I wrote a post yesterday about how indecisive I was about which book I wanted to read after A Room with a View. For some reason or other, my internet crapped out, my dad wanted dinner, and my dog, Misha, spent the next four-plus hours being really needy (so the post disappeared into the ether). Don’t get me wrong, I get a serious sense of validation when she is being needy…she is quite independent.
My dad had chicken, and Misha operates under the law that chicken is her food. We make her food, rather I (or my mom) make her food. It’s homemade–chicken, sweet potatoes, squash, green beans, and carrots. We are going to rejig it a bit because they shouldn’t have too many sweet potatoes. She also eats bananas, strawberries, low-sodium cheese, yoghurt, and sneaks the occasional cookie from me. She really likes Italian cookies, like Lady Fingers. Those were my favourite when I was growing up. In fact, I loved them so much, I used to say, when I’m older I hope I have lady fingers, as in my hands. I have quite long fingers, so I owe that to the youth-fueled diet and wish fulfillment. In any case, the smell of chicken or sweet potatoes are scents that Misha associates with being hers. So, she was being really naughty about my dad eating chicken. I took her pee, fed her bananas and yoghurt with her medication (for her heart). I tried to take her upstairs so I could do some work. However, that was not in Misha’s schedule.
Instead, Misha flew off my bed and began to sniff every corner of my room. This actually drives me nuts. SNIIIIIIIIIFFFF. SNIFFSNIFFSNIFFSNIFF. SNIIIIIIIIIFFF. Don’t forget, she shouldn’t be doing that because it can make her choke. So, I gave up and brought her back downstairs. No one was eating anything. But Misha was convinced that they were. I got myself a glass of water, and Misha came and said, ‘I WANT THAT, NOW’! She was overheating and it had ice, so I put it on the ground for her and she drank it. I had to take the rest of it to water plants, but what is soap and dishwashing for?
I took her for another walk, a forty-five minute walk–she was choking a lot from her heart, and the exercise helps to stabilise her heart. I had to carry her home because Misha only walks in one direction. Honestly, you need to say that with a soft French accent. ‘Only in zeee one direction, if you please. Misha’s magnetic poles are seriously disturbed if she is required to turn around to walk chez moi’.
Misha, ze aristocrat française
Then, as she was hot, I took her to the front door and held her up, with it open, so she could get some nice cool air. She was breathing deeply and relaxing. I put her down, and she remembered that my mom comes home from work about then, but she had the day off. She started crying at the door and running between the front door and the garage door. She had just gone out; it was unlikely she’d have to go out again. So, I picked her up and brought her to my mom and said, ‘Misha, look, mummah is here’. Misha hopped off and went back to crying. Then my mom goes, ‘She wants to go in the car, doesn’t she’? Did I forget to mention that? Misha bloody loves cars. We do a lot of standing about as she watches cars drive by, on her walks.
It turns out, Misha considers the car to be another entity. My mom doesn’t leave for work. My mom and the car mutually leave for work. An equality between human and machine. How very Heideggerian of my dog. So, finally, my mom and I gave in and decided that we might as well take Misha in the car, and I could run into the shop to grab some odds and ends that we needed. Misha sat on my lap, on a pillow, staring out of the window. She was so happy to be in the car, going for a ride, you would think that she had won a lottery. Perhaps, a lottery wherein her humans would take her for a car ride in the evening. Haha. So, Misha got to go into the car and be pampered the ways the little princess knows best.
Let’s not forget, I found a book I am going to read next. They finally came out with AMAZING copies of Stephen King’s It. GOOD JOB SCRIBNER. I’ve been absolutely distraught at the rather ugly covers of olde. I think I’m going to read that alongside another Forster novel, and add it into upcoming podcasts. We’ll see how that goes because I normally dislike reading multiple books at once, but I think I’ll try to do a book-as-buddy-read. And, I think the anachronistic comparison of novels of manners and horror should be a fun task.
Heaps of Love,
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