Is Thursday dog blogging day?

Sara the dog

All this talk of dogs and I realize I haven't even offered a picture of our very own beloved. She's getting up in years and her crankiness is increasing. She likes to growl at every person that walks by on the sidewalk. For those of you that don't know, Montreal is a rather big city and passers-by are numerous. This is very cute but at the same time annoying. Like a baby spitting up.

This morning madame Sara was lying in the sun. Where was she lying? On the onions. I had noticed a "mushing" effect being wrought upon the onions and I figured it was somone's obese cat. No. It was Sara. We are still scratching our heads over how she is able to enter the garden. We don't believe she could jump the fence, but that seems the only possibility. We have yet to catch her doing it. We just find her in there, unable to get out. Oh yeah, and lying on the vegetables.

But sure, she's our baby and we will be incredibly sad upon her death. I avoid thinking about it, which is a sure sign of future trauma. Serge claims to look forward to it, free of the responibility, but I suspect he'll be the first to suggest a new puppy. While we were camping, we left Sara at Camp Lise. This would be Serge's mom's house. Retired, she spoils her own terrier and any and all visitors. When Lise returned Sara to us, she brought along the two sacks of Sara's hair that she had brushed off of her and swept up. I'm not sure why she brought them, as we are keenly aware of her shedding havoc. There is dog hair everywhere, in the medicine cabinet, on the ceiling, and in the tub of ice cream. I think it multiplies once freed of her body.

A year or so ago I was walking Sara in the park early in the morning. It was a Saturday. I was smoking and admiring the sky when I noticed Sara about a hundred yards away writhing on her back. " This can't be good," I thought and started walking toward her and demanding "What are you doing?!" She continued to writhe until I was just about upon her and then she gamely sprung away revealing a large, silver and quite dead fish, flies returning to the shiny body. Repulsed, I yelled,"Why did you do that, Why do you do that, bad dog!" She kept darting around and harumphing with a halting breathy sound. I guarded the dead fish area and waited for her to do her business. Once finished, we returned to the house, and I along the way talking low, "Why did you have to do that, now I have to wash you, I don't understand, you already eat shit, and now you have to do this?" She strode alongside me, being a dog.

After arriving home, I decided to let Serge wake up before the noisy task of washing Sara. Since Sara has a crazy running frenzy after a shower, the clickity click of her nails on the floor would have awoken Serge in a way that would have caused marital discord. So I sat at the computer. I was writing an email when Serge got up and got his coffee. I could hear the familiar noises as he added milk and stirred. The next think I knew, I heard "good morning" and I responded "good morning" and then there were kissy noises. I turned my head to see that Serge had been talking to the dog and now had his arms around her while kissing all around her neck. "Blah, Echh Sara what is that!!!? Ach, disgusting!" I couldn't speak because I was transfixed with paralyzing laughter, the kind where no sound comes out, and tears streaming down my face. It took minutes before I could explain, as he washed his face and hands and rinsed out his mouth.

When I feel low, I think of that story and it always bubbles laughter to my lips. And even when she dies, I'll still have that.