In the Bunker
I don’t have a dog. I also don’t have a cat. Or birds. I was at a party this weekend where the owners had so many birds in their bathroom I was waiting for Alfred Hitchcock as I washed my hands.
They also had an afghan dog the size of a small horse walking around who was eye level with the buffet table. He appeared to be deliberately walking nonchalantly by the table (Ok, I could be wrong about that but it did occur to me) and with each pass would cock his head to the side and give a tongue test to the goodies on the edge of the table.
I decided to eat anything near the centerpiece.
I stayed with people who had three dogs and I worried that when I got up early in the morning and went into the kitchen, I’d set them all to barking. But, none did. One of them, named Satchel, is a large dog who may have “doodle” in its breed name but I’m not 100% sure since that could be the other one. Anyway, this creme colored large dog lumbered in and stuck his soft snout in my hand and said good morning.
His bedroom is their beautiful expensive couch. He has very long legs which he somehow folds up into a nest that cradles him on the soft sofa like a large center pillow–which is what I thought “he” was when I walked by until his head flew up to take notice of my passing.
I took pictures of him outside and then the other dogs came out and I took a few more pictures. One of them, who come to think of it, may be the one with doodle in his breed name, didn’t run as much as spring from place to place. I would change his breed name from “doodle” to “spring doodle”. ( I wish my template for this blog allowed for additional photos–are you listening WordPress?)
The dog on top of this post saw a squirrel shortly after I took his picture and went jetting out to give chase.
I don’t know the name of the dog or its breed but when I saw this expression, I saw myself.
“Living in a bunker” is how I have described these past weeks of headline stomach churning days.
This is how it looks (and I looked) writing my blog each day, except the dog, and this gives me no pleasure to admit this–the dog is much cuter.
©Pat Coakley 2008