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Past Life Digression

6 Nov

You seem familiar to me somehow. We’ve probably sniffed each other in a past life.  For those of you who think that “past life” stuff is a bunch of hooey, how do you explain that feeling you get that you’ve been somewhere before, or met someone before? Do only dogs get that? Maybe people just aren’t instinctual enough creatures to understand.

Anyway, here’s what happened: It was a rainy afternoon, and the sound of the rain was making me drowsy. Big Red was reading, and I noticed that her hand smelled great, like she’d just been fondling Spam, so I started licking it, honing in on her ring finger. Actually, I honed in on her smooth silver ring, nibbling at it dreamily. It felt great in my mouth, very bite-able, with no pointy things or protrusions. That’s Red’s style, because she’s not super-coordinated, and can hurt herself on just about anything. Her mind is always miles away, chasing its tail or something, even when she looks like she’s deeply fascinated by whatever you’re saying.

So, I was falling asleep, gnawing away, and I had a sudden, vivid mental picture. I was in a fancy room with a fireplace, licking and chewing at some lady’s ring, only it was a really fancy one, with a big shiny blue stone (no, of course we’re not colorblind; what kind of sense does that make?). And I wasn’t just doing it for amusement, I was licking and gently tugging at it, trying to get it off the lady’s finger without her noticing. One paw in each world, I kept working at Red’s ring, which was looking pretty meager now, while I looked around carefully at the image in my mind. The fireplace room had tables, and there was a lot of good-smelling food around, which explained why I was there. It was a pub! The lady was drinking something out of a big glass, talking to a man, who kept filling it. He was running his game, and I was running mine. 

Finally, with a lot of tongue action and some judiciously applied teeth, I got it off her finger, held it carefully in my mouth, and trotted stealthily away. In the pub’s kitchen, I went to what seemed to be my bed, a braided rug near the stove. A door opened, and a tall, shadowy figure came in from outside. It was cold and damp, and the wind smelled like ocean. I didn’t belong to him, or to anyone, really, so I guess I was sort of a sea-urchin. Haha. He bent down to pet me. I sniffed his hand, then dropped the ring into it. He put the ring into a bag and pulled out a big, meaty bone for me. 

That’s all I remember, but it was such a clear picture, I knew it had to be true. Red didn’t seem surprised as I was dictating it to her just now, but she’s pretty hard to shock. She said that maybe she was the Popess in a previous life and that’s why her ring was getting kissed, but I think it’s more likely that she was just another victim of random, canine-related pub crime. I got to thinking, though… if I stole jewels in another life, maybe that’s why I had to sacrifice mine in this lifetime, before I could leave the shelter. Sigh. Karma, you unfeeling she-dog, you really are a bitch!  

Please?

10 Sep

(This is my “please” face, designed to reduce the beholder to a soft, pudding-like state of submission by the sheer force of its unblinking, winsome sincerity. A soft sound goes along with it, a sighing little moo of hopefulness. It’s taken a bit of fine-tuning, but I think it’s pretty devastating, and I only save it for special occasions.)

Mom. Dad. I need an alpaca. They’re smaller than llamas, and they only spit at each other. I did some research online before mentioning it to you. (And, also, I could do with a nail trim, because keyboarding is a bit unwieldy at the moment. If something impedes your net-surfing, and it can be fixed with a pair of clippers, does that make the procedure an “impedicure?” Okay, good, you’re laughing. I’ll continue.)

You see, I have a natural talent for herding. You’ve probably noticed this. At home, I shoulder Brotherdog around to indicate my desire to play, or just to usher him off the bed, because that fuzzy blanket is really all mine, but he forgets. At the dog park, a subtler approach is needed, so I combine my shouldering techniques with the mentalist training I learned during my time with the circus. I gaze meaningfully around the area, and I just know who’s up to something. Ha, right there, that shifty-eyed Schnauzer’s thinking about peeing on the leashes. I give him a heavy-lidded glare, and if that doesn’t put the kibosh on his malfeasance, I move towards him, slowly at first, to give him the option of retaining a little dignity, then I beat feet like a veritable Kimba the White Lion to preserve justice (because, Kimba’s your favorite, Mom, right?).

Mom, I was thinking the alpaca could live in Boychild’s room when he’s at school or off-leash with his pack. Alpacas are very gentle, Mom, and they eat grass, so it could trim the grass on the patio that you and Dad put in every week so I have a nice place to do my business. I could teach the alpaca to go there, too. (Umm, we might need a bigger dog/alpaca door, but you’re really good at stuff like that, Dad, right?)

And, Dad, speaking of business,this is just between us guys: alpacas are humpless, but I could fix that. (Nudge, nudge, wink wink.) When it’s not grazing or being herded around by me, it’s gotta lay down sometimes. Imagine that big silky mound of fleecy goodness. I do. You know how guys are, we love us some exotics, Dad, right?

Seriously, Mom and Dad, I’m ready for some responsibility. It would be good exercise for me, so you wouldn’t have to walk me so much. It would save you the costly investment of hip and back supplements later. We could sell the fleece to stuff into dog beds. We could put reindeer horns and a red nose on it for the Christmas card picture, or even have our own living nativity scene. Think of it as an investment in family fun! And the environment! We could sell alpaca poop to the tree-huggers for their orgasmic gardening, because… something about nutrients!

Okay, I’ll give you some time to talk it over, because I’m getting kind of dizzy from doing my “please” face for so long. Thanks.