And, Why Cat?

23 04 2013

Observe Fraud-the-Cat.2848677509_24c8a9675b_t

Her name says it all.

Pious, as she sits on a kitchen table from which I am banned, she licks the top of a bowl of fresh polenta and cream. Abandoned briefly by it’s human consumer, Fraud feigns concern for the man. In the all-important drawl of a long meeoow she explains, “Official food-taster.”

I purse my flews, raising a corner to bare one tooth.31224026_ce1efc9b84_t

For one, Dog would never simply lick an edible. Polenta, especially, is to be gobbled before it’s owner resumes position at the table, without a thought to it’s quality. Something by which there is seldom a mistake, and if there is, it only affords the opportunity to eat twice…

Two, licking an object is an insipid behavior unless cleaning oneself, the young, or initiating reciprocation in some fashion: a pat on the head; a scratch behind the ears, a treat.

3832224818_6ce27d2b70_t

Licking is for sissies. Or a feline who merely wishes to make a point: All things of table domain are mine, even if I dont want them.

So, I ask you: Why cat?5841987753_b176b12b1b_t

Unteachable, undisciplined, aloof. She has the run of the house because she ignores civilization. If she were a dog, she’d be banished. Yet, well-trained, restrained and sociable, it is Dog who is relegated to the floor. Manners: the self-inflicted restriction keeping Dog’s paws on the ground.

Man saunters in, seats himself, and digs into the polenta. Fraud sits like a centerpiece in the middle of the table, licks her paws and swipes her face, tongue sweeping in grains of polenta hanging like ticks on a whisker.

At times like these I yearn for a hidden camera.images

Chow.

Advertisements




It Gives One Paws

6 02 2013

The moment you realize your dog eats better than you do.

The moment you realize that you have 987 photos on your phone and 985 of them are of your dog.

The moment you realize that you gave up your weekly manicures so you could afford to have your dog groomed once a month.

The moment you realize that the passenger seat of your car is covered with a plush lambskin pad and you are sitting on vinyl.

The moment you find yourself reaching for dog treats instead of chocolate at the checkout stand.

The moment you decide to go gray instead of giving up the expense of doggy daycare.

The moment you stop staying at ritzy hotels and start looking for pet friendly resorts.

The moment you cancel a dinner date because you’re sick and yet bundle up a fever for the dog park in a blizzard.

The moment you spend more money on a pet cemetery plot than you spent on cremating your mother.

The moment you realize your dog knows more about you than anyone else you know, and will never tell a soul.

The moment you realize your dog will never love you less for anything stupid you do, will wag in any weather, protect you from any foe, and look more deeply into your eyes than any lover, especially when looking at you for that last time.

It gives one paws…er, pause.

Chow.

 





A Dog’s Prayer

30 01 2013

A Dog’s Prayer

Treat me kindly, my beloved master, for no heart in all the world is more grateful for kindness than the loving heart of me.

Do not break my spirit with a stick, for though I should lick your hand between the blows, your patience and understanding will more quickly teach me the things you would have me do.

Speak to me often, for your voice is the world’s sweetest music, as you must know by the fierce wagging of my tail when your footstep falls upon my waiting ear.

When it is cold and wet, please take me inside… for I am now a domesticated animal, no longer used to bitter elements… and I ask no greater glory than the privilege of sitting at your feet beside the hearth… though had you no home, I would rather follow you through ice and snow than rest upon the softest pillow in the warmest home in all the land… for you are my god… and I am your devoted worshiper.

Keep my pan filled with fresh water, for although I should not reproach you were it dry, I cannot tell you when I suffer thirst. Feed me clean food, that I may stay well, to romp and play and do your bidding, to walk by your side, and stand ready, willing and able to protect you with my life, should your life be in danger.

And, beloved master, should the Great Master see fit to deprive me of my health or sight, do not turn me away from you. Rather hold me gently in your arms as skilled hands grant me the merciful boon of eternal rest…and I will leave you knowing with the last breath I drew, my fate was ever safest in your hands.

–Beth Norman Harris

20130130-122058.jpg





Something Good

11 08 2011

A DOG’S LIFE, defined:

Way more than simply Something Good, non?

INCREDIBILE.

Chow.





Getting Up is Living

1 07 2011

For all those skeptical that a small dog might climb the vines and vineyard wires, let alone anything else, I offer Sofia.

She may not be of the ‘”terrorista” breed, but she knows (as does any dog) the best way to get ahead in the world: One paw at a time.  And, as I quoted yesterday in a soon-to-be famous tweet: FALLING DOWN IS LIFE, GETTING UP IS LIVING…Chow.





BYOB

4 09 2009

Dogs are ubiquitous in the bars and cafes of Italy.  

Who do you think cleans the floor? It keeps labor costs down and subsidizes the feeding of urban canines.

Brilliant, no?

But bunnies in restaurants?

Take a lepus to lunch? Bring your own bunny.

Chow.





Pix

18 07 2009

I love cameras.  Especially the new, digital ones.  If i don’t look good the first time, it can all be erased, just like kicking up a little grass over the morning do, so to speak.

The Contessa, Count and I are making a ton of photos on our trip.  Mostly of me, I might add, against different backdrops.

Nice to be so adored, no?

If I didn’t love road trips so much, I might suggest we simply stay home and use the best picture of me in coordination with Photoshop: the beach, the plane, the train, the mountains, etc.  You get my meaning.

But I DO love road trips.  Emphasis on “road”.  I am not a fan of ferries, though I DO like those cool little fairy-like fireflies along the coast.  Note the difference in spelling–but that’s another story.

We left Rome as you know, at rush hour.  We arrived at a small Bed and Breakfast which, to me, is the ultimate decsriptor for any dog.   and

Really, what could be more perfect?

Next day we were off again, windows down, ears singing in the wind.  We stopped for lunch at a little roadside trattoria: pasta with fresh tomatoes, basil and mozzarella.  Heaven.  A bowl of mountain water and a piddle and back to the car.

Napping in the back seat cannot be touted enough.  Fine leather upholstery covered by my favorite traveling sheepskin and comfort aids , fresh air streaming through the open windows, whiskers gently bending in the breeze.  Ahhhhh.

I awoke to the scent of garlic and some sort of unfortunate sea creature being grilled in the distance.  Bags out of the car, a leisurely aperativo on the patio bar ensued .  A little prosecco in my bowl.

View from our room:

View IN our room:

I ask you: Which is the better vista?

Splendido, indeed.  No confusion here.

Chow.








%d bloggers like this: