Patti Soldavini

Posts Tagged ‘yard’

Sign Language

In dogs, humor, pets, weimaraners, writing on 07/07/2011 at 2:08 pm

"To all the BIRDS."

“Oh, I understand sign language all right. Is it ironic or redundant for me to flip the bird to all the birds who do fly-bys while I’m crossing the front lawn? Or, is it both?

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A Bird in The Bush

In dogs, humor, pets, weimaraners, writing on 07/03/2011 at 6:30 pm

"Could I be any more BORED today?"

I don’t know who’s more bored today, Olive or me. It’s been raining all day, truly the kind of grey, hazy summer day that most people living outside of New Jersey associate with New Jersey more often than they should. The only time we’ve been outside today is when Olive has had to drop brown trout. Increasingly, she is distracted from this biological need by the calling of another higher order need. The genetic need to capture the warm orange-breasted American Robin nesting in the middle of the purple-flowering Hydrangea bush in our front yard. Olive’s approach is the same every time. She makes a beeline for the bush but as we approach it she begins to slow down, lowering her body into a crouching position like a tiger that has just spotted an obese Peccary with four broken legs. She makes her move, scooting around to the side of the bush that the bird emerged from the last time we were out. Olive frantically starts looking for the bird, head bobbing up and down like a bobblehead doll, sure that it will fly out from this direction where she can just snatch it in mid-flight. And she’s half-right. Suddenly the elusive Robin shoots out the side of the bush right past Olive’s hard-at-work nose, cutting through the air like Zorro’s sword and coming to rest atop the clay-colored shed in our backyard. Far enough away from Olive’s quivering jaws, but close enough to keep an eye on the Tiffany blue eggs laying unmolested in the veiled nest. A few nearby Robins zip close to Olive from multiple directions as though they are performing strafing maneuvers. Probably relatives. Olive is momentarily stilled as she watches this display of bravado. This is a good moment to re-focus her on her bowels, so I lead Olive away from the scene of this domestic disturbance. As we walk away, Olive repeatedly cranes her neck behind her just to make sure she will not miss the bird’s return… and another opportunity to gobble an afternoon snack. “GO POTTY OLIVE. I THINK I SAW LIGHTNING. WE HAVE TO GET BACK INTO THE HOUSE BEFORE WE LIGHT UP THE NEIGHBORHOOD.” She must sense the tiniest bit of apprehension in my energy, so she goes quickly. As we make our way back inside, Olive makes one last desperate pass past the bush. Maybe she just wants scrambled eggs for dinner. I wonder though, do you think she’ll feel inadequate if this genetic need to catch birds is never fulfilled? And if a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, what the hell is a bird in the bush worth?

Girly Dog

In Uncategorized on 03/22/2011 at 9:01 pm

"Does my ass look BIG?!!"

“DOES MY ASS LOOK BIG?” said Olive, as she turned around to get a good look at it herself. This from the pooch that stares longingly at herself in the mirror every day. Last week she mini-puked once or twice. Once in the backyard. Once in the back of the car. Hopefully this is not a sign of Bulimia. She barely touches her breakfast so I don’t think she’s a binge eater. But wait, she does eat her dinner down to the linoleum floor. DOES that make her a binge eater?

Olive does seem a bit preoccupied with her image. Sometimes I catch her licking her giant Jayne Mansfield-like chest which compels me to verbalize “OLIVE. KEEP DOING THAT AND I’M GOING TO CALL YOU ‘TIT LICKER.’” She lifts her head, stops licking momentarily and looks at me like “YOU’RE KIDDING, RIGHT?” “KEEP LICKING AND YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE A BALD SPOT ON YOUR CHEST,” I reply. “THINK ABOUT THAT, BALDY.”

She holds my gaze for a few seconds before she cranes her neck backwards and starts licking her ass. This is Olive’s way of getting the last word. It works.

Monster Weimaraner

In Uncategorized on 03/16/2011 at 8:46 pm

"Holy CRAP. Is that ME?"

Have you ever seen a 20-foot tall Weimaraner? Olive and I have. Last night in our backyard. Actually, our sideyard. The elusive beast materialized when I shone the flashlight on Olive and it created a 2-story tall silhouette against the side of the clay-colored house. I immediately think, “If Olive had pants on, she’d about crap in them right now. At least we’re in the yard.” This shadow was so imposing it looked like Godzilla.  Especially since there are giant electrical towers snaking through this beautiful farmland serving as a backdrop. Olive takes note of the shadow immediately. Her head snaps around like a socket wrench to get a better look. To my surprise, instead of fleeing faster than a Wal-Mart shoplifter, she defies expectations and crouches down in the “play bow” position. With her rump pointing to a passing satellite, her tiny tail looks like an antenna pulling down transmission signals. This dog is such an enigma. She runs away from noises as soft as parakeet farts, but she wants to engage a 20-foot shadow that looks suspiciously like another Weimaraner. Maybe she thought she was bowing to the Grand Duchy of Weimar. I wonder what she’d do if I shined the flashlight on a passing cat? What a cool little outdoor movie that would make. Giant dog and cat shadows projected against the house under a moonlit sky.

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