"Trees DO resemble life."

The thought occurred to me the other day, “Why do I ask Olive if she wants to go to the ‘dog park?’” When you take a child to the park, you don’t say you’re going to the “child park.” Why not just, “the park?” Trouble is, now Olive knows what the words “dog park” mean. When she hears me utter these words, no matter how quietly, her nose lights up and she starts spinning faster than Linda Blair’s head in the original “Exorcist,” movie. God forbid I utter these words when I’m not planning on taking her at that moment. Yes, just like a child, I have to spell the words d-o-g p-a-r-k if I’m talking to another human about it. One morning, when she was lying on the bed, half covered up, I whispered to her ever so faintly, “Olive? Do you want to go to the dog park?” Her pupils immediately dilate and she leaps off the bed like a comet streaking through the sky, tail wagging at the speed of sound, standing there, waiting for me to do the same. Now I must comply. However, I imagine Olive would act the same way if I just said the word “park.” She is smart enough to comprehend and to communicate her needs. Last night, we were at a friend’s house, sitting outdoors in front of a roaring fire while Olive chomped on sticks. Sure enough at around 8pm, she starts barking insistently in my direction. This is her way of telling me she’s tired and wants to go home. Sure enough, after about five minutes in the car, she’s stretched out in the back seat sleeping peacefully, snoring moderately. She remains this way the entire 45-minute ride home. Somedays I think of her as a gifted child. Other days I think of her as a special needs child. Either way, she requires a lot of attention. But you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way.