Seeing as there is little chance of painting at the moment thanks to living in a work site which morphs with stunning speed, Theodore and I have been commiserating by spending lots of time together.  In fact, today when I stepped into an estate sale in the neighbourhood, I leapt away from a pair of rubber boots, mistaking them for two small black dogs.  The nice Sikh man who was about to shake my hand paused and thought better of it.

But dogs are honestly so great to live with. Dave Barry claims that “You can say any fool thing to a dog and the dog will give you this look that says, “My God, you’re RIGHT!  I NEVER would have thought of that!”  Just look at the adoration in this golden's eyes.

For another they are always up for play!

We played games.  We played King-of-the-Kennel, and Wolf-at-Bay. and Look-out-Behind and Nip-Nip-Nippy Lufa.  These are all splendid games.
Then we had barking parties.  We’d all learned to bark weeks before, but there is nothing like practice.  At barking parties you try to markdown everyone else.  It’s glorious!
John Taintor Foote


David Starr Jordan observed that "(w)hen a dog barks at the moon, then it is religion;  but when he barks at strangers, it is patriotism."  Thankfully, Theodore is becoming less patriotic by the day.  To tell you the truth, he has transformed himself into an flagrant schmoozer; using his perked Dumbo ears as bait, he tilts his head and reels in unsuspecting passers-by.  Strangers who don't stop to pay homage completely baffle him and we have to reassure him that he hasn't lost his looks.  

Life is just different with a dog.   Jon and I found ourselves howling along with T yesterday (Yes, just because we felt like it).  All three of us thoroughly enjoyed it.  And every day finds us down on the floor playing hard.  The law of unintended consequences has of course rendered cleaning the hardwood somewhat trickier because the minute I kneel Theodore shows up to accept my invitation to the dance:  wrestle/wipe/tussle/dry/roll-over... and so it goes.

Now if I could just figure out how to attach floor cloths to his feet, we could tango with roses between our teeth.  Stay tuned.

I knew right away when we adopted Jewell, our first Skye terrier, that I wanted to be reincarnated as our dog. Yesterday confirmed it.

I have been burning the proverbial candle all the way up and down.  The final clue was finding myself too tired to sleep.  Jon the Blessed suggested a spa day.  After thinking about it, I opted instead for Theodore's version of a dog day.   You decide.

Goal 1:  Rest and Oblivion
First, no alarms.  And definitely no bright light.  Years ago, Lyla, the ever thoughtful gifter, presented me with “blinks.”  They may resemble bras (which should have discouraged Jon from pilfering mine, yet didn’t), but function like perfect blackout drapes. Buy some and don them.  If your brain still churns, feel around on the bed for the dog, snare him in a furry embrace and embrace puppy mode;  before you know it, snores all around.  Having  chosen the spa would have necessitated at least knowing what time it was.  Dog wins paws down.

Goal 2:  Sartorial Simplicity
I know women who get dressed up to go to the spa.  How can that compete with an entire day spent in cozy pyjamas?  For one thing, cake crumbs wash nicely out of flannelette.  And dogs get dressed only for bad weather.  Enough said.  Dogs 2:  Spa 0.

Goal 3:  Comfort Food
The cake crumb reference gave me away.  A perfect day includes some tasty bits, Theodore advises.   As a veteran meal-maker, I celebrate the virtues of Fast, Simple, and Healthy.  Sometimes they even coincide.  So for lunch there was yesterday’s healthy homemade soup but with a chaser of roasted almonds and dark chocolate.  On a roll, for supper I reheated leftover channa-from-scratch, tossed a salad and threw together a garlicky eggplant side.   The equally leftover Key Lime cake provided the Fast and the Simple.  Dog-gone delicious. 

I humbly offer you the perfect day, as designed by Theodore and Jewell.  Note the self-satisfied smile.

P.S.  Came across this stanza and realized it spoke to my Keele/Hobbit self.

Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest;
Home-keeping hearts are happiest,
For those that wander they know not where
Are full of trouble and full of care;
       To stay at home is best.

Obviously Longfellow had a dog!




  

In her diary dated April 29, 1802,  Dorothy Wordsworth (William’s sister) described an arresting effect of sunlight :  “we rested a long time under a wall, sheep and lambs were in the field, - cottages smoking.  As I lay down on the grass I observed the glittering silver line on the ridge of the backs of the sheep owing to their situation respecting the sun, but with something of strangeness, like animals of another kind as if belonging to a more splendid world.”   The artist/poet William Blake would have agreed with Dorothy.

I too find the sight of natural back-lighting  -  whether of tall reeds or playing children - to be utterly transporting.  Too often when I spy it, it’s only to remember that I’ve idiotically forgotten my camera but once in a while I do capture and paint this “more splendid world.”

A number of friends have mentioned their fondness for “The Big Day” and I just realized that the rim light which anoints the flower girls gets most of the credit.   The daylight is streaming from the top right so a thin line of brightness traces their faces on that side and continues down the right arm of the second flower girl.  Because the tulle is bouffant the sun also floods their side skirts with light.  My decision to place the two little girls against a black colour field was driven by my desire to preserve and accent that precious glow.

The lower the sun, the more pronounced the gleaming silhouette, so if you are in search of the “glittering silver line,” start early or wait till late.   Just remember that dang camera!

It is a bit of a trick to word-process with a yard of dog draped across my lap.  Jon’s project has reached the main floor.  He is in fact working on the other side of my studio wall, where T and I are holed up.  It sounds like the dental office from hell.  Theodore has a broad spectrum of terrors, but today addresses all of them.  His little heart is pounding and he keeps trying to dial the OSPCA.

Before the drill started up, he had already sensed the imminent apocalypse and had moved into the studio to join me out here.  (Does my limited painting output make more sense now?)  Somehow he managed to wedge himself under the low stool with only the tip of his nose to give him away.   His mantra (“Get me outta here!”) proved an insufficient talisman so he had no option but to scale my legs to safety.

Like many cowards, Theodore covers by trying to appear tough.  He has never learned to trust other dogs so his canine social skills are embarrassingly insufficient.  Inevitably, after exchanging nose bumps and intimate sniffing, he lets out a pre-emptive bark and mortally offends the would-be friend.  Yesterday the nicest little chihuahua responded with a long penetrating gaze and a dignified exit.  Theodore gives me his what-the-hell? stare and then shrugs, victim to the end.

Despite his best efforts, he is fearsome only with lawn ornaments and me.  There is a particularly hideous plastic animal on our walk.  It is only 10 “ high and a foot long, purporting to be a bear, I think.  Theodore freezes when it comes into sight, stares back as bravely as he can manage, barks fiercely, and then picks up the pace, checking behind him for a whole block.  That it has never moved does not comfort him.  Theodore knows that this malevolent beast is simply biding its time before staging a fatal attack on innocent Skye terriers.

The best offence is reserved for me.  Thirteen months later, he still worries that I will come between him and his Beloved Jon.   More than once, I have bent over to kiss his nose and found a rectangle of white teeth instead, so Plan B is launched:  I ask HIM for a kiss, which he always delivers immediately. l.  Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, Theodore usually forgets what he was upset about.  If, however, the toothy presentation doesn’t exit the stage, I simply start scaling his teeth and for whatever reason, he lets me.

I wonder if that would work with POTUS.