Photoshoot (me in the face)

Well, doesn't Eska just look like a basket of sunshine?

Steppin' out with the Killer

HoMa feline lovers: if you are the owner of a black cat with a bitten and bleeding behind, please make contact. It's my fault.

Remember that doubt I once had about whether or not Eska's anxiety around cats could be attributed to playfulness rather than aggression? Well, that doubt was definitively laid to rest today.

My landlord invited me in to have a look at the work he's been doing on his apartment just beneath me. We took the opportunity to let Eska make use of his huge backyard in the meantime. The first few minutes were nice. There was snow, and frolicking, and life was grand.

It wasn't long, however, before we heard a series of loud, aggressive barks resonate from somewhere outside, not too far from that. Surely, that's not my dog, I thought. My dog never barks. My dog has only ever barked in moments of extreme frustration with me, and those have only occurred twice in our over two year history. Surely, this was someone else's dog.

Only, it wasn't. This was my dog, and the target of her barking: a fat, juicy black cat perched just out of her reach.

I saw the whole thing happen. It was over before I knew it, even though I was somehow powerless to stop it. The cat swiped at Eska a few times with its paw, which only antagonised her more. Eventually, and hoping to escape, it jumped down into the snow -- a move that only provoked the savage inside my husky mix: she lunged after it and caught it easily by the neck. My landlord stepped in, and the cat managed to escape. Only half a second later, though, Eska again had it lodged in her chops, this time by the rump, and was not letting go.

It took both of us - one yanking by the collar, the other (me) gripping her midsection and raising her front half in the air - to get her to release her prey.

The cat made quick work of fleeing the premises. A quick inspection of Eska's face confirmed my dreaded suspicion: the blood I saw there was absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, NOT hers.

I mean, now I know, right? I guess cat-ownership is not in the cards for me for a while, this means.

Four (and six)-letter words

In recent months, I have been putting a concerted effort into Eska's education. More specifically, we have been working on her vocabulary. Anyone who knows me will know that I don't much belong to the school of thought that sustains that "if you've nothing nice to say, say nothing at all." Still, when thinking about which words I wanted my beloved girl to learn, only the kind ones crossed my mind.

I have been telling her since our partnership that she is a "sweet, and a kind, and a gentle baby," so she's got all those covered. More recently, I taught her "love" by repeating the word after (or following it up with) a kiss (usually on the face, because, let's be honest, she has a pretty face). A month or so of efforts on my end yielded a very tangible (and slobbery) result: when asked "what's love," Eska will plant a long wet one right where it counts.

She's such a smart girl.

I have been trying, for almost just as long, to teach her "friends," but she has been having a harder time with that one. I started with the age-old adage, "cats are friends," but, not surprisingly, she didn't buy it. I tried to pair the repetition of "friends" with hugs and pets, but it was inconclusive whether or not she was actually getting it: "do you know what it is, 'friends,'" consistently got me only a blank stare from my girl. I thought all was lost, and concentrated my efforts on other battles, like getting her to understand the difference between "ball," "bone," and "chicken."

This is why I will never finish my dissertation.

Today, however, as she so frequently does, my beloved little baby pulled a fast one on me. As we sat entwined in what she has come to know as kishnahugs (a kiss and a hug at the same time), I told her that we were best friends. Weren't we the best of friends? Yes, we were the best of friends, I said. Did she know what it was, "friends?" Could she say it to me? What's "friends," girl?

At first, all I was met with was the customary glaze over her eyes. Just as I started to pull away and out of our embrace, though, I saw her face come close to mine and, just like that, she gave me a big ole kiss -- on the cheek.

I dare say, I think she got it.

It's so nice to see her word-count grow in such a healthy direction. Still, I can't wait for the lesson on "motherfucker." Something tells me she won't need much help understanding.