Old Relia ....

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.

Polyglot

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]).

Getting the hang of it?

The Look

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.

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.

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.

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?

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!