Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
a quiet evening with charlie.
Charlie is currently stretched out on the carpet and looking out the window. He has this thing he does, where he quietly whines while watching me out of the corner of his eye. He wants me to believe that there is something out there, something that requires his immediate attention. Unfortunately for Charlie, I know him. Charlie is bored. But to his credit, I think he always believes, with his entire furry being, that there is surely something just out of his field of vision to investigate or bark at. When I turn my head toward him he quickly focuses his gaze back to the window and stares intently through the glass. He thinks he's a master manipulator. I think he's adorable, if sometimes exasperating.
Sometimes I trick myself into thinking that Charlie will live just as long as I will, possibly longer. He's entirely too large to be just another dog, and not just physically. Everything about Charlie is expansive...his bark, his showy gait, his sixteen syllable yawn, and especially his sense of humor. Charlie hates closed doors, and should you accidentally leave one open that is normally latched against him, there will be consequences. He recently backed up to the hearth in the normally off-limits basement at my parents' house, and quite deliberately took a dump there, just to mess with my Dad. Right there, dead centered in front of the fireplace. He also has the weirdly human capacity to understand when he looks funny. A couple of months ago he shook his head so violently that his chain collar landed asymmetrically across his face with the ring firmly placed over one eye and then walked around with it, pretending not to notice anything was amiss as we all collapsed in laughter. This has become one of his favorite recurring gags. And I swear that sometimes, when I open the door into the tiled hallway of my apartment, that he has seen me park my car and run to the opposite end of the hall, poised to take a running start at precisely the correct moment to slide gleefully into me the very second the door has swung open and away from his trajectory.
I'd rather he be doing one of the above things (which I can say safely since I personally don't have a hearth) than slowly wearing me down until I drag myself off the couch to take him outside...again...but what the hell, I love him anyway. So...here we go. Come on Charlie, let's go outside.
Sometimes I trick myself into thinking that Charlie will live just as long as I will, possibly longer. He's entirely too large to be just another dog, and not just physically. Everything about Charlie is expansive...his bark, his showy gait, his sixteen syllable yawn, and especially his sense of humor. Charlie hates closed doors, and should you accidentally leave one open that is normally latched against him, there will be consequences. He recently backed up to the hearth in the normally off-limits basement at my parents' house, and quite deliberately took a dump there, just to mess with my Dad. Right there, dead centered in front of the fireplace. He also has the weirdly human capacity to understand when he looks funny. A couple of months ago he shook his head so violently that his chain collar landed asymmetrically across his face with the ring firmly placed over one eye and then walked around with it, pretending not to notice anything was amiss as we all collapsed in laughter. This has become one of his favorite recurring gags. And I swear that sometimes, when I open the door into the tiled hallway of my apartment, that he has seen me park my car and run to the opposite end of the hall, poised to take a running start at precisely the correct moment to slide gleefully into me the very second the door has swung open and away from his trajectory.
I'd rather he be doing one of the above things (which I can say safely since I personally don't have a hearth) than slowly wearing me down until I drag myself off the couch to take him outside...again...but what the hell, I love him anyway. So...here we go. Come on Charlie, let's go outside.
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