Your ears are delicious.

Meet Parti. She's the one on the left.

Parti is a "parti poodle," aptly named for her coloring, and she belongs to my good friend Katherine. Katherine and I often watch each other's dogs, and over time, they have formed an immense bond. Some would even say, a romantic bond. And because we are all progressive thinkers, we totally support our dogs in their alternative lifestyle.

Last night Katherine had an event to attend, so Parti spent the night with us. The real crime here is that the lighting was terrible, and these guys never stop moving for one second, so most of the shots were blurry and dark. I did manage to vaguely capture of few moments of what took place in my bed last night.

Parti thinks Cooper's ears are deliriously good-tasting. These pictures really don't capture just how much she loves Cooper's ear flavor. She doesn't just lick them, she puts the entire things in her mouth and sucks on them, like a nursing kitten. By the time we went to sleep last night, Cooper's ears resembled two soggy rodents.












These two are so intimate, you almost get the feeling you should leave the room.

Parti's ear fetish all began several months ago when I took a trip and left Cooper with Katherine for a couple of nights. The first night, as it dawned on her that I wasn't coming to pick her up, she started to tremble all over, in that very heart-breaking way that only Cooper can. In an attempt to comfort her, Parti came over and gave her ear a lick. Then another. And another. Then she was like Eddie Murphy in Raw, saying, "That wasn't no Saltine. That was...that was a Ritz. That wasn't a Ritz? God, that was the best cracker I ever ate in my life. Can I have another one, please? Please, one more."

And before long it was a full-fledged addiction.

On another, completely random note, I finally got one of those wall decals I've been lusting after.

It looks cute, yes? I do like it a lot. I just can't understand why they are so expensive. Up close, it is really choppy-looking, and kind of a pain in the ass to apply. Luckily this one was small, but I can imagine larger decals being an absolute nightmare. Nonetheless, this was a generous gift from my friend Korie, to thank me for donating my graphic design skills over the years. You're welcome. :)

The Crazy Dog Lady

My dog is controlling my life and everybody knows it. They all think I’m crazy, but I don’t care.

Here is my logic: I do not have children. If I did, I would be less likely to think there was a person trapped inside my pet and treat her accordingly. If there was a human child in my life, I would be too busy to anthropomorphize my dog.

I am an unmarried, childless adult, and as a woman, I am hard-wired to want to nurture something. What a lucky dog I have, that she is the recipient of every ounce of mothering I possess. This means daily walks, gourmet dog food, doggie day care and a fierce reluctance to leave her alone for more than an hour. This translates as me spending exorbitant amounts of cash on her, staying home nights to be with her, and many dedicated hours of wrestling on the rug.

That’s a lot of effort poured into something barely the size of a human head. Cooper is 8 pounds of spotted pink flesh and chaotic, wiry hair. She suffered from mange as a puppy and never recovered her hair fully, leaving it sparse on her head, and completely naked on her chest. She has the appearance of an expensive jacket that was left in the dryer too long, shrunken and disheveled. Once, I passed a woman at the dog park who said to me, with slight distaste, “What IS that?”

To say that she is energetic is a ridiculous understatement. Imagine a manic, woolly, gremlin hurling itself at you as it frantically tries to stick its tongue up your nose. Imagine a small blur of black and white fuzz as it gleefully chases a ball for the thousandth time. But also imagine an intelligent and perceptive beast, who peers into you with the most guileless brown eyes you have ever seen. That’s Cooper.

When we walk down the street together, people stare at her. She inspires squeals of delight from children, and soft cooing from grown women. I’ve heard teenage miscreants marveling at how fast she runs, and tough looking men in leather jackets talk to her like a baby as they scratch her ears. Nearly everyone smiles when they spot her trotting along by my feet (or yanking me defiantly down the sidewalk). She, in turn, welcomes everyone equally, eagerly, with an unrestrained joy that is hard to resist. I have seen Cooper turn a scowl into a grin on dozens of faces.

If she were a human child, she would be the kind of kid who shaves her head and joins a band, but still wants to please her parents. She would sneak out of her room at night to hang with her friends, only to confess in the morning. I would catch her smoking, but not be able to bring myself to punish her when she starts crying. That’s the kind of kid she would be.

But she’s not a kid, she’s a dog, and aside from myself, she’s the only responsibility I have. That is how I justify treating her like a human being. If, in my life, she is the only creature that ever depends and relies on me, I damn well better do it right. However small and simple, that dog gives my life an added sense of purpose.

When you’re a kid, you hear the tale of the crazy cat lady, a mousy old spinster who prefers the company of animals to human beings. So what if I’ve become the crazy dog lady? So what if my friends roll their eyes when I announce that I cannot go to dinner, because Cooper needs company? At the end of the day, what makes me happy is knowing I did the best I could for my small family of two.