Nothing funny about feldspar

I heard a radio commercial the other day flogging a pet store. “Imagine the joy and delight on your pet’s face when he opens the holiday present you bought for him at our fine establishment.”

I ascribe a lot of emotions to Albite, but I’ve never thought of him as expressing “joy” or “delight.” His emotions are more like “impatient” or “bored.”

Perhaps I’m just being speciesist, but I don’t think of dogs as caring about the fact that it’s a christmas present. Or believing it’s a present at all, for that matter. Gift, schmift. He knows you got it for him, and just wants to chew it, now, dammit! Gimmee!

I know they exist, but that’s not the point. I was sitting with Albite this morning (we sit in the brown chair every morning — I surf and he snoozes) and he looked up at me all sleepily like the Cute! Pupper! he is. Awwwww.

But he’s usually so terribly interested in the whatever I’ve got in my hands, that if I had my regular camera he’d stop being cute and just be annoying. Therefore I need a camera in my glasses so that I can take pictures without him changing expression.

You’d get to see his fuzzy pink nose like I do — up close.

Our neighbors have two dogs (let’s call them Goofus and Gallant). Gallant is an old sweet-tempered mutt, who loves nothing more than to fetch — he even gets us to throw things, though there’s a chain-link fence separating us.

Goofus, on the other hand, is mean-spirited and “dog agressive.” Bark bark bark, the whole time I’m in the yard with Albite. I’ve noticed recently, however, that Goofus doesn’t bark the whole time. He pauses while Albite “does his business.” How polite to wait for your haranguee to finish pooping.

Albite, for his part, makes sure to poop as closely to the fence as is caninely possible. Ah, a born agitator…

Sometimes you just don’t want to get out of bed.

Albite came running to me, fussing about the people who had the temerity to walk on the sidewalk in front of our his house. Barking at them apparently had no effect, so he was calling me to get my butt out there to do something.

To his great disgust, I ignored him. “But, Albite,” I crooned, “they’re allowed to walk there, and you know they do that every evening.” He just stared at me — ears up, eyes bright, willing me to Get Up and Do Something!

So I did. I stood up to see what he would do. He trotted a few feet away and looked back at me, then looked towards the front room. I took a step, and he ran ahead a few more feet. After a few more rounds of this, he took off for the front door, certain that I had finally got his meaning, and if I didn’t have to chase the strangers off, then, well, we might as well go for a walk in front.

This was probably his aim all along. “Go for a walk in front” is a big treat for him, because he is most emphatically not a Canine Good Citizen, so we don’t do it very often.

But when I got near the door, I veered off into another room. It was cruel, I know, but really for the best. He hates getting his ears wet, and it’s been raining on and off all evening. Poor guy. Maybe tomorrow.