shiloh epitome of incomprehensibility I've had a piece of news for days that I've avoided writing about here. And I was kind of scratching my head as to why. No suspense needed, it's just this: Mom's getting a dog - definitely getting a dog. See? Nothing that'd take a non-wordy sort long to say. Nothing anger-provoking, nothing traumatizing. Except that changes can be stressful. Or maybe the reason was because there was no name attached - blathing this on "dog" would seem too general. Now, names have been provided: my parents went off to Ontario to see the litter of goldendoodles this weekend, and Mom rejoiced to discover the one she'd wanted when she'd seen the breeder's picture of the bunch hadn't been chosen yet. He's a rich red-brown colour and she's calling him Shiloh. I told Mom on the phone that I'm sure there was a book about a dog named Shiloh. Except in my mind it was by Lois Lowry, and it's actually by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor, she of the Alice books I read and enjoyed. I also thought it was a river in the States that had a song about it, but that's Shenandoah. (Same first and last letters, okay?) The - very superficial - thing that bothers me is that I just looked the book up and the dog in it is a white and brown beagle. This one looks different. I feel like it should be called Auburn or Cinnamon. But it's Mom's dog and Mom gets to name it. The less superficial thing I alluded to above: changes, stress. And it doesn't seem like buying a dog from a breeder is altruistic, if you want to look at things through that lens. I had told Mom - as Lia, self-proclaimed dog expert, had told her - that it might be better to adopt one. Although Lia's idea was more that Mom would be better with a slower-paced animal. My dear cousin! she's not ninety. But again, I can't assume that my philosophy about If I Have Children need translate to If a Family Member Gets a Dog. I mean, I can't assume that I have any say on the matter. I also can't give birth to dogs, unlike the sci-fi-ish Germania in Rammstein's "Deutschland" video (which I recommend; it's more somber, less sexier than some of their more youthful music vids, but it's friggin bee-you-ti-ful). Okay. Topic. Dogs. I have a vacuum cleaner I got two years ago - okay, at least one year ago - and I haven't opened it yet. The idea was to get a handheld one that could be more convenient at cleaning, say, the basement. And it just went into the corner of my room and sat there. But it says it's good at slurping up pet hair, so it might be useful now. If it's used, that is. 220205 ... e_o_i Oh yes, my parents aren't bringing the dog back with them. They're just choosing it. In two weeks, they'll be going there again and bringing it home. I'm sort of looking forward to it, sort of not. 220205 ... e_o_i Mom took pictures! Its fur is more golden-brown than reddish. Adorable ears, but let's be real: what puppy's ears aren't adorable? They're taking it home in two weeks, though, and that seems too soon. There's a story Mom likes to tell. I was two and a bit when my brother was born, and apparently I was fascinated to see him when I visited the hospital, all tender with what seemed like sisterly admiration. But when I realized my parents were taking him home, I threw a huge tantrum. (I have no memory of this.) See, I didn't know they were going to KEEP him. 220208 ... e_o_i I'm not prepared. But am I ever? 220216 ... e_o_i Guess who's here??? My parents came back a day early. I was just about to leave for the drugstore, running out because I'd be late for talking with David on Whereby, when someone called "Kirsten!" My neighbour? Nope, it was Mom. Their car had just pulled in the driveway. I was surprised to see them back - maybe slightly disappointed, since I was hoping to have another day to clean up, a quiet day with just Y. and myself in our separate but intersecting spheres. But there was another entity to reckon with. "Where's the dog? Can I see the dog?" "He's on the seat. He doesn't want to come out," she laughed. He was smaller than I expected. Golden-brown, like in the picture, his fur somewhere between curly and straight. I put my hand out and he licked my fingers. I told David this later. "What's if people did that to greet each other? Held out their hand and the other person licked it?" Anyway, between going to the store, talking on Whereby, putting coins into coin rolls, and studying for the Indo-European exam tomorrow, I played with Shiloh in the kitchen, where he's currently penned in (he'll have his run of the downstairs soon, once Dad sets up the baby gates in front of the stairs and once more things are dog-proofed). Just now he wagged his tail when he saw me. Before that he was only doing that with Mom and Dad. Everyone talks to him differently. Dad: "You're a very curious and adventuresome animal, which is good." Mom: "Hi Shiloh! Good boy, Shiloh! Stop that" (he'll bite people's clothes if he gets excited). Y: "Hi Rover! Roverandom! come outside." Mom: "Call him by his real name." Y: "It's a story by Tolkien." Me: "Did you know you're a 'kwon' in Proto-Indo-European? Oh yes you are. And that's an acrostatic noun in the strong cases with a proterokinetic weak case. No! No biting. Wait, Lia said not to say 'no', because people say it in an angry tone of voice. But don't bite, okay?" Y (waiting outside with him): "Are you going to urinate?" (He is too dignified to say "pee".) 220220 ... e_o_i Napping while Mom and I made supper, his legs twitching the way dogs' legs do when their minds are dreaming. Cute, very. But now it's midnight and he's whining to get out of the kitchen. He was yipping; I took him outside to poop. He started the noises again; I took him out again. He whined and nosed at the door, as if to say, "Why are you doing this?" Cause and effect. I'm trying to teach you cause and effect. "If you bark, you go outside." But I feel like doing that again would be mean. I do want to do a bit of writing before I fall asleep, but maybe if take the laptop upstairs, turn off the light off, he'll settle down. 220221 ... e_o_i Last night, I sat down on the rug next to him and began to sing to the tune of "Edelweiss" - something like Sleepy sleep, sleepy sleep, I think you should be sleepy. Don't be scared of the wind Even though it sounds creepy. All the branches are our friends - In the day, they're fleepy. Sleepy sleep, sleepy sleep, I think you should sleep deeply. I'm not sure if "fleepy" was exactly the imaginary word I used there, but it was something. And after saying the wind sounded creepy, I_looked_out_a_window_and_saw (from my sitting-down vantage point) the branches of two tall backyard trees. So I felt weirdly inspired to sing "all the branches are our friends" - it felt Tolkien-ish somehow, and a genuinely touching moment, feeling close to nature and dogdom, notwithstanding the verbal silliness of the results. And the dog slept. But it felt less poetic when it woke me at 2:30, 4:45, and 6:50 A.M. (the middle time it didn't have to pee, it was just lonely, so I sang again). Now Dad is telling me not to do the singing bit or I'll spoil him. He says he'll get up in the night and take him to pee, but I shouldn't go down there and randomly start sing. (But if the dog's whining, then I can't sleep, so what do I do?) 220222 ... e_o_i edits *randomly start sing-ING, I mean. 220222 ... e_o_i He likes sardines. Dad opened a can and he jumped up, excited. He also likes chewing on socks - which is not ideal, but also slightly amusing. 220223 ... epitome of incomprehensibility Dad: "I need my own supply of poop bags." Mom: "I've got lots and lots of poop bags." When I take Shiloh outside to do business (more often peeing; he poops about twice a day, like a person, but his bladder is small) he tends to dawdle. He likes snow! He'll spend time Climbing on what for him is a hill Putting his face in the snow Gnawing at the stalks of last summer's plants Standing alert as cars pass A personality is emerging: friendly but competitive. When I take him to the dog park, he's more interested in sticks when other dogs are holding them. Or he's just attracted to moving things. If something's moving, he wants to investigate. He's a little nervous around trucks and snow shovels, maybe because of the association of large noisy trucks with snow scoops. Our neighbour's kid said hi, but he was holding a snow shovel, and Shiloh shied away. 220304 ... e_o_i Lia met him for the first time, to mutual admiration. It was late when she left, so Dad drove her to the bus stop and I went along for the ride. When we came back, Mom had fallen asleep in front of the TV and Shiloh had just managed to grab onto the table with his paws. He licked the edge of the banana pie. "No, Shiloh! Down!" went Dad. I cut that piece out of the pie: into the compost with you. "You're in the doghouse," he continued, but that wasn't literal, because he didn't go back into his crate. He, too, fell asleep in front of the TV, despite the rapid-fire words about the siege of Mariupol. 220417 ... e_o_i Weird_nostalgia: my memories of when Shiloh was small enough to sit in my lap are tangled up in the Ukraine war. I would sit cross-legged, my back to the couch or chair, watching the 10 PM news. He would lick my hand as if for comfort. 221127 ... e_o_i Oh yes, he ate a dead squirrel today. On the sidewalk. The whole thing, and he growled and wouldn't let my brother pull him away from it. Y. was walking to meet me as I came back from the train. I saw him on the corner of a nearby street just after it happened. "Kirsten! Kirsten!" he called. I looked up. "Oh, hi!" But his voice was anxious. "What?" I can't pretend I didn't laugh when I heard the situation, but his worry transferred to me and, once home, I hopped up the stairs to Dad's study to ask him whether the bones would hurt the dog any. In his opinion (and that of the friend he was talking to on his phone, a conversation I interrupted), they were too small to do his gut much harm. As "punishment" he didn't get a kibble supper. I'm sure he's so sad! 221127 ... e_o_i I meant Shiloh didn't get a kibble supper. Dad didn't either, incidentally. 221127 ... e_o_i I came home and there's a note on the door from my parents saying they're at the vet's. Both Mom and Dad, which worries me. Shiloh, do you have to eat stupid things?? In the kitchen, they left some slabs of pumpkin on roasting trays. I don't dare cook them, because I don't have instructions. I don't even know what my parents plan to do with them. But perhaps I'd feel better if I got supper ready. 221128 ... e_o_i Phew, he's fine. They were just taking him to get medications renewed. YOU COULD HAVE TOLD ME. Oh yeah, and the roadkill didn't even make him throw up. Neither did the rotten salmon abandoned on the side of the road one time and the macaroni dumped beside the garbage in the park. Apparently it's just rotten vegetables that make him sick. Last week, Dad, letting thriftiness get in the way of wisdom, fed Shiloh a bunch of yellowed, spoiled broccoli. Guess who puked on the floor twice while I was tutoring online in the other room? (I tried not to show any signs of distraction.) 221128 ... e_o_i Poor doggy, he went to bed without supper because he has to get his testicles excised tomorrow morning. Humans don't do such dramatic surgery to ourselves for contraception purposes; we're all for finer-grained snips and closures. But we do have to fast before surgery. I am only fasting from things sugary, not needing to be cut open at the moment. 230111 ... e_o_i Almost two and behaving better. 231204 ... e_o_i Language and the Dog: His nickname "Lo" is reduplicated into "Lolo" or extended into "Lo and behold." Who does this? Me, mainly. "Lolo! Lo and behold! Supper's ready." I also bend phonology to get a rhyme out of his dinner: "Nibble your kibble. Like it says in the Holy Bibble." This past weekend as we approached the soccer field of Westwood_Park, where I usually run with him, I tested whether he would respond to, "Willst du rennen?" (In German, "Do you want to run?") This was to see if he knew the word "run" or responded more to the tone. (Or if he secretly knew German, besides "Du bist ein guter Hund" and such). With "rennen," he didn't go any faster, but when I said "run" right after, he sprang away, tugging my leash-holding arm. Having reached a certain maturity at 2, he understands a number of words and expressions, including run walk outside ball food treat cheese sit shake paw pee/poo(p) About the latter! Yesterday Y. asked Shiloh, "Do you need to relieve yourself?" and was met with no reaction. USE THE CHILDISH WORDS, MY BROTHER. My hypoothesis: he does not comprehend "relieve yourself." 240212 what's it to you? who go blather from