Tuesday, September 27, 2005

The Neighborhood

So, the rooster is still there. As much as I'd be pissed off if I had to live next door to it, I have to tell you that it delights me when I'm just walking by. Mrs. Wigglebottom is awesome. No, really. This morning a big dog barked and lunged at her and she turned and gave him a look like "I'd totally take you out, motherfucker, but I'm on a walk. I can't be bothered." (I'm going to run around all day practicing that look: "I could kill you dead, but I'm busy.") Yes, the girl who just two weeks ago was still acting like a guest on Jerry Springer every time we saw another dog has somehow decided that collected and bad-ass is a more appropriate posture for walking. Hurray! Also, the strange quasi-medieval apartments are almost done and yesterday the landscaping started to take form. They will be trimmed in pipe-cleaner shaped evergreens. No word yet on whether the bus stop sign will continue to be obscured by rogue morning glories as a part of the greenscape or if someone will eventually weed whack that mess. Also, there seemed to be thousands of cats out this morning. Many of them were looking back over their shoulders at us, so we appeared to be scrutinized by a series of very angry, furry s-es. (If you are familiar with cats, I trust you know how they appear to twist themselves into various letters of the alphabet.) When I was visiting JR and Elias, we figured out that Mrs. Wigglebottom is not merely months older than the littlest nephew, as I've been thinking, but actually almost two years older than him. The recalcitrant brother got the dog in the spring before my parents moved. She was already five or six months old. They moved in June. That next winter, the littlest nephew was conceived and born in the late fall. The dog moved in with us in December, probably just having turned two. Therefore, since the littlest nephew is about to turn four, the dog is about to turn six. Yes, six. Just now at six, she's starting to behave herself on walks. Ah, well.

6 Comments:

Blogger Aunt B said...

Well, I don't think she'll ever not protect cars with her life. She loves vehicles. You should see the way she covets pickup trucks. One day she'll leave me for a pick-up truck driver.

Sorry about the holes, though.

I wonder what kind of cake you can feed a dog... There must be one of those corny dog bakeries in Nashville, someplace.

9/27/2005 12:20:00 PM  
Blogger Kat Coble said...

There are a blue billion corny dog bakeries all over this fair city. By all over, I mostly mean the wealthier areas. Cause who (besides me) would spend $3.50 for a dog cookie?

For our kids' birthdays, we usually make ourselves a cake and give them Gaines Burgers molded into a cake-like shape.

9/27/2005 12:42:00 PM  
Blogger Peggasus said...

'Just now at six, she's starting to behave herself on walks.'

Just like human children.

The only way I could ever remember how old Bailey was was to think, 'She was born on Groundhog's Day, we got her on St. Patricks Day, then I found out I was pregnant with the NosePicker, so if he's 12, then Bailey is too, until February rolls around again.'

Until she died. Now it doesn't matter anymore.

9/27/2005 04:24:00 PM  
Blogger Aunt B said...

Aw, Peg, you're breaking my heart! I hope someone is working on a dog-longevity potion; that's all I can say.

9/27/2005 05:56:00 PM  
Blogger Peggasus said...

Aww, B, I didn't want to make you feel bad!

Bailey died last summer at 13 1/2 years old, a pretty good old age for a 35 pound English Springer Spaniel. Her other name was Wigglebutt, so I can relate to you with that part.

No regrets.

9/27/2005 10:03:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

The trick is to get a little dog. They live longer, and its important.

Except for Chihuahas who are apparently prone to accidents.

It is weird and sad to watch a dog grow old. It happens so quickly.

- barista

9/30/2005 02:09:00 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home