I’m going to take a break from thinking about writing today and instead offer you a glimpse of two of the biggest characters in our lives: Brodsky and Kasay.
They provide us with a never-ending supply of amusing antics. Like all the best animal characters (Snoopy, Garfield, John Grogan's Marley), we can’t help but love them even more because of their wide naughty streaks and well-developed sense of rebellion.
Kasay’s weakness is his constant need of attention. And his obsessive chewing. Just a year ago, before the Great Dachshund Adoption of 2006, I used to read in bed most nights. Since I don’t want my brain turning to mush, I’ve tried to reinstitute this simple habit. Now that there’s a dachshund and a half on the bed, it’s trickier than you might think.
Brodsky, an veteran of unknown age (but definitely older than Kasay) who’s spent time in the pound and God only knows how many non-forever homes, is a warrior. He can sleep even in the most unforgiving of environments and would let you read till dawn.
But as long as there’s a light shining in his general direction, Kasay thinks it’s showtime. Maybe he thinks the clamp-on lamp on the headboard is a spotlight and we expect him to put on a song and dance routine. He makes weird Scooby Doo-esque yelp/whine noises, he jumps from one side of the bed to the other, he twists around on his back like a break dancer.
Last night I thought he was tired enough to give me a few minutes to read. Just when I got engrossed, arguing in my head with Rilke’s advice in his Letters to a Young Poet, I see the text shift ever so slowly to the left. I look over to discover that Kasay has crept up and gripped the corner of the book in his mouth, tugging gingerly, as if as long as he’s verrrrry quiet and sneaky, I won’t notice.
Kasay’s weakness is his constant need of attention. And his obsessive chewing. Just a year ago, before the Great Dachshund Adoption of 2006, I used to read in bed most nights. Since I don’t want my brain turning to mush, I’ve tried to reinstitute this simple habit. Now that there’s a dachshund and a half on the bed, it’s trickier than you might think.
Brodsky, an veteran of unknown age (but definitely older than Kasay) who’s spent time in the pound and God only knows how many non-forever homes, is a warrior. He can sleep even in the most unforgiving of environments and would let you read till dawn.
But as long as there’s a light shining in his general direction, Kasay thinks it’s showtime. Maybe he thinks the clamp-on lamp on the headboard is a spotlight and we expect him to put on a song and dance routine. He makes weird Scooby Doo-esque yelp/whine noises, he jumps from one side of the bed to the other, he twists around on his back like a break dancer.
Last night I thought he was tired enough to give me a few minutes to read. Just when I got engrossed, arguing in my head with Rilke’s advice in his Letters to a Young Poet, I see the text shift ever so slowly to the left. I look over to discover that Kasay has crept up and gripped the corner of the book in his mouth, tugging gingerly, as if as long as he’s verrrrry quiet and sneaky, I won’t notice.
As you can see, paper shredding is one of his hobbies, so I had to give up and hide the book away. Who knows--maybe someday I’ll get that train of thought back for future writing-related blog ruminations.
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