For the Love of Couches

Our house has two couches, and I love them with equal passion. The one in the sunroom is very small—at least for me—but, it’s big enough to fold its armrests around me and keep me feeling secure.

There’s usually some sort of sheet covering its natural red skin. That’s because it’s easier to wash a sheet than to wash a couch. When human company arrives, Joan takes the sheet off and pretends that I never use the couch for my own comfort. But I do.

Sleeping, or even meditating, on the sunroom couch is a daytime activity. The sun always reaches through the windows and brings out the natural highlights in my fur while warming me just enough to remind me that I’m the luckiest dog in the universe.

The only drawback to lying on the sunroom couch is the fact that no one else can sit there with me, and that’s a little lonely. A couch without another body is an incomplete experience.

However, there’s the living room couch. Joan bought that couch brand new about ten years ago. At that time Leo, Karen Fontana’s dog, used to visit every day. Leo was a Chow Chow who loved to sit on the back of the couch and look out the window. Well, Leo kind of ruined the back of the couch, but Joan keeps it because it’s too expensive to buy another couch. Of course, the living-room couch also has a sheet over it.

Every now and then, I feel the need to lie on that couch. When I do, Joan sits at the other end and rests her leg on my back. It makes me feel that I’m part of the loving world and nothing bad can happen. Once in a while, Shane sneaks up on the couch before Joan gets to sit down. There’s no room for three of us, so Joan just stands there and wonders where to sit. Poor humans. They think too much.

The living room couch has the extra benefit of being near the television with its programs on Animal Planet. I like to watch Animal Cops because there’s always a happy ending for some of the animals.

I wonder if Leo knows that his couch is still here.

Best wishes, Juno

The Vision

Shane and I are so different.

I almost met a handsome dog tonight. But, he was afraid to come too close. Can you see him in the picture? I called to him, but he pretended he didn’t hear me.

Until the dog arrived on the block, I hadn’t wanted to go for a walk, and I especially didn’t want to make a left. Shane and I sat outside of the gate. I looked to the left and wanted no part of it. Shane looked to the right and couldn’t understand why I was holding up the works.

And, then, I saw a vision, a captivating masterpiece of a dog with stand-up ears and a sleek but masculine neck unfettered by chains and collars. He was trotting around the bend at the end of the street looking all free, his tail up, his head proud, thinking what a great evening it was to take a little tour around the barrio.

Then, he saw me and Shane. Down came his head; his curly tail straightened; and you could see his nostrils flare as he grabbed our scent from the breeze. Joan said he was pretty. Shane was curious and began to whine. But, me, I yapped it up, hoping he’d come over and say hello.

But, no, he was too scared. Around he turned and off he trotted, pretending he was all brave and indifferent. But, I know he wanted to get closer to me. He just didn’t know how.

After a minute or so, we walked down the street in his direction. But, there was nothing left but his scent, which was quickly caught under the wheels of some passing cars. I wasn’t about to go chasing after a vanishing dream, so I pulled at the leash and forced Joan and Shane to turn back.

I’m going to spend the next hour or two stretched out on the cool grass watching the full moon try to squeeze through the thick gray clouds. Maybe the dog will show up again. Not that I’m interested.

Best wishes, Juno

Disappointment Is Just Another Experience

What a disappointment. I thought we were going for a car ride. I can’t believe I misread Joan. I can’t believe it. So, that means we don’t necessarily go out in the car every time Joan goes into the garage. Oh, rats!

What could I do? I looked as sad as possible. I even tried my sure-fire sigh, lowering my head so she could see the tragedy playing itself out in my heart. Nothing worked.

Why can’t I be more like Shane? He didn’t care at all. He just wagged his tail and forgot the whole thing. He’s so cool about life’s letdowns. But, me, I really feel them in the most dramatic way.

We did go for a walk, but we had to come back through the shortcut because there was a plane zipping around behind the clouds, and the noise scared me.

Some people stopped their car to ask what kind of dog I was. “That dog a malamute?” they asked. Joan said she didn’t think so. She said she thought I was a Newfy-Pyranees. Secretly, I think she just likes saying the word.

Pretty soon, though, that plane made me forget my disappointment, and all I wanted to do was get back to the safety of the home front. And that’s exactly what we did. Shane and I sat in the back yard and enjoyed the view. I feel much better now.

Best wishes, Juno

The Evening Show

"Come on, Juno. Just walk."

Tonight, I surprised everyone by walking the entire distance around the block without sitting down once. Shane was highly approving. He never objects to my little fears, but he does sigh a great deal when I get stuck in one position—usually a sitting-down position—and refuse to budge.

It had rained during the day, so Joan tried to keep us on the dry parts of the street. Lots of people had thrown the remains of their MacDonald’s and White Castle orders into the streets. There must have been a run on junk food, because there were a lot more wrappers and soda cups than usual. Shane tried to grab some of it, but Joan caught him in time. She kept trying to whisper, “Yuk. Don’t touch that garbage.” But, she still has laryngitis. People can’t sound determined and serious when their voices don’t work.

Buddy was barking in the next yard when we got back, so Joan threw a biscuit over the fence. Then, I heard him munching and wagging his tail against his dog house.

I sat in the backyard until Buddy finished his biscuit and dozed off. Then I meandered to the front yard to watch the kitten across the street pretend she was stalking mice. She squished herself into a furry gray ball and moved like a turtle across the yard; then, all of a sudden, she popped high in the air, her legs sticking out at her sides, and landed back on earth, once more a little ball, and inched her way across the yard. She did it over and over again until she got bored.

She must have known that I was admiring her performance, for she kind of strutted up her porch steps, holding her head very high. A gust of wind lifted her gently up to the swing seat, and there she sat looking just like a tiny and noble lion.

Best wishes, Juno

When A Human Can't Talk

Shhhhhhhhhhh.

Joan lost her voice. She can’t tell us to do anything. She can’t talk on the phone. She can’t even say hello to the neighbors. Tonight, we were walking through the neighborhood, and a couple of new kids asked Joan what kind of dogs Shane and I were. Joan tried to say, “Big,” because it’s a short word and easier to say than, “Well I’m not sure. I think Shane is part Shepherd and Juno is part Newfy.” Little kids wouldn’t understand that anyway. But, the word big came out in a heavy whisper, and I’m not sure the kids heard her.

Then another neighbor was driving by and stopped his car: “Hey, Joan! How you doing?” he called. Poor Joan had to say hello without using her voice. I think he understood, though, because he said he hoped she’d be feeling better, and off he drove.

What an adventure in communication.

Now, if I lost my voice, I’d never be able to ask to come inside, and I wouldn’t know how to get people to give me extra attention. Joan knows how to get inside all by herself, so that’s no problem for her. But, if you can’t talk to people, they forget you very quickly. Joan’s in luck, though, because dogs don’t care if people can talk or not. And, we don’t forget our friends even when they get sick and can’t talk.

Also, we have a way of knowing things without verbal promptings.

Take tonight. Joan had to go to the store to get some medicine for her throat. Shane and I knew she was going to take us with her even before she knew it. And, when she went into the garage, there we were, waiting by the car.

Not only that, but we know what she would have said if she had been able to talk. She would have said, “Wow. How did you know you were coming with me? You’re such smart dogs.”

See what I mean? We don’t need to hear words out loud. We read them in thought form.

I’m going to sit outside now and think about extrasensory perception.

Best wishes, Juno

PS: See? I didn’t really have to write “best wishes,” because you already knew that I wished them for you.

Scooby and Taylor’s Yard Sale

Yard Sale Mavens

In picture number one, we have a beautiful Taylor proudly parading her flower bonnet. So charming. Work it, Taylor.

In picture number two, we have our friend Scooby looking ever so quizzical. The camera loves her.

Scooby and Taylor had a yard sale today, and I was invited. Shane mostly waited in the car because he feels more secure looking out the window, pretending he’s king of the back seat.

I had never been to a yard sale before—there were toys and dishes, tables and chairs, and even a skateboard. Whoooooosh!

But, my favorite part was meeting Scooby. I think he was a little scared of me, though, because he’s only about as big as my head. But, he’s sooooooooo sweet.

No one else was scared of me.

Alena and Vlad—Scooby and Taylor’s best friends—weren’t afraid of me at all. Can you believe those kids came all the way from Russia just to take care of Scooby and Taylor? That was so thoughtful of them. But, I think they loved me, too, because they hugged me and told me I was big and beautiful.

Everyone felt bad that Shane was in the car, so Joan took him out so he could take part in the happiness of the day. He stayed very close to Joan, but I think he felt good about being included. He was so nicely behaved, people started saying how big and beautiful he was, too!

Now that we’ve both experienced the joy of a yard sale, we feel more sophisticated, more worldly.

Thank you, Scooby. Thank you, Taylor. See you next time.

Best wishes, Juno

Monsters to the Left of Me

There’s something about turning left that throws me off balance. Joan thinks it’s funny. Shane just gets exasperated. But, I tell you, it’s a real condition.

We walk down the driveway—that is, Joan and Shane walk down the driveway while I hang back until I’m sure nothing is amiss—and we step outside the gate into the street. If we walked straight, we’d land smack in the middle of the poison ivy that’s busy winding itself around the little wilderness of trees. It’s very shiny and really rather beautiful, but it’s not the sort of thing you want to roll in—at least that’s what Joan says. So, we have a choice—make a right or make a left.

I’ve had a problem turning left for about five years now. It comes and goes. I’ll go through weeks or months when making a left is no big deal; then, boom, out of nowhere, a left turn becomes a scary prospect, a vaporous gray monstrosity, a cunning slip of a shadow that paralyzes me with that loud mocking laughter that no one notices but me.

What’s a dog to do?

A dog turns right.

And, don’t bother reading anything political into this little problem of mine, for I’m just a dog. Sure, I write a blog, but that doesn’t make me political.

You might think my problem is sort of silly, but some humans have strange foibles, too. Maybe they don’t have left/right dilemmas, but some of them are afraid to walk down the street without a cell phone stuck to their ear; others set fire to little sticks of tobacco and suck on them; lots of them drive really fast just to prove that they can; some of them even kill each other for having thoughts different from their thoughts. But, I guess you can’t compare a dog to a human, you know, because humans are so much smarter.

So far, nothing bad has ever come from my right turns. It’s all good. Now that I think about it, nothing bad ever happened during a left turn either. So, I guess it’s all in my head, as they say. But, things in your head are always harder to deal with than things in the real world. Isn’t that true?

Best wishes, Juno

An Evening of Fireflies and Sticks

I’ve been staying indoors this week because the days are still too hot for me. But, at night I like to sit in the front yard and watch the galaxy of fireflies, which is sometimes eclipsed by a zooming car or a mini-parade of strolling people.

Tonight, was no different until Ish came over to play. Shane had to go in the house so Ish could come inside the gate. (That's him in the picture, looking out the door, ready to do battle—for what, I'm not sure.) You know, those two dogs just can’t make peace. I’ll bet they don’t even know why they don’t get along. Well, really, it’s not Ish’s fault. He’s still too young to know that it’s not a good idea to jump on Shane’s face.

Ish ran around the yard and wagged his tail. He tried to get me to play, but, come on, I’m too old for that sort of thing. Joan threw a stick for him, and he ran after it. Over and over and over, he ran after that stick. I don’t get it. What’s the big deal about running after a stick?

Then, he and Joan sat on the stoop, and she put her arm around him. Harrumph. It wasn’t right to for me to be so far away from the loving, so I hauled myself up and claimed my spot on the other side of Joan. She petted both of us for a long, quiet time, and I felt a little sorry that Shane had no way of feeling the peace.

Finally, Ish went home, and Shane was able to come outside and take a nice walk with us.

It was dark already.

The breeze lifted everything—the tree branches, the heavy air, the low clouds, my spirits. The walk progressed very nicely until I heard a noise. No, it wasn’t a firecracker; it was a human who was very angry at a ball for refusing to fall into a hoop at the end of his driveway. Well, what did he expect? It was dark, after all.

I had never seen anyone get mad at a ball. Every day brings a new experience.

Best wishes, Juno

Ish Plus Shane: Call Me When It's Over

Ish keeps coming over to visit, and we have to keep him away from Shane. Once again, Cesar Milan isn’t here to whisper his tranquil-dog secrets to Shane. Joan tried his technique, but she just doesn’t have what it takes to keep Shane from losing his temper with other dogs. Especially with Ish, because Ish acts like a puppy and jumps on our faces and runs in circles and rolls over and makes his dog-grin face whenever Shane starts to go a little crazy.

Joan keeps telling Shane that Ish is sweet—I mean, just look at that handsome face—but, Shane won’t have any of it. That’s why I got to walk around the block with Ish today, and Shane had to stay home.

Wow. What a lot of work. He’s like a wind-up toy. Zoom zoooooom zoooooooooom. I was all worn out when we got back. Shane was kind of sulking, but at least he had his tranquility and his own little bed. Me? I went out and hid in my green grotto.

Best wishes, Juno

PS: There's another story about Ish on this blog. It's right here.

Meditation on Fear

"Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmm . . . "

I never pretend to be what I’m not. Some dogs pretend to be mean when they’re really just frightened; and, in that sense, they’re just like people. Other dogs do the opposite—they pretend to be friendly when they’re really just frightened, and isn’t that just so human?

But, no dogs pretend to be friendly when they’re feeling unfriendly, and that’s the opposite of human behavior. Shane never does that. He is what he is. Sometimes, though, I think he would like to be friendlier. When people say hello to me, he hides behind Joan, but sometimes he peeks out and I can see his tail move with just a hint of friendly attitude.

Now, when I’m afraid, the whole block knows it. I just sit down in the middle of the road and get a stunned look on my face—you know, my eyes get all round and my breathing gets shallow and I stare at Joan hoping she’ll get it. That’s what happened on the day someone put that big blue tarp over his car and parked it, nose first, in the woods. How was I to know it was a car? I thought the Loch Ness Monster had come up on dry land. It’s not like the guy left a note on the car telling people what was under there.

Then, there was the time those kids buzzed by us on their whiny scooters, and I thought they were insects. How was I supposed to know they were kids on scooters? No one tells me these things. It’s up to me to figure it all out.

Then, there are the things I hear that only dogs can hear—people’s thoughts, their arguments on the Parkway, their garbage cans being dragged down driveways, something sizzling in their frying pans.

Again, it’s up to me to figure it all out. I guess that’s part of living my dog’s life.

Best wishes, Juno

Walking Under Full Moons

On the night of a full moon, people say strange things happen. Well, the moon is always full, isn’t it? We just don’t see it that way. Tonight we have a full moon that everyone can see, and is it bright!

Around the block we walked, and no one was acting any stranger than usual.

Okay, I did succumb to a temporary fear of turning left, just like Zoolander. That used to happen a lot more in the past; however, the old fear still takes me by surprise—but only once in a blue moon.

And, there was a vibrating noise under the pavement that no one heard but me. I had to sit still and ponder the matter before deciding to turn around and go back the other way. We all made an about-face to the right and retraced our steps.

And, then there was that gray striped cat who followed my every move. She kept hiding behind trees, under cars, between garbage cans, and even inside someone’s house. I saw her staring at me from an upstairs window. I think she made fun of my fear of turning left, but I didn’t mind. Shane didn’t notice the cat; neither did Joan; but she was there alright.

There’s one part of the walk that always causes a little trepidation, and sometimes Joan puts her arms over her head when we pass there because there are so many bats darting around under the trees.

See? Everything was pretty much the same as it always is.

When we got back to the yard, Shane thought he saw a ghost. He turned his back to it so he wouldn’t have to think about it, but eventually curiosity got the better of him and he glanced over his shoulder. It was still there. Of course, it wasn’t a ghost at all; it was only the moon.

Shane thinks the earth revolves around the moon. That’s so cute. Everyone knows the earth revolves around the sun, but, I don’t tell Shane that. He’d be so disillusioned.

Best wishes, Juno

Treats from a Trainer

See Shane's Nice White Smile!

I watched the Westminster Dog Show on television this morning, and I saw so many dogs—really beautiful dogs, some with long fur, some with short fur, and a few were almost bald. The one thing all the dogs had in common was that they had trainers, and before the dogs strutted their doggy stuff before the cheering crowd, their trainers gave them a treat and pulled their leashes up at a 90-degree angle. Oh, the other thing they had in common was that everyone said how spectacular they were.

Shane and I get treats every time Joan goes out. That way we don’t have an anxiety attack or have to struggle with feelings of abandonment. We also get treats when Joan has dinner; that way we don’t feel excluded from the fun.

But, we don’t have a trainer, so we never have to roll over or strut or have our teeth checked by a dog judge—which is just as well, what with Shane’s tendency to overreact when people try to put their fingers in his mouth. Actually, Shane’s teeth are pretty nice looking. But, I advise you to take my word for it. As for me, you can check them out any time you like.

I think it’s great that all those people love dogs so much that they get all dressed up and cheer for them. But, I like getting treats just because I’m me.

Best wishes, Juno

PS: White teeth by LEBA III. Expensive, but worth it.

Tides and Roses

We have it, practically in writing—we’re not going to have a bath for a long time to come. That’s thanks to Joan’s back injury. Whoopie!

Oh, sorry.

I don’t like to see anyone in pain, really. I was just trying to think of the positive aspects of the situation. Besides, it was really Pam who came up with the idea. Pam just had knee surgery, so she is trying to think of affirmative things to say about life and pain. And to help Joan pluck a rose from the thorn bush of life, she said, “Well, at least the dogs won’t have to have another bath for a while.”

Now, on the positive side of the matter for all of us, Joan says it helps to walk, so we’ve be taking slow walks—really slow; I mean a turtle could get around the block three times to our one time. And when I succumb to the old fear-of-noise issue and refuse to walk any farther, Joan hurts too much to pull her leader-of-the-pack-Cesar-Milan maneuver. In fact, she does just the opposite. She pets me and just stands there waiting for my psychological trauma to pass. And, eventually, it does. Sometimes, traumas remind me of the tide. They crash into our lives, do a few back flips, and then, poof, they rush back to the open sea.

Shane is very patient with Joan’s backache and with my trepidation. He just sits and waits. I’m telling you—despite his nervous condition, I think he has Buddha potential.

Best wishes, Juno

In the Thicket of Things

The thicket is behind that huge clump of greenery behind Shane. Shhhh. Don't tell.

There I was in my hiding place, shaded from the insistent summer sun, far from the maddening crowd, sheltered from the noise, the buzz and hum, of life—traffic, lawn mowers, baths. It was all good. I could see the house but the house couldn’t see me. I could watch the goings on about the yard, but the goings on couldn’t watch me. It was my thicket, and I was happy there.

Then, Joan found me. “Juno, you’re all dirty,” she said, sounding disappointed.

So, what’s a little dirt? I’m a dog!

“Oh, Juno, now you need a bath.”

I had a feeling I was due.

“Okay, you stay in the dirt, and I’ll bathe Shane first,” she said, throwing me a figurative bone, for she knows how I relish a good hiding spot.

Of course, it’s not dirt; it’s earth. And as far as staying in it while Shane had his bath, that was fine by me. But, if a bath was indeed in the cards, well, I was going to roll in the earth, eat the earth, paw the earth, become the earth. Earth is purer than shampoo, cooler than air-conditioning, softer than the couch in the living room. So, I rolled around, dug little trenches, and licked the dark stuff that had given me such solace.

Eventually, the joy ended. I sat dutifully for the bath, and then we all walked down the block in the sunlight to dry us off. (Joan was a soggy mess and had a major backache from washing us.)

When we got back, she took bunches of cut vines and mint and soft leaves that smell like peanut butter and laid them over the earthen floor of my thicket. So, I still have my hiding place, but now it has a mint-peanut-butter floor. Hmmmmm. Rather interesting.

Wait! What’s this other smell? Dog shampoo? Oh, that’s me. Not to worry; it won’t last. Everything passes. This smell, too, shall pass, and I’ll be back in the thicket of things.

Best wishes, Juno

Thorny Trails and a Man Who Wants My Baby

Shane After the Fall.
(He's thinking of taking up Latin. Dogus smartus.)

There’s a trail that cuts through a clump of woods near the house. Sounds nice, huh? Well, it could be nice, but the people throw their garbage there. And not just the usual MacDonald’s cheeseburger wrappers or Wendy’s French fry containers or Big Burger's Styrofoam cups—they throw tree limbs and nasty plastic bags filled with things so stinky that they burn my nose. I mean, I like a good strong smell just like any other dog, but this is could make a skunk run for cover.

We used to cut through the trail all the time, only now it’s hard to make it over all the tree branches and rotting putrid things. But, today, we did cut through, because I was just too hot and tired to go all away around Cape Horn at the end of the road. Besides, the trail comes out right across the street from Buddy’s house, and I wanted to see if he was still alive behind the new white plastic fence.

Well, poor Shane tripped and fell into a hole; Joan’s new “Inspi(red)” t-shirt got caught on the thorns and so did her finger. Wow, can her blood drip. I had a little trouble too, but I was walking behind Shane and Joan, so they kind of beat down the path for me.

Then we met a nice man who wanted to know if I could have babies. When Joan told him no, he said that if he couldn’t have my baby, he would like to have a dog just like me. Imagine that!

Shane didn’t feel at all jealous. He was contemplating his embarrassing fall, and he just sat and stared at Joan and panted. Not me; I sat and smiled at the nice man.

Joan told him he could find a nice dog at the animal shelter. And then, just to be sure he wasn’t thinking of tying anyone up for life, she told him New York State was going to pass a law making it a crime to tie a dog up for more than three hours a day. “Hurray,” I thought, quietly thinking about the dogs who live without life.

If it hadn’t been for the heat, the garbage, and the thorns, it would have been a perfect walk.

Best wishes, Juno

P.S. to Owen Johnson (R-4) and Charles Fuschillo (R-8): You are going to pass that law, right?

Seen Around Town

Top: Lily licks her dainty chops on her queenly throne.

Below: Shane and I ponder life on our floorly beds.

Yesterday, Shane and I did the rounds both in the neighborhood and in a great circle surrounding the neighborhood. What a whirlwind of social interaction!

To start the day, which was nothing like the dog days I wrote about last week, Judith came out for a visit. She’s a cat lover, so I wasn’t able to get much enthusiasm out of her. But, she didn’t mind it when we all got in the car together to bring her to Arthur’s house. Well, when we got to Arthur’s, Lily the Terrier jumped on Shane’s face—I think she just wanted to see what he was about. A squabble ensued. One human took Lily off Shane’s face; another human took Shane off her neck. It was all over in five seconds.

Arthur is my man, because, instead of getting all huffy that Shane the intruder had salivated on his dog, he went and got two soup bones from the freezer and gave one to me and one to Shane so we’d have something to do while Joan visited inside.

Joan weakly objected, “But, Arthur, my dogs are vegetarians.”

Arthur smiled and patted her on the head, “Not any more.”

He’s a sensible man for whom I have great respect. Then, we went to David and Gloria’s where we sat on the slate patio and drank water and listened to the humans talking inside. Gloria is in love with Shane. David finally admitted that I’m sweet. They didn’t know that Shane and I were listening to the secretive murmur of their conversation. They think dogs can only comprehend words like sit, dinner, and walk. Ha! Language isn’t the exclusive domain of humans. Humans don’t get that simple fact. But, dogs get it.

When we got home, we took a nap and then went for our evening walk. Joan chatted it up for about an hour with Shellavon, the nice neighbor down the block. Eventually, Shane stopped being nervous and he lay down beside me waiting for the two of them to finish their observations about life. Dogs live life; humans talk about life. It’s a wonder we get along so well.

Best wishes, Juno

August Nights & Talking Trees

August nights can surprise. An August day is like the ruler, the big boss, the head honcho, the bully that turns up the oven from sunrise to sunset just to make you feel all helpless and clammy. But, the night doesn’t always copy the day. Sure, sometimes it can be just as mean, just as uncaring; but, other times, it gets all gentle and even a little apologetic for some of its past behavior. Tonight was one of those nights, so I went outside to bask in its kindness.

I sat for hours under the spell of the night breeze, my belly resting against the spongy carpet of cool grass. Tonight the grass was extra soft because Joan had just mowed it, which left it feeling a little damp and smelling like—well—freshly cut grass. Every time the wind picked up, the trees would wave their leafy arms and whisper secrets to one another; and not even a dog can understand the storytelling of trees, especially the ancient ones. The perfume from the mint patch in the back yard drifted into the front yard and fell asleep right under my nose. Sometimes, the breeze would stop and silence ruled the yard. Then, a car would pass or someone in a distant house would crack open a can of beer or a smile. I could hear it all.

Shane sat at the side of the walk and pretended he was enjoying the peace. But, he kept looking back at Joan, hoping she wouldn’t go inside without him. He’s still dealing with his abandonment issues. Me, I’m secure. It’s in the genes. What can I tell you? I’m a lucky dog. Shane is, too. Sometimes he knows it.

Dog Days in Ancient Rome: Siriusly

Everyone is saying, “It’s a dog day afternoon.” It’s never a dog day day or a dog day morning or a dog day night. It’s always a dog day afternoon. Some people say the ancient Romans made up the expression, “dog days of summer” up in honor of Sirius, the Dog Star (that’s why it’s never a cat day afternoon). They say that a Roman afternoon gets so hot that all the people take a nap and all the dogs take to the streets and go crazy. But, that doesn’t make sense. Dogs get sleepy in the heat just like people do.

Take yesterday. I was looking forward to a walk. The afternoon had been a real Roman afternoon—the kind of heat that makes you think you’re locked in a brick-oven kitchen with no hope of getting out. So, you just lie there and pant and try not to think about life's trials. But, at around 7 o’clock, there was a cooling breeze, so I thought, “Okay, let’s go for a walk.”

At first it was nice. A little boy about as big as me ran after us calling, “Did you know that I like dogs?” “Did you know that I like dogs?” “Did you know that I like dogs?”

He said it about ten times. Joan asked him if he had a dog. He said his sister had had a dog, but the dog died. Joan told the little boy that he could pet me, but he just smiled and shook his head. He was a little scared, so I made sure to sit very quietly to show him that I was no one to be afraid of. He stared and smiled a great big smile.

Then he said, “Bye, Dog,” and ran back to his friends.

We kept walking, but I started to feel kind of dog-day-afternoonish, so we slowed down. Shane didn’t feel anything. He was just happy to be out enjoying the smells, the air, the rhythm of our steps against the gray asphalt. The rain from the day before had made a skinny jagged crack right down the middle of the road. Block after block, I stared at the new crack and wondered how such a big crack could sneak into such a new road. The Romans must have been great road builders, because their roads don’t crack and their roads are way more than a few years old. Of course, if our roads didn’t crack, our road builders would have to get trained for other jobs.

Suddenly, I heard a noise in the distance, and I planted myself right in the middle of the road. Was it a firecracker? A truck? Did someone drop something? Did someone get hurt? Would I be next?

There were a bunch of people laughing because Joan couldn’t make me move. She tried to bribe me with a biscuit, but I didn’t fall for it, and I didn’t even care when she gave it to Shane. She tried to lift me up from behind, but I ground my butt into the street. She didn’t know what to do.

“Does she always do this?” one of the women asked.

“Hey, look at the dog. She won’t move!”

“Hey, Mom. Look at the dog. She won’t get up.”

All the people watched and laughed and smiled. I was like their street theater.

Joan knew I was scared of something. But, she didn’t realize how hot it was. And that just made things worse. But, after ten minutes of nonviolent protestations, I realized that the only way to get home would be to get up and walk. So, I did.

We got back to our own yard, and I ran to the patch of mint and sat there panting for a long time while Joan took the clothes off the line and put out the garbage and brushed Shane. The mint was very cooling. The smell made breathing easier and my lungs felt lighter and cooler with each minty inhalation. I started to feel better. The dog day retreated into a memory and I was ready to go inside.

No, dogs don’t go crazy in the heat unless they’re very unhappy. And, basically, I’m a happy dog. What’s more, if I lived in Rome, I would do what the Romans do.

Best wishes, Juno

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.

Venturing Forth

The past two days have seen a change in me. I’ve taken two—count them—two walks around the block with Joan and Shane. Yesterday, I got to sniff a baby’s foot and give it a little kiss. Babies don’t smell like humans—they smell all soft, like a carvel cake.

Then, we passed a great big man with tattoos all over his arms and neck. He sounded mad and he was yelling at someone—I guess a relative, since that’s how some humans treat their relatives—who was trying to parallel park a huge old van with big gashes and dents all over it. His voice was his personal, built-in loudspeaker: “Okay, okay. Not so fast. Watch it. Watch it!”

Joan felt obliged to point out a simple truth: “Yeah, you wouldn’t want to dent it or anything.”

The man looked surprised. He looked at us and then he looked at all the dents in the van, and let out a big friendly laugh. I guess he had to because Shane can look quite the scary dog when he wants.

Around the block we went. A lot of people weren’t outside. Not many kids in the street, which is too bad, since the kids are the best part of my day. But, much to my relief, I didn’t hear one firecracker. I guess the neighborhood ran out of them. Whew.

Tonight, after a day of rain, rain, rain, we walked around the block again. This time, a miniature dog named Hijo ran into the street to say hello. Hijo has a high-pitched little "yap-yap-yap." It’s sort of funny. Hijo’s owner came running out to the street, I guess, to save us from fluffy white Hijo. He picked him up and put him on his big shelf of a belly and Hijo’s yap-yap got even thinner and funnier. We all laughed together.

Yup. It’s good to be back in the world. I had forgotten that as long as you can manage to see the funny side of it, it’s not all that scary.

Best wishes, Juno