Tag Archives: Esme

Let Me In So I Can Go Out

 

Pssst. Over here. KEEP YOUR VOICE DOWN!

I’m secreted away in a bunker fortified by steel and wood. To be more specific, I’m in my home office with the door closed.

No matter. Esme still takes offense. For the dog of a writer, she seems to hate when I practice my craft. I guess that shouldn’t be surprising; she’s the first dog I’ve ever known to have a look of condescension. As if to say: Come on, simple human; you can do it. 

So it goes with my writing. She hates it. Or at least she refuses to be around when I’m attempting it.

And I’m not sure why. Perhaps I used to yell at the computer when I was struggling with a story. Or cursing the keyboard when the Mac froze.

Whatever the case, she hates to be around when she senses stress. Her big brother, Teddy, used to be a notorious ruiner. He’d chew on jeans til there was a hole the size of a softball. Shoes were simply the tenderloins of rawhides. He once chewed my wallet to pieces — along with all the cash inside.

So perceptive was she that she would leave the house the moment I awakened and walked into the living room — she knew the shock and awe of Teddy’s handiwork to come.

I’ve tried everything to soothe her nerves, to keep her comfortable on the couch: music, a space heater, four blankets and a pillow (I never said I was a logical dog owner).

No matter. When the keys are a’clackin, she gets to packin.

Like right now. She must have heard you reading and headed for the door. Thanks a lot.

 

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For Esme, with Love and Slobber

 

A horrible thought just occurred to me.

You know how dogs sleep? Usually with their feet skipping along, to accompanying mini-yips. It’s really cute.

But then I realized: We  assume a dog is having a pleasant dream when we see that. Perhaps images  of untrodden fields and unsniffed anuses.

Yet my dog never acts that way when she’s awake. I’ve never seen her yip playfully when she runs. Shit, I’ve never heard her bark. Esme would have made a great mime; she’s already got the whiteface.

What if she (and her canine brethren) are actually having nightmares when they’re yipping and skittering along the dream circuit? What if dogs are actually picturing Buick-sized cats and electrified fire hydrants? What if Fido is actually calling out for help: Please, wake me from this hell! I have a memory that lasts 15 seconds; not only will I forgive it — I’ll forget it before I fall back asleep. PLEASE HAVE MERCY!

So I’m going to go on Amazon and buy an air horn. When I see her nodding off, I’ll just gently hold the button and BBBBRRRRRAAAAAAAPPPPPPPP!!!!! No more bad dreams.

You’re welcome, honey.

And now, beloved bitches, a non-alternative Factslap:

  • Only 17% of 11 to 38-year-olds experience no mental disorders, according to a study in New Zealand.
  • There is a castle in Scotland shaped like a pineapple.
  • In 1989, a new Blockbuster store was opening in America every 17 hours.
  • “Sesame Street” has won 167 Emmys and 8 Grammys. An estimated 77 million Americans watched the show as children.
  • Scientists usually omit left-handed people from tests because their brain works differently.
  • Tear gas is banned for use in international warfare, but is still legal to use in the U.S.
  • In 18th century Paris, it was fashionable to wear hats and umbrellas with lightning rods attached.
  • All octopus species are venomous to humans, but only one is deadly, the Southern Blue-Ringed octopus.

 

 

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