Patti Soldavini

Posts Tagged ‘vacuum’

Great Expectations

In weimaraners on 04/12/2011 at 9:39 pm

"Can we go NOW?"

One of Olive’s favorite parts of our daily walks is stopping at the local “candy store.” It’s near the end of our walk and she tries to drag me in there every day. It’s not actually a candy store, but to Olive it might as well be. It is the local feed store, Tickners. Olive is welcome inside so we stop once a week to pick up her treats. Everything from the coveted bully stix that infiltrate her dreams to all-natural biscuits and the occasional toy. She pulls me inside, almost snapping her neck, trying to crane it to the left to see the cash register where the nice lady is stationed 15 inches from a jar of complimentary biscuits. Olive is checking to make sure she’s here before I pop her leash and guide her to the right. We begin perusing the shelves, me with my hands, Olive with her nose. There seems to be no end to the number of stinking anatomical treats: bones, pig ears, hooves, and yes, even 36” dried bull peckers. Really, are these aftermarket products from slaughterhouses? Olive’s nose is in overdrive and she’s pulling some especially fragrant products from the shelves with her teeth. We make our way to the register and Olive’s tail lights up and starts spinning. She knows the drill. After I pay for her treats, the nice lady comes out from behind the counter, tells Olive to sit and gives her a biscuit. Olive proceeds to devour the biscuit, crumbs flying in all directions like the spray from an automatic machine gun. In the blink of an eye as though she were Clark Kent magically transforming into Superman, she proceeds to vacuum up the microscopic crumbs and assorted bacteria resting on the commercial floor runner faster than a Dyson Turbinehead. I love this little ritual. It reminds me of summer afternoons as a child when my Grandfather used to take me (and his dog) to the neighborhood candy store to buy my silence. It worked. Handfuls of Pixy Stix, Chuckles, Necco Wafers, Candy Buttons, Lemonheads, Devil Dogs and the newest issue of 16 Magazine with Davy Jones on the cover was all it took for me to keep my piehole shut. Grandma would NEVER find out about Grandpa’s smoking. Not from me. That, and the afternoons shooting pool with my younger brother at the old man bar while Grandpa and his friends watched the Mets game and drank their Rheingold beers. Besides, there’s just something so innocent and childlike about Olive’s expectant behavior that it fills my heart with joy.


The Typhoonigator

In Uncategorized on 03/22/2011 at 8:58 pm

"Oh no, it's THE TYPHOONIGATOR!!!"

That’s code for the blow dryer. One of two of Olive’s most hated appliances. The other of course, being the vacuum. She’s actually not too bad if she’s allowed to observe these monsters with their endless tails from a distance. Like from the planet Pluto. She seems to feel safe as long as she’s loose in the house when I use either. She’s like a cop tailing a suspected perp. She stays just far enough away to not blow her cover, but continues tracking like an animated GPS. I imagine that her intermittent barking, more an indication of her displeasure, is like a GPS that screams at you while driving. “TURN LEFT YOU F’ING IDIOT. RECALCULATING. TURN RIGHT YOU F’ING MORON. RECALCULATING. NOW WE HAVE TO TAKE THE LONG WAY YOU TOOL. RECALCULATING. WHY NOT TRY FLYING INSTEAD PINHEAD?”

Crating her during these activities I learned, is not a good idea. I’m guessing she feels threatened because she’s essentially trapped. She barks so much that dog foam and spittle coats the bars on her crate like vinyl. And that stuff, just like its counterpart which I call dog “nose paste,” and which you’ll find smeared across all the nose-level windows in the car and the house, is like glue. Really, the back window of my car looks like Monet dipped his brush in Olive’s spittle before applying it to a huge glass canvas. Christ, you need a 10,000 PSI pressure washer to strip that goo off. There’s probably enough DNA in there to clone Olive. Oh, now there’s an idea. Two Olives. Olive and Oyl.

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