Posted by: stillironic | March 31, 2010

Mysteries of Dogdom

River looking more demented than he really is

I’m too hopped up on hot chocolate to concentrate. That’s right, hot chocolate. I can’t drink coffee or most teas; they’re too acidic for my li’l ole Baby Boomer stomach. So to keep from dozing off, and having my head crash onto my keyboard, I drink a jagunda mug of hot chocolate around noontime.

Great way to get calcium, BTW, for us ladies with small bones (I may have the smallest wrist in all of mankind, not counting your babies and little kids. It’s not even three magic markers wide. And when I turn it over, or them over—‘cuz technically I do have two wrists, but one of them is covered in bandages from some surgery I had that sounded good at the time—I can see my pulse. That used to creep me out—staring at my pulsating wrist. Just like I could never fall asleep to the sound of my beating heart. I was afraid I’d hear it stop, and then WTF would I do?)

Anywho, we were talking hot chocolate. When I was shoveling out the yummy, already sweetened, European-process cocoa—with my left hand because of the surgery that sounded good at the time—maybe I used a big honkin’ serving spoon instead of a soupspoon. Which is what probably happened due to my ineptness at multitasking. You see I was also trying to keep one eyeball trained on my elderly, senile dog River to make sure he didn’t poop on the floor again. When he poops indoors, he usually poops on a rug, probably in willful ignorance of the tile flooring that covers, I don’t know, about half the damn house.

And this I want to know: why does River (named after River Phoenix and Baltimore’s Riverside Park, where friends “found” him) save his revolting, yucky poops for the rug and reserve his nice, well-formed, almost pristine, poops for outside? This is surely one of the mysteries of dogdom.

I’ll have to ask hubby JJ about this because he occasionally channels Mo, our dearly departed other dog, aka Dr. Maurice Doggett, who never pooped inside, BTW. (When alive, Mo was our main dog and River, the auxiliary dog. And yes, River was upgraded when the time came.)

In case you wonder, JJ’s being able to channel Dr. Doggett is a good thing because I’m convinced that Mo and JJ ended up with each other’s brains. How else to explain JJ’s sudden change in behavior some years back. Midlife crisis, phewy.

The brain transplant theory answers so many more questions.



  1. You had me at tiny wrists. Yours can’t possibly be smaller than mine which measure (because I just did)
    5 5/8″ on the left and 5 7/8″ on the right. You are, perhaps, the only person on the planet who might give a shit about that. Thanks for stopping by my blog, fellow boomer and liberal. I like your writing, too, and I’ll be back.


    • Thanks for the kind words! And a real compliment coming from a fellow (sister?) blogger. So here I am trying to measure my left wrist with a right hand all wrapped up from surgery (from a wrist augmentation–no. actually, carpal tunnel/arthritis surgery). After several clumsy tries, I measured in at 5-1/2 inches. And I’m not teensy tiny either. Let me say I don’t feel good about having “won”! (I’m very broad shouldered, on the other hand. If you are, too, maybe we could….)


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