I used to subscribe to Architectural Digest. Recently I have reined in my aspirations and must content myself with Walmart flyers. (Oh, those neon beanbag chairs are to die for!) The puppy however has a discerning eye --- remember her Martha Stewart phase --- and enjoys leafing through the houses of the rich and famous as featured in my AD stash. Tasty stuff! She is envious, she feels slighted being stuck here in the woods with a has-been-that-never-was, and she deserves far classier surroundings to showcase her beauty. A villa in Malibu. A Manhattan penthouse. Something classic in Connecticut. Every now and then her long nose will wrinkle, her puppy-brow will furrow, she will glance around, shake her head with a look that says, “Oh, God. I live in a slum.”
She was born in that seemingly-more cultured state of Massachusetts and I fear that she was unduly influenced by her championship parents. All those professional photos. All those ribbons. I detect stardust in her eyes. Bright lights and Broadway! I gently inform her that she herself is less than perfect. Her tail is set slightly low, her eyes are just a wee bit crossed, her ears will never stand properly, and her front feet incline towards what is known in the dog-world as “easty-westy.” She reminds me that I’m no prize either. We agree to a truce. If she will clean up her room, put away her toys, I will repaint the trim on the house. Neither of us keeps our part of the bargain.
She --- If you got a real job, we would have money and I could have a little brother or sister to boss around. So, get to work. Sell something!
I --- Well, in this economy, you’re lucky to have what you’ve got.
She --- All I’ve got are crappy generic dog biscuits. These suck! I want Milkbones.
I --- They’re now more expensive than steak.
She --- Well, then. Gimme steak.
I --- It’s right there in your dish.
She --- Not any longer.
Causes Mara Buck Supports
Kennebec Valley Humane Society, Amnesty International