My grandmother’s magically shrinking dog (actually, the cause of this is not so mysterious or fascinating: she is simply in the throes of a violent aging process) is now completely blind. Honestly, I have not laughed so hard in ages. (Before you begin to crucify me for enjoying the decline of an animal into decrepitude, please understand that this evil creature terrorized me throughout my childhood. As a matter of fact, though she has absolutely no teeth she continues to attack me and even in my ripe old age she makes me quake in my boots- nope not literally.Not there yet. Evil. My grandmother touts her as being a pure bred dog of supreme lineage and show-dog potential that was given to her by her friend The Breeder; in reality Eram is a disgusting cross between a Pekinese (not the breed of which she is reputed to belong, mind you) and god-knows-what. I believe a stray must have impregnated one of the woman’s dogs, hence the “gift” to dear granny (no, I never call her this. Not even in kidding). She looks EXACTLY like a gremlin, you know, from the movie. Yes, go ahead, recoil from the computer screen in horror! And she’s as vile in temperament as she is in appearance). So, now that you understand my justification in mocking this repulsive thing, let me continue: She is wonderfully blind. As a dutiful granddaughter the burden falls on me to walk this monstrosity, so I opened the door to exit the apartment, but the poor thing is standing on the other side of the door, looking expectantly at the wall. Which set off a rather inconsiderate spell of hysterical cackling on my part. I get my kicks where I can! But then because I had to focus so much attention on this dog that seems to decline by the second, I was sort of dragging my dog along unintentionally. There are poles set up along the sidewalks to prevent cars from parking on them, and I dragged Tchae right into one. Or rather, she walked smack into it. She could easily have gone a little to the left or right in order to preserve some brain cells, but she did not. Hmmm. I worry about that one, I truly do. Honestly, the number of head injuries she’s sustained in her short life… it’s rather remarkable. Aren’t you glad you so know so much about my dog troubles? And I go on: Eram is also suffering from vague digestive ailments. My lovely grandmere has decided that in order to remedy this, she will feed the dog pasta. Has she NEVER watched Animal Planet? This is not going over so well. Not at all. The furry abomination has taken to leaving a trail of spaghetti (or better yet, wiggly noodles, when that suits my grandmother’s fancy) in her wake, which she burps up and vomits at frequent intervals. Pasta though, really? Honestly, my grandmother is so misinformed. Like the time I innocently suggested she brush the dog’s teeth and she explained to me that it is detrimental to clean a dog’s teeth too often. Oh, certainly. It must be because she adhered staunchly to this advice that her canine companion is currently in possession of ZERO teeth. Ugh and yikes to the max!!!
I shall leave you now. Obviously this post is atrociously (or magnificently) long, depending on how you choose to view it, but I don’t think it’s been without intent. It is necessary to observe and recount the small things in life. I hope y’all are doing splendidly well and that you take as much joy in life’s little treasures (just go with me on this one) as I do. A bientot!
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Tapenade, and Pine Nuts