In 1899, Charles Duell, the Commissioner of the U.S. Patent Office, was famously quoted as saying that the office could be closed because “Everything that can be invented has been invented.”
Turns out the quote belonged to a clerk at the office. And, despite the hypocrisy (after all, I’d be dead without inventions), I’m beginning to see kid’s point. Inventions of late seem awfully one-tracked: To get ads in front of people. It’s made for a new generation of oxymorons, like personal computers and smartphones.
But Teddy and Esme have shown me the upside of technology. Recently, the HB hit a benchmark; more than 10,000 page views.
Of course, 10,000 people haven’t looked at the website. But thanks to spam emails hoping to inundate the inbox with diet pill and webcam ads, the number spiked. Which is why the site has no inbox. Or feedback forum, Contact Me link, About Us section or anything else that would approach commercial website success. She is the closest thing I can get to paper and real.
But automation, at least, has given the hounds their 15 minutes.
When you Google “Teddy and Esme,” not only are they the first reference to appear on on the Big Brother site; they’re the first two, competing with each other for the top spot. Sometimes it’s Ted. Sometimes it’s Ezzie. Even their movies sit atop Google Videos.
So, while they’re gassy and indifferent to the fame, let me serve as their talent manager in saying:
I’m loathe to use the term lol, except when I’m deriding it, like now.
It seems that humorous e-missives evoke a :-), not an lol. So why lie? And, if it did inspire an audible chortle, guffaw, cackle or titter, wouldn’t such a gift merit more than an acronym in response?
But a recent email triggered an actual lol. Maybe even an lmao.
It was a YouTube link accompanied by a two-line message: “This dog and Esme should be best friends. How can we arrange this??”
Maybe the chuckle came not just from the hilarity of the video, but from the joy of realizing: My daughter is not alone.
You see, Esme suffers from Hysterical Energy Syndrome. I once thought she was alone, but no longer. Apparently, when any Boston gets a jolt of energy — like, say from, anything — it loses its shit.
The disorder has gotten so bad I can barely have visitors, all of whom must think I starve Teddy and Esme for attention. Because when the doorbell chimes, the dogs go bonkers. Even Esme. Especially Esme.
Normally, she’s the subtle one of the pair, which tells you something. But she seems to get genuinely, lethally jealous whenever Teddy bigfoots the spotlight (which eager 90-pound Goldens tend to do). She’ll bark and tear and try to shred the boy, who is oblivious to the fury:
Ding dong Theodore Ruxpin Bowles: OH MY GOD!! Esme Beyonce Bowles: Company! TRB: HI!! I’M TEDDY!! I DON’T KNOW WHO THESE OTHERS ARE!!! WHO ARE YOU?? NEVER MIND, COME IN!!! DO YOU WANT TO LIVE HERE??? EBB: Shut the hell up. Do you remember last time? TRB: HI!! I’M TEDDY!! CAN I SNIFF YOUR CROTCH??!!!! EBB: That’s it. You die now! (mini-bark, mini-growl, mini-rabid, mini-maul) TRB: HI!!! I’M…SIS!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?? HAHAH…NOT NOW!! STOP TICKLING!!!! HI!!! I’M TEDDY!!!
Still. And I’ll deny it if you tell em. But, truthfully, who could not yearn for such pandemonium, at any arrival?
If there were a god, I’d swear to her. So I’ll swear on my father’s writings, as true a thing as ever was.
And in that spirit, I will admit: It was a pseudo-fetch.
I was finishing our Morning Ritual. On vertical days, we stir together. I take my meds, give Teddy his. Then we head to the backyard, where we fetch from the spa. Esme chases the Kong, dad shakes the coma cobwebs and Teddy scratches his ass on the ivy wall (he’s etched divots and ruts and bald spots into it, so it looks like a doomed comb-over). When I call “toy!” Esme brings it to spa’s edge, so I can toss it into the tub for future fetches.
On this morning, though, as I called out, Teddy came to the stairs. With the ball. In his mouth. Sure, I had to wrench it from him his jaws (the concept is still a bit lofty), but this was a miracle on scale with the loaves and the fishes. He must have watched Esme until osmosis created a muscle memory.
I call it muscle memory because I’m hesitant to say he learned anything. Empirically, his IQ still likely hovers around that of a learning-impaired doorknob. Witness what he did during the breakfast that followed.
Because he gets overexcited by the notion of food, Teddy’s epilepsy has worsened around mealtime, forcing me to break routine and feed them outside. Teddy still gets overexcited. But he also exhausts himself in the new routine, which seems to calm him some.
The new routine simply calls for them to dine outside. But when Teddy hears the clatter of bowls, he runs around the house to the dog door, which I close as I fix the food.
Whunk. Teddy’s head regularly, dully thumps the door. Two dozen times, at least, he’s rapped his noggin in attempted entry, like that kid from the Midvale School for the Gifted in TheFar Side.
Teddy will study me as I fix the food. If I step from his sight (say, to get the food), he’ll sprint to the back door. When he sees I’m not there, he’ll sprint back to the dog door, which surely must be open now. Whunk. He’s undaunted in his bloodhound-ery, sprinting and panting and whunking while Esme waits patiently by the back door, where the food always arrives.
Theodore Ruxpin Bowles: I THINK HE’S GOING TO GET FOOD! Esme Beyonce Bowles: Yeah, it’s time for breakfast. Actually, he’s late. TRB: I HEARD BOWLS!! EBB: That’s where the food goes. TRB (voice trailing): I’M GOING AROUND TO THE SIDE, IN CASE HE COMES OUT THE DOG DOOR! SIGNAL IF YOU HEAR ANYTHING!! EBB: No. TRB: IT IS!!! IT IS FOOD!! AND I THINK IT’S….DOG FOOD!! HE’S GETTING DOG FOOD!!! EBB: (sigh) TRB: WAIT, I DON’T SEE HIM! HE’S GONE! I’M COMING AROUND IN CASE YOU NEED BACKUP!!! ROGER!! ROGER!! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO SAY ROGER BACK!!! EBB: One night, I will smother you in your sleep. TRB: IS HE HERE?? WHAT THE…? WHERE DID HE…??? WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY ROGER BACK?! I’M HEADED BACK AROUND!!! NEXT TIME SAY ROGER!!!
Whunk. TRB: DON’T PANIC, SIS!! I FOUND HIM!! AND HE SEEMS TO BE MAKING SOMETHING…COMING BACK YOUR WAY!!!! ROGER!!!!
