shake that cola drag

The office-block persecution affinity.

Sunday, September 26, 2004

The vast majority of the time, this is what my dog looks like.

She sleeps. She dozes. She relaxes. She rests her dumb little head on your knee and gazes devotedly into your eyes. She fetches things you throw across the lawn and hangs out with you in silent adoration. She's a joy, basically. So here's my question: why, therefore, does the arrival of anyone, known to her or not, cause her to spaz out like Judy Garland? Siobhan came over today for ten minutes and I was driven to locking Ellie in the bedroom (I may love my dog, but I don't force other people to endure her. I'm not a canine fascist!). I opened the bedroom door for 30 seconds at Siobhan's request and the whole interaction was ridiculous. The wriggling! The licking! The flailing! The whining! The taking of uppers and downers sewn into the hem of her frock! (Oh no, wait, that *is* Judy Garland.) And unless the someone else who has arrived owns or has owned a boisterous dog, it's very hard to explain that no, she's not completely mad like this all the time, and only visitors seem to inspire her to these excesses. As pet owners, we have clearly failed in some crucial socialising technique. Sigh.

The unknown virus is receding, by the way. Whew. I still feel a bit iffy, but bless codeine.


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