Wednesday, January 6

“I wonder if other dogs think poodles are members of a weird religious cult.” Rita Rudner

It was moving day today for me. Not that it was much of a move; just downstairs from the guest room ‘A’ at my friend’s place to guest room ‘B’. I’m not being demoted (room B is actually bigger than room A and has a better wireless signal, so it’s really an upgrade), but I have to get out of the way for the renovation blitz we will be inflicting upon said room ‘A’ starting Saturday. I was going to go the coffee shop to write this afternoon, but by the time I moved some of my books (just some – I have a lot) to get ready to move the shelves (they are fostering my library while I do all this 'life inversion' work), it was getting too late to make the trip practical, so I found my way into my favorite chair hear at the homestead and decided to blog.

Drifting back to that coffee shop comment, don’t ask why, but the coffee shop is one of the best writing places for me – maybe I perform better under observation. I get my tea and a muffin, find a seat by an outlet so I can plug in my ancient laptop, check some e-mails, read a few blogs, and then, earplugs firmly plugged into ears and iTunes playing dissonant alternative sounds, I drift into a nice working state of mind. This is, however, something I never managed to do today, but promise I will do tomorrow. For those of you on the manuscript reading list, chapter 19 will be coming your way Friday at the latest.

One of the really nice advantages of a day like today is that, while I was moving books and clothes and getting the new room ready, I was also baby-sitting Dax. Dax, if you missed it or I didn’t mention it before, is the 7-month old puppy my friends own. Dax is a brindle coated, hound/shepherd/lab cross that, at seven months, has already eclipsed the 50-pound mark that the vet anticipated by twenty pounds. He most closely resembles a hound in his face and body, but only if said hound had been given the legs of a greyhound, rapidly progressing into the legs of a great dane. He’s a big, friendly, smart (and increasingly well-trained) 70-pound kid, and he’s a joy to be around. He inspired frequent fetch and tug-o-war breaks, allowed me the honor of watching him frolic in the snow (he goes literally insane), and even laid his head on my lap during neck scratching time (his neck, not mine, although if I can teach him that trick I’ll be bragging about it). Dax also conquered his nemesis, the basement staircase, today both descending and ascending several times. It was a big day.

As I write this, he’s lying at my feet asleep, long, gangly legs twitching as he chases some unfortunate rabbit through his dreamscape. This makes me, in turn, smile. I want a dog, but that has to wait another year or so while I get the niggling business of starting a new life out of the way. In the meantime, I’ll just borrow Dax once and a while for my canine fix.

Oh, the quote. It doesn’t really have anything to do with anything, except that I thought it was funny and it mentions dogs. I could have made it a serious blog about racial profiling (you see the connection, don't you?), but I felt frivolous instead.