My frisky dingo

The dog doesn't get out much. Ciara is not a fan of the outdoors. In addition to her agoraphobia, her neuroses and shortcomings include:

  • unexpected noises
  • plastic bags
  • needing to have her stomach rubbed at least 85 times a day
  • not eating her own food until she's sure I've finished with mine
  • licking the carpet (and sometimes hocking up a hairball, a la feline)
  • inability to retrieve an object, but lust for having it thrown
  • disinterest in any other four-legged beast
  • etc.

I etc. because undoubtedly there are more unexplored areas which, after four years together, we have not explored. She'll be nine in October; I got her as a rescue from the Col. Potter Cairn Rescue Network, once I knew that I had to have a used animal, and that the local no-kill shelters weren't going to give me what I wanted, unless I wanted a dog bigger than the square footage of my apartment, a pit bull, a Doberman, or some combination of all three.

One of the good things about Ciara, however, and one of the reasons I sense Col. Potter's people (sounds like a childrens' book: "Col. Potter and His People of Many Colors") gave her to me is that she does quite fine being left alone, and being agoraphobic and all, is just dandy not being walked for extended periods of time. As it is, she gets one long walk in the morning to take care of business, then the rest of the day there are two, possibly three, darts out the door to the curb to leave a mark and then back in again. People laugh at us. I'm secretly relieved. (And, for that matter, so is she.)

But today, I was home all day doing the stupid small things that just need doing, and only get done once there are at least three of them, because three makes a list and I have to write it down and then I'm anal enough to get satisfaction from crossing off the items once I've done them. Today's list included:

  • painting spots I'd missed
  • wrapping my sister in law's birthday presents
  • changing the water filter
  • writing a review of a TV show called "Frisky Dingo," which has neither dingos nor friskiness

Inadvertently, the list spawned a new one because I needed a card to go with Kris's present, and there is no water filter to change, and so on we go. On the bright side, a lot of things got painted that didn't expect such a treatment today, and the filter in the A/C is de-fluffed.

God, life as an adult is just full of excitement.

So, the dog: She's thrilled to have me here all day. She's also fine with collapsing akimbo on the carpet for long periods while I appear to be doing nothing of interest. But once I stir or appear to get up from my chair or resting area, it's as if I've been purposefully ignoring her. OH MY GOD SHE'S GETTING UP AND I NEED MY KONG TOY NOW. OH MY GOD SHE MIGHT BE GETTING FOOD. OH MY GOD SOMETHING IS HAPPENING.

When the truth is, I'm probably just going to the toilet. Ciara doesn't care. She just stands on the threshold and whines at me. Sometimes the whines are almost articulate. One day, she's going to speak. I'm sure of it. And then, when I don't immediately follow her, she comes in and collapses on the tiles and waves at me with one paw until I lean over and pat her pink little hairy belly.