Saki & the Age of Passive Entertainment

1. Why do I have to come in so soon?

2. Saki watches Benji save the cubs.

Saki loves television. Yes, he’s become a truly modern child of the mechanical age of passive entertainment. Well, not so fast. He doesn’t just sit in front of the television; he checks out the speakers—especially when there’s a bark or a meow—and he searches the screen, behind the screen, everywhere imaginable, for the source. So, it was no surprise that he sat through the adventures of Benji and the Hunters, watching as Benji saved the three cubs from certain death, as the mother cat thanked him with her silent appreciation, as the cubs waved goodbye, their eyes moist. I almost cried myself.

It’s super cold. Joan won’t let me stay outside. Doesn’t want me to freeze to the ice-covered grass. So silly. I’m a cold-weather dog. So, I bug her—demanding to go out six, seven, eight times a day. It’s a little game that’s been going on for nine years. She never does catch on.

Best wishes, Juno

Walking the Floor?

I no longer walk on wooden floors. How slippery a welcome they suddenly have for me, and I tread not—not even with my great paws that should be big enough to provide support to a dog twice my size. Joan keeps buying runner rugs to make a safe passageway through the uncarpeted part of the living room. They’re very handy for dogs like me who’ve become unsure of their steps. The trouble is Saki keeps eating the rugs. He eats one end, and Joan cuts off the messy fringe left over from his bite marks. The more Saki eats, the shorter the rugs become until, finally, they’re useless. Like napkins.

Alas, I don’t complain about this situation. It’s just an observation.

So, here I stand on the edge of the precipice with nothing but floor between me and the door. Floor floor everywhere and not a rug in sight.

Best wishes, Juno

Saki, Shane, Snow, and Moi

Saki’s first official snowfall, that is, since he joined our household. He woke us all up a five this morning demanding to go out—not for anything urgent—just so he could run in circles in the snow, eat the snow, nose the snow, roll in the snow, jump on Shane’s face in the snow. Kids.

For me, the snow is always welcome. I’m basically a snow dog, and I’m sure my ancestors were lovers of icy snow-swept winters, who knows, maybe in the mountains of China or Canada. How I ended up here on Long Island I’ll never know. But, there’s no denying one’s genes.

Shane is of different stuff. He’s indifferent to everything. Snow, schmow; that’s how he feels. So, while Saki is practically doing somersaults of joy and exuberation (MS Word doesn’t think "exuberation" is a proper word), I sit peacefully with my nose buried in a white soupçon of fresh snow watching him tear through the dawning of the day. Shane? Shane sits and stares at the house, wondering when the door will open.

We’re all put together rather haphazardly, wouldn’t you agree?

Best wishes, Juno