Recently, I decided I would attempt taking Eska on runs again. The last time I tried was January, before the mountains of snow fell, and it went disastrously: she pulled and dragged and still managed to get distracted and I more than once almost lost my footing (and, by association, my face). Saturday, I tried again, and Little Miss Eats-Everything-in-Sight (the Second -- she takes after her mommy) couldn't keep up. We had to keep stopping because dragging her along was becoming a nuisance. I mean, ok. I have been "training," if yu will, while she hasn't. Still, it simply cannot be the case that my mediocre regimen is so effective that I have become Miss Fitness USA in 3 months. No. my girl is just fat and out of shape.
I am putting her on a diet.
Today, we tried again and she fared better: she only petered out toward the end, right before the cooldown (conveniently right after my hot neighbour with the killer legs in his little shorts sprinted by us, leaving us to eat his dust. Most of me wishes she'd just given up before, so our pitiful pace could more easily be attributed to her weakness and not mine).
No more peanut-butter for three weeks. Grandpa will surely spoil her soon enough, anyway.
Eska and I participated in the Maryland SPCA fundraising March for the Animals this past Sunday (yesterday) and there got acquainted with what I think is a brilliant spin on an age-old crowd-pleaser: musical chairs ... for dogs!
Step 1: play music Step 2: stop music Step 3: get your dog to sit
Last dog to sit gets OUSTED! Ha!
I am going to play this with Eska every day. And then I am going to practice other commands like "down all the way" or "give a kesh" or "ZITTA!" What are the chances any of this will take?
Today, Eska and I added a third game to our usual repertoire to complete the set. We call it "Howareyougonnageddit?" -- the logical third part to a trio begun with "Gooandgeddit" and followed up with "Immunnageddit."
This is what it looks like (pictured): I leave you to imagine the basic premise and execution.
She is not so good at this game, but she is learning.
Because I feel the need to post this EVERYWHERE (for maximum exposure) and because the Montreal SPCA may or may not be reading, subsequent to Michel's passive-aggressive e-mail about the status of his (problem) dog:
http://www.marchfortheanimals.kintera.org/eska
Please lend (us) your support today! The walk is April 18, 2010, and we hope you can join us in spirit if not in person or in bills.
After much thought and careful consideration of my options, I have decided to throw away Eska's "blanket" - the part mattress-cover, part bedsheet, part giant fluffy mess that sits at the base of her crate. It has been through urination and peanut butter stains, and shit bombs and the rest, but I don't think it can withstand another bout of vomit (like this morning's). I tried washing it in my tub (since it releases fuzz into the washing machine, making my neighbours quite happy with me), and I was even pretty successful at it, but you know what? I just don't care anymore. I am going to buy her a new one - maybe something that won't remind her of bodily fluids and that won't, then, inspire her to go ahead and emit them. Maybe that will help.
I have many skills. It's true, I do. Among them: language acquisition .... or should I say (more often than not), language invention.
I am fluent in English, French, Italian, and Trevor, and have elementary reading knowledge of Latin. (German REALLY doesn't count). I am most accomplished, however, in Eskese.
I have been building a steady Eskese vocabulary over the past five months. I started small with things like, "coo" (for cookie), "yanta" (for "do you want a"), and "qui-see" (syntactically inverted italian for "we're going this way").
But Eskese isn't all about vocabulary. In fact, a much larger portion of the things I tell Eska are particular not in the words I select, but in the way in which they are put together, enunciated, or delivered.
To wit:
me: Deshanta mai, sheese da bess won? Eska: (looks up) me: Yissa my yissa. Sheese da bess won.
(Is my girl the best one? Yes. She's the best one.)
Or:
me: Skarina, my love. Kava kesh? Eska: (no reaction) me: COME ON! Not even a kesh, I can hava. Kava kava, my girl? Kava a lel lel won? Eska: (steadfast) me: Fine. Have it your way. But dass not even varry varry. In fact, iss varry varry.
(Eska, my love, can I have a kiss? COME ON! I can't even have a kiss? Can I have one, can I have one, my girl? Can I have a little, little one [kiss]? Fine. Have it your way. But that's not very [nice of you]. In fact, it's very [mean of you]).
Nap-time
