Eska has been particularly sweet with me, almost consistently, since (the dreaded) Wednesday evening and the disaster it left in its wake. Yesterday, we had a scintillating game of immunnageddit (i goddit) and she was more enthused than I have ever seen her. Right now, she is lounging on my bed, staring at me fondly and longingly as I type from my "dining room" table.
Are we in love, Skarina, my girl?
I thought so.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Puppy Love II
drunken black man, middle-aged, on 29th, to me: I know errrrrbody tell you how beautiful you are ...
to Eska (jumping): Yeah, I love you, too.
Nice.
I always knew I was cuter.
to Eska (jumping): Yeah, I love you, too.
Nice.
I always knew I was cuter.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Puppy Love
A few videos of the puppies from back home (well, one video, because the other won't upload); soundtrack provided by Yours Truly, featuring Mama Zamp and the Pop.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Cesar Millan: Eat Your Heart Out
You got NOTHIN' on my dad.
So, I leave Eskarina, my love, with Daddy-dearest, for three weeks. He alters her diet (she is now eating a mixture of Taste of the Wild and c/d prescription), takes her on extended walks in the woods, lets her enjoy endless playtime with Bruno, and she is returned to me a saintly dog among dogs. True story.
Since we have been back, she has not whined (with the exception of the very first time I put her n her crate), jumped into the sink, gotten into the trash, or hijacked my slippers.
She did, however, get into my lip gloss and chapstick. Again. (Some) old habits die hard.
But in all honesty, I really think she smartened up a bit over her French-Canadian holiday. Last night, I asked her if she would please make sure I got up when my alarm went off at 5am. Because it is hot as the gates of hell in my room (and, more specifically, on my bed, right by the radiator), she spent the whole night sleeping on the floor. At 5am, my alarm rang. 10 minutes later, when she saw I was not reacting to its repeated buzz (on snooze), she jumped up on the bed and, rather than resuming her usual position at its foot, walked all over me and licked my face.
I mean, I didn't get up. But she did what she had to do.
Who even needs an alarm clock anymore?
So, I leave Eskarina, my love, with Daddy-dearest, for three weeks. He alters her diet (she is now eating a mixture of Taste of the Wild and c/d prescription), takes her on extended walks in the woods, lets her enjoy endless playtime with Bruno, and she is returned to me a saintly dog among dogs. True story.
Since we have been back, she has not whined (with the exception of the very first time I put her n her crate), jumped into the sink, gotten into the trash, or hijacked my slippers.
She did, however, get into my lip gloss and chapstick. Again. (Some) old habits die hard.
But in all honesty, I really think she smartened up a bit over her French-Canadian holiday. Last night, I asked her if she would please make sure I got up when my alarm went off at 5am. Because it is hot as the gates of hell in my room (and, more specifically, on my bed, right by the radiator), she spent the whole night sleeping on the floor. At 5am, my alarm rang. 10 minutes later, when she saw I was not reacting to its repeated buzz (on snooze), she jumped up on the bed and, rather than resuming her usual position at its foot, walked all over me and licked my face.
I mean, I didn't get up. But she did what she had to do.
Who even needs an alarm clock anymore?
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Four calling birds, three french hens, two competing dogs, and a crazy fam'ly in a Montreal suburb
So, this is Christmas, and my dogs have finally gotten the chance to meet. It was love at first sight: Bruno, who usually has to be dragged outside to play in the snow and begged to stay there when my mother is washing the floor (for example) willingly followed Eska into the backyard anytime she asked to go out. As soon as food entered the picture, however, the tune changed.
So my father and I have decided that at some point in her past, Eska had to fight for her food, likely because it either kept being taken away from her or was never given to her. When she discovered the dog treats under the tree with the rest of our gifts, she decided it would be her job to guard them with her life. When Bruno *threatened* them with his presence (or, the presence of his nose), she snapped - twice - biting him on the neck.
We were worried that they would never speak again. They didn't, for a few days. But a few walks together and a few more sessions of playing in the snow under my direct supervision seem to have brought them right back to their initial impression of each other: today, Eska walked gingerly over to Bruno lying on the blanket she at least in part appropriated for her stay here, and gave him doggie kisses on his big floppy ears.
She said it inna ear of an unca Bruni.
They love each other again.
I have snapped a few photos of their interaction, as well as a video - look forward to more before the return to Baltimore!
So my father and I have decided that at some point in her past, Eska had to fight for her food, likely because it either kept being taken away from her or was never given to her. When she discovered the dog treats under the tree with the rest of our gifts, she decided it would be her job to guard them with her life. When Bruno *threatened* them with his presence (or, the presence of his nose), she snapped - twice - biting him on the neck.
We were worried that they would never speak again. They didn't, for a few days. But a few walks together and a few more sessions of playing in the snow under my direct supervision seem to have brought them right back to their initial impression of each other: today, Eska walked gingerly over to Bruno lying on the blanket she at least in part appropriated for her stay here, and gave him doggie kisses on his big floppy ears.
She said it inna ear of an unca Bruni.
They love each other again.
I have snapped a few photos of their interaction, as well as a video - look forward to more before the return to Baltimore!
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
First snowfall
This morning, my friend Nathalie text-messaged me to tell me the first snowstorm had officially hit home. I smiled, which was the very reaction I'd had just days earlier when that (not so sticky) snowy stuff fell over Baltimore. I took Eska to the farmer's market that Saturday, and we sampled bison meat. Today, under sunny Maryland skies, she came with me to Mrs. Hopkins' house, quiet as quiet can be.
So here, some poetry, inspired by all three:
The (sudden) flurries
- slick -
gave rise to (weathered) panic,
as the feathers flaked and fell.
But only in the North,
in Mary's city there,
where feathers hang but loosely
on the rarefied air.
In southern times,
in southern climes,
in Mary's Mason land,
the showers span for hours
(white)
across a phantom line
and there compel,
in moments
- quick! -,
a rush to the out-doors
where bison meat,
thick, brown, and sweet,
makes happy picnic fare
for masked scavengers,
black and white,
with feathers in their hair.
So here, some poetry, inspired by all three:
The (sudden) flurries
- slick -
gave rise to (weathered) panic,
as the feathers flaked and fell.
But only in the North,
in Mary's city there,
where feathers hang but loosely
on the rarefied air.
In southern times,
in southern climes,
in Mary's Mason land,
the showers span for hours
(white)
across a phantom line
and there compel,
in moments
- quick! -,
a rush to the out-doors
where bison meat,
thick, brown, and sweet,
makes happy picnic fare
for masked scavengers,
black and white,
with feathers in their hair.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
TVB
(Italian "SMS" for "ti voglio bene," or, "I love you.")
Today, Troy, Boccaccio and I had another very productive study date. It took the better part of 4.5 hours - a significant chunk of my Sunday - but it was delightful, necessary, and worthwhile.
Leaving Troy's house, and pulling on my coat, I was overcome by the sudden impulse to reach into my pocket for my cell phone (which I NEVER do)
TO CALL ESKA to tell her I was on my way home.
First, I remembered that Eska didn't have a cell phone. Next, I remembered that she didn't really talk the way humans talk, most likely because (I only then remembered) SHE'S A DOG.
I blame 14th-century Italy (and maybe a tiny little bit of greenery) for my short-circuitry.
Today, Troy, Boccaccio and I had another very productive study date. It took the better part of 4.5 hours - a significant chunk of my Sunday - but it was delightful, necessary, and worthwhile.
Leaving Troy's house, and pulling on my coat, I was overcome by the sudden impulse to reach into my pocket for my cell phone (which I NEVER do)
TO CALL ESKA to tell her I was on my way home.
First, I remembered that Eska didn't have a cell phone. Next, I remembered that she didn't really talk the way humans talk, most likely because (I only then remembered) SHE'S A DOG.
I blame 14th-century Italy (and maybe a tiny little bit of greenery) for my short-circuitry.
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