And Suddenly It's Night

Ognuno sta solo sul cuor della terra
trafitto da un raggio di sole:
ed è subito sera. Salvatore Quasimodo

Last night’s walk around the block was a double loop. I’m up to the tricks Joan uses to whip me into shape, as she puts it. Sure, she calls it a walk around the block, but it’s really a walk around many blocks, each one longer than the other.

Well, two days ago, we piled into the car and drove to Babylon Animal Hospital to get our nails done. That’s right—hospital; we get our nails done by professionals. Shane wore his muzzle, because it reminds him to stay calm and refrain from accidental biting. They took me first. I guess they needed time to build up their courage before they worked on Shane.

Most of the people who work at the Animal Hospital are really friendly, but they don’t remember anyone. We’ve been going there for almost four years, and every time we walk in the door, the same people wonder who we are. And even if Joan tells them who we are and why we’re there, they forget two minutes later and ask who we are and why we’re there.

And the woman at the front desk always talks in the first person plural: “Oh, are we here to get our nails done?”

Joan, the wicked maven of word choice, can’t resist replying that only Juno and Shane need their nails done, thank you very much all the same. (Get over it, Joan.)

Well, the fun thing about the Babylon Animal Hospital is that it always takes forever in the waiting room. The phone rings, receptionists run here and there, often escaping into the "back" for long minutes; new animals enter—some disappear behind the blue door; some sit and pant. Deliveries are made—large brown boxes smelling like food and medicine; bells ring; barking dogs wonder what’s going on. Questions bounce against the ceiling like balloons. Muffled answers hang unpunctuated in the air. No one ever seems to be sure of anything. And no one ever seems to leave. So, there’s a lot to see and so much to smell. So many sensations; so much time to appreciate them.

As soon as we walked in, a little girl took one look at Shane’s muzzle and asked what was wrong with him.

“Oh, he has issues in life,” replied Joan.

“Does he bite?” she wanted to know, looking a little anxious.

“Only when he’s afraid; just like people.”

“Does he wear his muzzle at home, too?” she inquired. (So cute. So inquisitive.)

Joan assured her that the muzzle was something special, reserved for nail clippings and immunization shots.

Lots of people said how beautiful Shane and I were. Joan said that their dogs were beautiful, too. There was a basketball-sized cat in a cage. His name was Barracuda, and we admired his dark orange beauty from afar.

Well, all prettied up, my nails done, and ready to face a little exercise, I allowed last night’s walk around the block. We stopped by Buddy’s yard where his people are putting up a tall shiny white plastic fence. When they’re done, we won’t be able to see Buddy ever again. Soon, we’re going to have the only yard in the neighborhood without a white plastic fence. I guess we’ll have to talk to ourselves because all the neighbors will be encamped behind their protective white plastic.

It was a hot night, so it was difficult for me to recover after the exercise. When we finally got back the coolness of the house, I pulled my crazy barking act and flopped into my favorite spot on the couch next to Joan. Shane loudly lapped his fill of water, made a little circle of himself in front of the air conditioner, and conked out. Joan fell asleep with one foot propped up on my back and the other one tucked under my chin. All I could hear was the soft hum of the air conditioner and the in-and-out breathing of Shane and Joan. I kept my eyes open and looked around as the room grew darker. And, suddenly it was night.

Best wishes, Juno

PS: Quasimodo was such a pessimist.