Patti Soldavini

Posts Tagged ‘sleeping’

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Bristlers

In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 10/27/2011 at 10:59 am

"Yup, those are my PINS."

This is how I refer to Olive’s whiskers; as “bristlers,” because they are so stiff and prickly that they poke right through my slacks when she lays her head across my lap. Each has the tensile strength of a suspension cable on the George Washington Bridge. (They look deceptively thin and gentle in the photo.) “OUCH! HOLY CHRIST, OLIVE, HAVE YOU BEEN SHARPENING YOUR WHISKERS? I THINK I’M BLEEDING.” Not really, but my lap begins to feel like a pin cushion when she tries to burrow deeper into it like she’s flushing a fox out of a dark den. The first time this happened, I wondered if a Weim’s whiskers were any different than other dogs. I didn’t remember being “pincushioned” by Idgy’s whiskers. Or should I say, vibrissae, which I just learned is what a dog’s whiskers are really called. They are described as “finely tuned sensory structures,” and “while the hairs themselves don’t contain nerve endings, their base is surrounded by erectile tissue and a rich nerve supply.” This sounds like the set-up for a dirty joke, doesn’t it? And then there’s the extra sharpshooting whiskers, two on each side of Olive’s face poking out of the center of moles. I guess these help her navigate her way down the dark hallway while she’s tracking the scent of a micron of day-old food that’s been crushed deep into the nylon fibers of the carpet. So, if the vibrissae are so sensitive, I wonder what it feels like when dogs play with other dogs, mixing it up and “whiskering” each other. I’m guessing it feels pretty good. What do you have to say about this subject Olive? ‘BE QUIET, I’M PLAYING WITH MY WHISKERS.”

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Rip Van Olive

In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 09/05/2011 at 7:03 pm

DO NOT DISTURB. I MEAN IT.

Whenever Olive and I return home from the local dog park, she marches upstairs to the master bedroom wordlessly, hops onto the bed and collapses like a drunken old lady into a deep slumber from which she does not want to be disturbed. There may as well be a cartoon sign that floats above her that says: “DO NOT TOUCH. DO NOT KISS. DO NOT PET. DO NOT STARE AT ME WHILE I’M SLEEPING. AND DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT TRYING TO CLEAN MY EARS. HOW WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO CLEAN YOUR EARS WHILE YOU’RE SLEEPING? AND I MEAN IT. ALL OF IT.” She’ll stay there, curled up like an overgrown, unhurried fetus for hours. The only way I know she’s still alive is that I hold a mirror up to her big brown nose and watch her breath cloud it up. Just kidding. I do love standing over her though, listening to her snore peacefully and very contentedly. Who knows what she’s dreaming about. Probably the same things we do, only in her dreams, it’s the dogs that speak and around whom all the action revolves. The humans just stand around like tree trunks, barking incessantly in the background. “I’M GOING TO HAVE TO LEAVE SOON, I HAVE TO DO A LOAD OF LAUNDRY,” says Olive in her dream. “LAUNDRY?” Says Kira, the snow white Boxer. ‘WHY DO YOU HAVE TO DO LAUNDRY? DOESN’T YOUR HUMAN DO THAT?” “YES,” replies Olive, “BUT SHE SHRINKS ALL MY BED LINENS.” I guess we imagine that emotionally our dog’s lives would be pretty much like our own, but most in the veterinary world would say we’re anthropomorphizing. So what. You fantasize, I’ll anthropomorphize. When you think about it, they’re both imaginary pursuits.

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Dog Tired

In dogs, humor, pets, weimaraners on 06/04/2011 at 3:57 pm

"Don't BOTHER me."

Boy am I tired. I went to the dog park this morning! I made lots of new friends. The Border Collie was a little nutty. He thought we were all sheep. I thought they were supposed to be smart. All he wanted to do was round us all up. I ask you, do I look anything like some matronly sheep? God forbid. Besides, nobody tells me what to do. (Except Patti). Where are my Manolo Blahniks? The cobalt blue cheetah print with the 6-inch heels. I want to eat them. Anyway, I liked the Boxer-Redbone Coonhound mix. A little skittish, but my age and she likes to run too. The German Shepherd was obsessed with a dopey ball. Constantly chasing it as if every time were the first time. And these are the dogs that they use to guide blind people? Hope nobody tosses a ball the dog’s way when they’re crossing a highway. I think I smell cheese. Where did I leave my Nylabone with the orange dental niblets? Maybe I’ll go mess up the bed in the guest bedroom. Where did my friend Willy go? I miss him. I like to watch Patti walk around the entire house calling me, often passing me two or more times curled up in my pony chair in the dining room as though I were invisible. That’s when I channel my inner “Grey Ghost.” What are those fuzzy white things on the lawn that stick to my muzzle? You should see the hole I dug in the backyard the other day. I can see clear to China! Look! There’s the Great Wall? Wait a minute…is that a giant pen? Do I have dirt on my nose? It’s always a dead giveaway. Patti sees it right away and knows there’s a new hole somewhere nearby. At least I don’t bury things, right? Well, not yet anyway. I have to take a nap. Do I snore?

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