I really did intend to make a real entry here today, but instead I took the time I wasn't working to go romping with the dogs in the snow.
And got the best photo ever of Puck the Dog, possibly:
But because Emma gets jealous, here's one of her too, walking the wall ala Jon Snow:
I have no regrets. You can see the whole captioned set of romping photos at Flickr.
While we were stuck in St. Patrick's Day parade traffic on the way home from grocery shopping, we realized that we adopted Puck the Dog exactly five years ago today. The anniversary is easy to remember, because we got stuck in parade traffic that day too. We still had a small SUV back then, and Emma the Dog was making her feelings known about Strange New Dog by refusing to sit anywhere but the very back and ignoring him and us. Strange New Dog sat on my lap nervously and...threw up all over me and my giant messenger bag a mere five minutes from his new home. (Even in the traffic, we were so close.)
We kept him anyway.
(As if there was any question!)
Here's me and him together on Christmas Eve night (note: it were late):
And here's the first post I put up about him. It features an adorable video of he and Emma romping together (she got over her attitude) and a picture of him looking tiny and stubborn.
Cat in a hat in a box on a bench.
From Philip K. Dick's thoroughly charming author's note on his first sold story, "Roog":
"So here, in a primitive form, is the basis of much of my twenty-seven years of professional writing: the attempt to get into another person's head, or another creature's head, and see out from his eyes or its eyes, and the more different that person is from the rest of us the better. You start with the sentient entity and work outward, inferring its world. Obviously, you can't ever really know what its world is like, but, I think, you can make some pretty good guesses. I began to develop the idea that each creature lives in a world somewhat different from all the other creatures and their worlds. I still think this is true. To Snooper, garbagemen were sinister and horrible. I think he literally saw them differently than we humans did."
Snooper was PKD's dog, who became the dog in the story. Puck the Dog agrees with Snooper. That's why he sleeps, ever vigilant, next to my Buffy stake.
(It's not that I can't figure out how to rotate the picture... it's that this is a Puck's eye view of the world, okay? Note: Dog decidedly unalarmed by lurking Kim Stanley Robinson and Justina Robson novels.)
I have completed hours and hours and hours of admin paperwork and gathering and such for the stuff that has to be mailed in at the end of one's final MFA semester... and my brain feels mushy. Also, hurty. (Evaluations, a complete bibliography of everything read for the last two years, miscellaneous forms, a title page to be signed by faculty honcho types and abstracts of creative thesis. Etc.! MLA format is Eeevil.)
The rest of the week will be spent fluffing and pruning my novel, which thankfully goes in electronically on Friday. And I'm sure the formatting of said submission will cause more head aching.
So, alas, for today, I'm afraid I'm only good for this ferocious holiday pic of Emma the Dog Girl.
You want to talk think tank? Eeevil genius?
Yeah, me neither.
Best LOLCat in the history of the world:
Yay! (With a hat tip to my in-house cute animal picture guru.)
Before you judge, I wrote 1900 words--and they weren't half-bad.
Blurriness should be attributed to the photographermy cameraphone. A couple more snaps at the old Flickr, including one of Puck licking the keyboard.
The Neo is my favorite thing since EVER. Proper post soon, but it works sweetly with Scrivener. A winning combination.
Also, please admire the edge of our new table!
Oh, and I have a question, for you smartypants types: Is there a special name for the center of a labyrinth?
When childhood toys attack...
at the Dog Park: Control your dogs! Do not let them gang up on a less-than-20-pound tiny dog so that he practically climbs up onto Christopher's shoulder after the two of us attempt to intercede on his behalf with your gigantor dogs.
We went to the other side of the dog park. All was well. We glared. (Seriously, these people were USELESS.)
Anyway, we finally signed Puck's official papers this afternoon. He's ours. As you can tell by the Professor H.P. Lovecraft Miskatonic University nametag he's trying to shake off his head in photo one. (Long story, but Emma tried so hard, all her photos are blurry.)
As you all know, my super power is choosing pets from the Internet.* Meet Emma's new little (little!) brother Puck (his name was Puff, but we hate that, and it's enough of a sound-alike to not confuse him**).
For those who don't like videos that feature an interlude of the cameraman's jacket, here's a photo:
C has more pictures and another video*** (also featuring Hemingway the Book-Hiding-Behind Cat).
*Not that I do it often; bizarrely, last Monday, I felt the tug to look, then kept looking again at this picture of this weird little dog, then kept discussing with C whether he thought Emma would like having another dog around. So ... it was meant to be.
**His name was going to be Falcor, because it was the only thing we could agree on--but he actually knew Puff, so we caved. Sorta.
**Yes, yes, we'll get a real video camera at some point.
We're out at my parents' place, where the bones are oversized for their ginormous Golden Retriever. Emma makes due:
Or attempting to... I know they're glad I'm home, but I need room to type.
Sometimes a cat needs a bicycle.
Scott and Justine's luggage makes Emma CRAZY with the yawn.
My husband's freakish freak lunch of my leftover Annie's mac and cheese with the freakish addition of mustard, pita chips, and James Baldwin. That ain't right.
I lay down now and watch bad television.
The Melissas brought over their dog Bodhi Sunday and to say that Emma and he hit it off is a bit of an understatement. This frame is blurred due to motion, on the part of the dogs and the shooter:
Anyway, I love Emma's facial expression.
Having a dog that leaps up to catch and, yes, sometimes eats bugs? Not so much gross as funny.
Here's little Miss Emma, who's nursing another little infection--we think the last round of anti-b's just never did their total job:
(Yeah, it was too dark and I doctored it, but isn't she such a ham?)
And here's Hemingway eating the lucky bamboo on C's desk:
Project sent (& now the ritual crossing of the fingers, glass of wine, and sleep, sleep, sleep).
p.s. Lest you assume otherwise, the E.T. pencil holder is mine, all mine.
Recently groomed even, Emma avoids the heat. Yes, she thinks she's a person. (This is a test of my ability to get photos from camera to MacBook to Typepad.)
A writer on the high wire of life.
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