I’m about to leave on an epic bicycle errands run. Taking pants to the tailor, exchanging some shoes that don’t fit, stocking up on all my hippie teas before we move, getting a picture frame, all these things happen in a different part of town, so off I go, pedaling away. It is too annoying to do multiple errands on the bus. Bicycle, make it so!
Also about to send a million dollars in the mail to someone I’ve never met for a house I’ve never seen. Fingers crossed on that! You have to trust people sometimes or else you can’t get through your life. The worst that happens is that we get to Massachusetts and are homeless and all our money has been stolen.
We got Mr. Snoopy a new bed to replace the falling-apart one I made in Iowa. I for some reason chose to make the bed–which entailed a lot of sewing–right after getting my hideous arm wound, so the craftsmanship is even shoddier than my usual style. For three years now Snoopy had laid atop this somewhat functional bed stuffed with old pillows, but no more. A grownup job for me means a grownup bed for him, so off we went to the pet store, where we purchased the cheapest one on offer. It is the exact same concept as the one I made (a “duvet cover” you stuff old t-shirts or whatever into) but its stitching is non-pareil and it is made of a durable waterproof fabric covered with a camping pattern. At first he was afraid of it but now he’s into it.
Did I tell you that he has developed a CRIPPLING fear of my backpack, which I have used almost every day since long before he was even born? This backpack has been a regular presence in his life for four years and suddenly a couple of weeks ago he decided he was scared of it. He won’t go in the room if the backpack is in there. If I bring the backpack out and put it on the floor, to put my computer into it or something, he stares at it in horror and backs stiff-legged all the way into the bedroom. We’ve tried everything–putting treats on it, showing it to him, sitting on it, holding it on our laps, and even smudging it with sacred palo sante smoke after coming to the conclusion that the only possible explanation must be ghosts. Nothing worked! He’s just scared of it now.
Yesterday somebody tried to pat my dog and he shied away in a great terror and I said “He’s not, like, a fun dog, sorry.”
Also it is crow fledging season, so the grasslands of Portland are littered with big ugly crow fledglings who are sitting on the ground, figuring out how to fly. This causes a lot of problems at the dog park, and there are a lot of grownup crows dive-bombing dogs who come too close to the babies, which of course is their right and perfectly as it should be, but everyone is in general stressed out. One morning recently I took the snoop to the park and he saw a crow baby sitting on the ground, looking around like a dipshit, and he went RACING over to it in his full-on squirrel-chasing mode, and I YELLED for him to stop and for a second I was so scared I was about to witness/have to deal with crow-baby carnage of some sort, but then, because the crow-baby didn’t run/fly away, the snoop just stopped in front of it and sniffed it very very daintily right on the top of its head while it just looked up at him. Then he walked away.