It's been a long, dull Saturday, turning from warm and wet to downright cold and dismal. My human interaction has consisted of a trip to the grocery, a brief converation with Elizabeth, and a brief visit from an old friend and her husband--they came to pick up the orchids that I was slowly killing. Sophie was overjoyed with their company. After all, they were new people. She jumped, she growled, she barked, she welcomed them heartily, and they, being dog people, loved it. Sally kept letting her up in her lap, in spite of my protests of "Down," and Len scolded, "Sally, you're not helping." Sally's response was, "I know, but she's so adorable."
She is adorable, and she's been my company today. When I'm at my desk, she curls under my feet. If I get up, she tries to anticipate where I'm going and then parades in front of me, as though leading the way. But this dog with unbounded energy parades so slowly in such a stately manner that I am reminded of a British dowager taking her constitutional walk in Kensington Gardens. If she goes to the kitchen and I turn off to the bedroom, she is momentarily confounded but then comes bounding in. Brushing my teeth? She lies on a rug and watches.
And oh my, does she talk. From growls to helps to sounds I can't explain--it's a whole vocabulary, very vocal. Some of it I understand, mostly the part that says, "Pay attention to me!" If her talk doesn't help, she's taken to flinging herself at me, which I discourage with my strictest tone of voice.
I think Sophie keeps me grounded in what is only occasionally a solitary existence. And, yes, I do talk to her--a lot, in conversation. I had a trainer say I could never train her properly as long as I talked to her. His idea was that until she was trained I should only address her with firm commands. I couldn't do it, and it's probably why she's still part wild Indian. After the third session, he looked at me and said, "I've done all for you that I can." So Sophie and I are a good mix--she irrepressible, and me a softie. We get along just fine.
I feel obligated to add tht on this long, lazy day, I've edited thirty-two pages of a manuscript, written 1700 words on my own manuscript, and had a nice long nap. A pretty good life, if I do say so. Now I'nm going to read July Hyzy's new Fonduing Fathers.
She is adorable, and she's been my company today. When I'm at my desk, she curls under my feet. If I get up, she tries to anticipate where I'm going and then parades in front of me, as though leading the way. But this dog with unbounded energy parades so slowly in such a stately manner that I am reminded of a British dowager taking her constitutional walk in Kensington Gardens. If she goes to the kitchen and I turn off to the bedroom, she is momentarily confounded but then comes bounding in. Brushing my teeth? She lies on a rug and watches.
And oh my, does she talk. From growls to helps to sounds I can't explain--it's a whole vocabulary, very vocal. Some of it I understand, mostly the part that says, "Pay attention to me!" If her talk doesn't help, she's taken to flinging herself at me, which I discourage with my strictest tone of voice.
I think Sophie keeps me grounded in what is only occasionally a solitary existence. And, yes, I do talk to her--a lot, in conversation. I had a trainer say I could never train her properly as long as I talked to her. His idea was that until she was trained I should only address her with firm commands. I couldn't do it, and it's probably why she's still part wild Indian. After the third session, he looked at me and said, "I've done all for you that I can." So Sophie and I are a good mix--she irrepressible, and me a softie. We get along just fine.
I feel obligated to add tht on this long, lazy day, I've edited thirty-two pages of a manuscript, written 1700 words on my own manuscript, and had a nice long nap. A pretty good life, if I do say so. Now I'nm going to read July Hyzy's new Fonduing Fathers.
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