It has, honestly, been over a week since I actually wrote the last “Dog Days Mondays” post.  Cort isn’t acting a lot better, but I am.  Which means he actually is.  A lot of his behavior I was misreading.  He was trying to communicate with me.  Now that I’m listening better we are all doing a lot better.

He’s for keeps.

I still have some work to do.

But I’m a little obsessed.

I often find that posting every day on this blog saps my writing time.  I’d love to begin to work on a new novel, or jot some poetry, or work on some drama pieces, or write in response to a prompt.  (That just sounds luxurious.)  The reality is, however, that unless it’s for this blog, I don’t always have the time.  (A lot of my not blogging writing time now is spent writing queries for agents.)

So the following is an experiment in closely observing and recording the absolute mundane.

Warning:  The writing style is different from my “archiving voice” I use talking about Babu’s life.  There are also, unfortunately, dead baby bunnies.  Oh, Spring, you are cruel and sometimes I hate you.  (Although it came out with an entirely different effect, I was thinking of Rabbit Patch Diary’s writing and observation style as I wrote this.)

Dog Walking:  Day One:
I would not have noticed it if we didn’t have to walk back up the hill to get home: the half moon in the full bright, no could sky.  I couldn’t tell what amazed me more, the moon in the day time, or the lack of clouds, finally.

Dog Walking:  Day One:
For his “Long Walk” I always hope he makes it across the street and down the road to Pennywise’s yard.  I scares me-over grown and fenced off with wrought iron and one shiny orange child’s shoe under the tree limbs that hang low.  I feel no guilt leaving Cort’s poop there.

Dog Walking:  Day One:
It’s midnight on a Thursday night.  Surprisingly warm.  Silent.  I wonder if anyone peering through a curtain on their way to the fridge will question my motives, lifestyle.  I realize I’m immune.  I have a dog now.

Dog Walking: Day Two:
What horrifies me more?:
How long the neighbor’s grass grew, how many ticks?  Ugly clapboard house.  Who doesn’t have shutters these days?  Or
The mother bunny having her babies right in front yard next to the side walk and then abandoned them.  Or
Upon careful examination, realizing the babies were dead.  Or
After a few days being able to clearly identify rigor mortis.  Or
When I realized he wasn’t growing out his lawn to protect the bunnies.  He mowed.  Or
When the bunnies bodies were still in the cut grass, unbutchered, still dead.  Or
When, today, walking by, it seems their bodies have turned to mud.

Dog Walking:  Day Two:
The cars in the drive way are nice, why are they such slobs?  And will I ever forgive them?

Dog Walking: Day Two:
I always pick up his poop if we are at the middle school.  Those kids walk everywhere.  If I’m lucky, Cort poops, and consequently I pick it up with my trusty plastic baggie, before I get to the trash can they stupidly keep outside.  Tonight, he pooped in and on the branches of the bushes.  I didn’t pick it up.  They can’t possible walk in there, can they?

 
Dog Walking: Day Three:
Our next door neighbor has a dog that looks like Roo.  Their next door neighbor is Roo’s family.  They were outside today and I didn’t bring Cort over to make a friend.  They made a mistake of bringing a gorgeous but feral dog home from Afghanistan.  He’s afraid of every thing.

Dog Walking: Day Three:
Right across from Pennywise’s yard is the most whimsical and garden I’ve ever seen.  I’d like to run into whomever lives there one day and explain that Cort keeps peeing on their bushes because we feel we belong there.

Dog Walking:  Day Three:
He was scared by an oil bottle in the road.  A plastic bottle of oil.  I made him get closer and closer until he no longer was.  I think he feels stupid now.

 

 

 
Dog Walking:  Day Four:
Cort makes it both impossible to carry a coffee with me on our morning walk and to enjoy a cup before we go.

Dog Walking: Day Four:
Our “long walk.”  At the corner house is “Beagle Friend.”  The little guy, when he catches us walking by, throws himself at the window and barks.  I’ve never seen him outside.  I hope someday I do.  He’s already a friend.  Now when I don’t see him at the window I make a lot of noise.

Dog Walking Day Four:
Dead Eyes.  He (or she) is orange and white stone.  He is only ever seen at night, and not by Cort, on the steps to his house, or in the bushes.  He hears us coming and by the time I get there, he is already frozen, and no matter how I call, he won’t move.  Maybe it’s because his name isn’t Dead Eyes.  His plan is fool proof.