bad metaphor

This weekend, Eli’s parents went out of town, so we housesat and took care of their dogs. Ever since they got these dogs, it seems as though things in the house have gradually become more…canine. For instance, Eli said when he was over there once, he reached into the fridge and grabbed some yogurt to eat. His parents laughed at him, and when he asked why, they said, “you are eating the dog yogurt!” Dog yogurt! I don’t think it was yogurt specifically made for dogs, so much as a separate tub from the yogurt the humans of the household eat.

Setting: Eli’s parents house, about 2 a.m. on Saturday. We had just gotten back from a friend’s birthday party, and Eli still had to go deliver a promotional movie he’d made for this organization. He wanted to test the movie before he dropped it off, so he put it in the DVD player. I actually heard him gasp while I was in the kitchen:

“Oh god. Oh man. I had no idea what sick, depraved stuff my parents were into…”

“Uhh…should we be looking at this?” I said, as he gestured me over to look at the DVD.

The title read: “BARKLINGTON: A Movie for Dogs.” Underneath the title, distributed evenly across the surface of the DVD, were elaborately detailed cartoon dogs of various breeds and poses, some with sunglasses, some with outfits, all in various states of frolicking, across a pastel green lawn and a crudely painted movie theater. In short, it was the most demented art I’ve seen in some time.

We put it in, and immediately one of the dogs trotted up to the TV and stared, transfixed by the selection menu, which featured cartoon bones stamped onto the screen to the sound of a doorbell ringing repeatedly. A black and white terrier casually perched atop a horse, sauntering across a hyper-green lawn. We had an errand to run, so we decided that was the appropriate time to flee the house and let the dogs watch their movie.

When we returned, the dogs were busy chewing on what appeared to be an elk femur, instead of watching their movie. Well, whatever. We each took a dog outside for a quick pee in the yard. It was cold, and I was shivering standing there, waiting for my dog to relieve itself, chatting with Eli about something when Eli looked up. He had seen some fleeting shadow out of the corner of his eye, but dismissed it initially as an artifact of poor vision. Then the shadow became more definite.

“Whoa, there’s another dog over there,” he said. I looked over. Now we had both a beagle / harrier mix, a dog who happens to have a very keen sense of smell (she had actually found a $20 bill earlier when I took her out for a walk!), and a little shih-tzu mix, who looks like an infant Ewok. Both are the opposite of intimidating, and neither dog saw the interloper at first: a big beast of a dog, probably a Doberman pinscher from the looks of him. The most unsettling thing, apart from his size, was how silent the dog was – it was as if he had materialized from the shadows of the house. He raised his ears and started gamboling towards us.

“Ahh!” I said, and one of my unfortunate instincts when confronted with something I fear is to shut my eyes, cover my head and HIDE. This is probably just about the worst reaction anyone can have, in any threatening situation, ever. Like, what is a rapist murder psycho going to do, go “RAAAR, RAAAR, hey wait a minute. Where’d that girl go? Oh well, off to the next victim.” Anyway, I need to work on honing my defense insticts. My dog finally noticed the interloper and, as he was a little shih-tzu with more balls than brains, started baring his teeth and barking at the hulking shape (the second worst reaction in this particular scenario). Luckily Eli had his wits about him, grabbed both leashes and dragged the non-demon dogs away from the hell beast, who’d decided he’d had enough of teasing the mortals – for now – and slinked off into the night.

Later, as we were pondering the appearance of hell beast, I wondered: “Did Barklington summon him?”

While sitting around at E’s parents’ house, dozing off with a dog in my lap, I was suddenly disrupted from my half-slumber by a loud thud against the wall from outside. Through the window, I saw a plume of tiny feathers cascade outward from the source of the thud. The dog hopped to the window and barked a bit, before growing bored and settling back to sleep. I took this opportunity to investigate:

(click for big)

A tiny and amazingly intact bird lay on the ground. I figured from the noise of the impact, it would have brains and other entrails oozing out of it, but no. Despite my professed hatred of birds, I thought it quite beautiful, and a little pitiable.

(also click for big)

When E took the dogs out for a wee walk, he had to restrain them from desecrating the remains. I decided that a proper burial would have to take place quickly. At first I thought maybe we should bury it in a shoebox, since that seems to be the standard makeshift coffin for tiny household pets – but we did not have any on hand, and the bird was a bit small for one anyways. So I tried this instead:

We ended up ruling that out since it was clunky, and anyway it would probably decompose faster unbagged. E located a spot in the yard that was not likely to be tilled by gardeners or torn up by dogs (hopefully):

Last rites for the interred bird.

Mourners at the funeral.

E the grave digger.

The spot E had chosen happened to have a ceramic angel figurine wedged at the foot of the tree! Perfect for the headstone of a tiny mourned bird – although, now that I think about it, I sure hope that wasn’t meant to be the headstone for a previously buried dead critter. Ah well, E should have known if that spot was free, right?

Goodbye birdie! May flights of angels wing thee to thy rest, although I guess you could probably do that yourself. Hope there are no walls in birdie heaven.

Two degrees outside = very cold house = cats in sweaters!

The other day, I was shivering at home alone, desperately trying to start the fire (I am convinced that if my house caught fire, everything BUT the firewood would burn), when I heard an odd cheeping noise coming from the den. Upon investigation I discovered it was a poor little squirrel, even colder than I, bunching up against our window sill and trying to absorb the sunlight.

His friend, who looked like he was in better spirits, did not seem to be intimidated by my cat Buddy’s presence on the other side of the window. In fact, I thought the little guy might have been a bit lovestruck! You can judge for yourself from the evidence:

Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all!