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Dog Dream

Posted by on February 9, 2004

I’m in Tucson today. I was thinking how I would go there for grad school and drag the Lad with me and he and I would get a little house up in the hills just outside of the city. It would go like this: Our kitchen is painted yellow. The house is NOT filled with Southwest paraphernalia, it’s filled with his electronics and the stuff that reminds me of California. Our fridge has a picture of Michele and the Lad on it and a menu from a pizza place. (We just moved in a few months ago so I haven’t really had a chance to get going on my fridge decorations.) He is uncomfortable with having this picture of himself on the fridge. I think he’s weird. We have a patio outside where we can sit wrapped in sweatshirts and blankets at night and watch the deer come down from the hills to eat the basil out of my garden goddammit. We have a fold-out couch for our potential guests that is very uncomfortable to sleep on according to me and perfect to sleep on according to the Lad. He got this couch from a guy at the place where he works in downtown Tucson and it only cost $20 and we needed a couch. We have a washer and dryer but the dryer takes forever to dry anything. I’m trying to talk him into getting a dog. I say, We could call her Honey and she could be a golden retriever and wear a red bandanna. He is unmoved by my beautiful dog dream. I wear a red bandanna instead of my imaginary dog.

It’s Sunday. We go hiking in the hilly, non-agoraphobic part of desert near our house. I say, If we had a dog, she could chase those damn little marmoty squirrelly things that keep eating my garden. I say, Maybe they’re prairie dogs. He says, But we’re not on the prairie. I sigh theatrically to show that I know darn well he is wiggling out of the dog discussion. We discuss possible ways to fence in the garden effectively.

We go back to the house where it is much cooler because the house is mostly made of stone. He sits at his computer and I lie on the cold stone floor, which is dusty. I sing the Fugees. He tells me about a new kind of telescope that has been invented. I sing a few bars of the theme song to the once-popular children’s television show “Gummybears.” Michele calls and I talk to her while lying on the floor. From the Lad’s end, the conversation seems to consist mainly of vowel sounds and giggling.

I make a salad for dinner with feta and cucumbers and we eat it outside in the interesting period when the heat has faded but the cold hasn’t really hit. I tell the Lad that I was looking online at houses in Maine. I say that we could buy a house for not very much money. He says, I thought we were going back to San Francisco after you finished school? Wasn’t that the deal? I say, I’m just looking around. I say, we could wear yellow rain slickers and learn to catch fish. Everyone fishes in Maine, I say. I tell him that we could get a little house and decorate it with old photographs of lighthouses. He suggests that my mom could decorate a house with old photographs of lighthouses. His witty repartee shames me.

It’s Monday. He goes to work and I go to school all day. We go downtown for dinner and then play pool at a bar with some people he knows from work. I am shy, but pretty. I have a beer. I am less shy. We drive home and I sing the Fugees. I say, I hope Honey wasn’t too lonely without us tonight. I tell him that I have decided to get an imaginary dog. I tell him that our imaginary dog has worms and needs to go to the imaginary vet. He is completely disgusted. I laugh like a goblin and we go to bed.

10 Responses to Dog Dream

  1. michele

    i enjoyed this post TREMENDOUSLY.

  2. kati

    As did I! That’s awesome.

    I wish you all the best in your quest for a real dog to replace the imaginary one.

    And happy belated birthday, Michelle! You got many posts, which means you must rock a whole lot. Enjoy your quarter-century year, m’dear.

  3. sean

    Houses For Humans, Voluntine!

    I also greatly enjoyed this post.

  4. kati

    Here here, Keane!

    Not that I actually plan to budge from my H4H stance (I mean, when I live in my own home and I get to make those sorts of decisions, mind you – there will be no doggies in my house) but I am all for dido dragging her lad to Tuscon and adopting a whole gaggle of canine companions. Houses are not just for humans in Tuscon, but also for dogs. And in Maine, they are for fish.

  5. robyn

    I know a cocktail waitress named Honey, who must have been a golden retriever in a former life.

    Your fake life sounds wonderful.

  6. chambochae

    That was a very good read indeed. Do you write books? You should write books.

  7. dr v

    Where did this fascination with the southwest come from? Unless you really enjoy 100+ degree weather night and day for months on end I’d suggest avoiding the place. The only redeeming quality I can think of is the illegal fireworks.

  8. didofoot

    i do really enjoy 100+ degree weather. and sand.

    thanks for the responses you guys. i am so flattened.

  9. tracy

    they should not have flattened you. why do you feel flattened? Sorry. I couldn’t resist.

    i totally agree. you should write a book. i would read it over and over.

  10. kt is mad at you about the house

    agreed, quality. thanks for doing it.

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