Sofa king, what?

We took the dogs (Jane is pictured left) to the p-a-r-k today and she was very happy, as usual, to roll in the high grasses. As we passed her once, she did a full 360 degree turn, landing somehow on her feet and looking surprised to see us.

We were plagued in the car and at home, while we stretched so that the air conditioning didn't make our muscles snap back into place like broken rubber bands, by a tangy kind of mulch-y smell. You know how mulch smells? (Or, I'm sorry David Brooks, is that just a Red State thing?) It's like that but with an edge to it. Upon some sniffing, we determined that it's indeed Miss Jane who is emanating the smell, and it must have been whatever she rolled in. But what could she have rolled in? I'm hoping that it was some sort of degrading tree matter, rather than some recently-expelled-from-a-critter matter.

Anyhow, I only attempt to bathe the dogs when they're completely unbearable to be around, because it always turns into a soapy cross-species wrestling match, and they're just going to go back to the woods/creek/beach/mulch pile within the next two days, so it seems pointless. But there are times when even a futile bath is called for, and if she still smells like this tomorrow, then she'll probably be in for it.


Empathy shout-out

My birthday was on Thursday, the day that the bomb attacks failed in London, and I'm getting a tiny little taste of what the 9-11 birthdays must feel like. I was listening to the news today, and got a nice little jolt of hearing my birthday mentioned* but then it was followed by talk of the terrorists. So all those 9-11 people must get these little jolts all the time but then have to remember: "Oh, yeah, the day... all those people died... and America changed forever and then that stupid fucking song 'Have You Forgotten' was written about it."


*Maybe this is stupid (and it's definitely self-centered on a micro scale) but the month or so leading up to my birthday is always happy-making, because I never know when an expiration date on a milk carton or container of yogurt or an upcoming event announcement on the radio will remind me that my birthday is coming up. And yeah, even though I'm guaranteed to get seriously depressed on the actual day, I still get excited.