I'm always trying to convince him that he would be happier if he could mentally let go: stop thinking about the bird outside, the reflection my watch is making on the ceiling, or the squeaky I set on top of the fridge.
He refuses to be comforted. He can stare and wait and whine and dance and always, always keep up the stare. He cannot be diverted, appeased, or reasoned with. He is locked in a marriage between himself and fantasy, which thunder, lightening, earthquake, and gale cannot divorce.
Would Churchill train a dog to never, never, never give up? Is not discretion the better part of valor? Should not a covenant impetuously made when broken reveal a virtue?
I don't know. But I do know that I woke up in the middle of the night to grab my laptop, jot down this poem, and cannonball right back into sleep. I call it "O Coyote."
O' Coyote...
Your lust for roadrunners
is your undoing.
3 comments:
Glad to see you're back to blogging.
My g-ma's jack russell pukes if we forget to put the ball away before playing fetch too long. she never, never, never, never stops thinking about the ball.
what a tortured species.
That's so funny. I was just thinking the exact same thing when I left the house today.
Tortured species...
You know, I actually noticed this!!! When he was locked in my house for a few hours (waiting for you to come get him), he would NOT stop whining! I tried EVERYTHING to distract him! I'm not one to put effort in distracting dogs. Not usually a hard thing to do. He would NOT. LET. GO! Very Frustrating...
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