things. Right after I roll in them. Dead seagulls, dead sea lions, dead crabs, dead fish. The deader the better. But dog shit will do in a pinch. I get spanked every time I eat dog shit and dead things, but I'm proud to say I take my lickings, give them a hang-dog look and then the minute they turn their backs, I'm back at it. I think this raw determination speaks to my character, my sense of loyalty.

My other favorite things to do: chase bumble bees until I fall off the bluff, chew on the legs of the dining room table, sniff any crotches I can reach, pick berries right off the bush and lie on the sunny porch licking my Happy Place ALL DAY LONG. When Papa comes home from work, he shakes his head and says, "Damn girl, you were doing that when I left. Best be careful, you're gonna make your Mama jealous. If she could, SHE WOULD LIE ON THE PORCH ALL DAY LICKING HER HAPPY PLACE." Maybe that's why sometimes she cries at night when it's just the two of us. Can't reach her Happy Place.

There's not much to this life, I discovered. Bacon bits. Tummy scratches. Chasing birds. And squirrels. A bowl of fresh water. Pressing my nose against the car window as we zoom, zoom to the next beach, the next forest, the next chance to jump in the ocean and swim to a rock where the seals are trying to sleep but bark and roll and snap when they see me coming. I get in A LOT of trouble for that last one. But I can't help it. I'm a dog. According to my clock, tomorrow hasn't happened yet. So today...that's all I got.


Kylita said...

What a truly fun "read" by Mia!! Such beautiful photos of her and her surroundings! As I read this, my Tuffy cat was lying here by the keyboard looking like an unbelievable mess! He is getting so many mats from being outside hiding out in the pine trees and woods so much, and now he has completely wound up with little green festive looking tiny burrs from head to tail tip!!! I think he's going for the feline dreadlock look(?) He hates it when he is left so Mom and Dad can have any fun away from him, too. So!!! here's to you, Little Shit, (Tuffy gets called "Pumpkin Butt", too!) and tell your Mama ALOHA! and that my heart, good wishes and soul is traveling with her. ^;^ xoxo

Waist High said...

Hello, I'm your new full time reader! I found you via a post on Le Pigeon. Mmm, bacon and ice cream!

Second Edition said...

A most curious name, Waist High...clearly your literary tastes make up for your diminutive size:) Welcome! Hope to hear from you often.

Winged Librarian said...

Howdy. I've been reading for awhile, but I guess it took Mia to remind me of my manners. Dog's'll do that to you.

Anyway, I'm enjoying what you're writing -- truth or fiction? Who cares? As my dad used to say when I'd gag at his food mixing exercises on the dinner plate, it all ends up in the same place.