Sunday, July 19, 2009
Albert the lab has really progressed in the courage department. Though still afraid of most household appliances including the coffee grinder, he’s no longer afraid of most men. His attitude adjustment owes much to Phoebe the boxer. Phoebe is boy crazy. Boy insane maniac crazy, provided the boys are of the human variety.
Given half a chance and opposable thumbs, she’d bleach her hair, paint her toenails, and sneak out the bedroom window for a night of gin and roofies.
Phoebe can play lots of games, but hard to get ain’t one of them.
Her crushes are not confined to the men she knows. For example, occasionally, some guys will come to the door, holding a handful of Snickers and a Xerox’d calling card, and they’ll say in a monotone, “Will you buy a candy bar to support our group and keep us out of gangs?” Well, Phoebe just thinks they are so cute, and will jump five feet in the air, inviting them into the house to play. “I’ll show you where we keep the silver!” she barks, in utter ecstasy of anticipation. Before I can read the card, and to her intense disappointment, the guys just back away and mutter, “Wow, nevermind.”
My plumber was here yesterday, and I had to rescue Don because Phoebe was trying to make out with him under the kitchen sink.
She’s an untamed heart, is Phoebe. Also a rescue, Phoebe just never thought the less of herself for it. I could have trained her better I suppose, but what’s not to love about an unbridled spirit -- unless you’re a plumber, or anyone else who smells of earth and sweat and can be pinned to the ground for an extended French kiss.
As the fearful worship the brave, so Albert worships Phoebe. He plays the queen's consort (if someone who licks her own butt can be considered royalty). And if she thinks men are ok (well, better than ok), then maybe so, but just don’t take your eyes off them. And don’t take your eyes off that ceiling fan either. It’s now on the summer setting – going counter clockwise – and this change from clockwise to counterclockwise has proved deeply disturbing. Maybe it’s the sound, maybe the shadows, but Albert slinks through that room, eyes glued to the fan, a look of dread suspicion on his long lab face.
He wouldn't cross the room for a million milkbones if his wizened goddess weren't barking for him on the other side.
Labels: altadena dogs