Monk

I dreamed that the neighbor dog got out, and I kept him in our back yard for a while. I was joyously happy to be able to pet and hug the big white dog, instead of just feeding him a couple of doggy snacks between the planks of the fence, as I have been doing for a couple of weeks now.

In a later snatch of dreaming, this theme was picked up and expanded upon. I am outdoors and stirring myself up as if from a nap. The only sense that I can make of it, now that I’m awake, is that I was in the neighbor dog’s back yard pen, as though I had taken his place inside his little encampment, which is only missing razor wire on top to achieve that full concentration camp effect. Unlike the dog, though, I am able to get out, and when I return home, I see that the dog is now inside the house, and that Father has spread some blankets on the living room floor, and I understand that the dog is now ours and I’m overjoyed.

As if this were not more than enough for one night’s dreaming, things only get better, much better, for there is a second white dog romping about the house, and that dog is none other than my Bo. He comes to me happily and over-brimming with affection, and I even pick him up and hug and kiss him (rather like I do with our cats).

This seems like the dream of Bo that I have been hoping for, ever since he died, the real buddy-buddy stuff, and I wonder if this is my reward for the kindness that I have been showing the neighbor dog. Yet, I feel some distancing doubt about this dream. The physical appearance of Bo looks slightly off, a little more lavish in curly hair, as though my subconscious threw in an extra ten-percent of poodle into him, detracting that much more from his already vulnerable masculinity, being a rather small dog in real life, just shy of forty pounds, and a tad overweight at that figure, which also happens to be a stark contrast to the large neighbor dog. Of course, I may be projecting my own insecurities into the mix, though I imagine that this sense of shared male insecurity thickened the bond between us. Regardless, I like this dream, though I still hope that better ones will come in time.

Incidentally, I did catch a flash of cat in the dream. Coco was definitely there. They were kind of hiding off to the side, wary of the bigger dogs. I feel a little guilty in the knowledge that dogs still rate higher in my affections. On the other hand, at our most intimate, the cats maintain their feral edge, like we could never be best friends. Nevertheless, I don’t think they need to worry about any dogs coming into the household, except through my dreams.

Maybe I dream of Princess much better than I have dreamed of Bo because Princess died before we got wired up to the Internet. My life was much emptier then.

Emptier than this?

Heh, yeah, I suppose it can boggle the imagination to try to make that discrimination - that is, if you were, say, a neighbor considering my affairs, looking at my life from outside. Even so, although all my e-life has crapped out to a big zero, all these intimations of social life have made for a much more crowded mental landscape than was the case before e-life. And Bo, my bestest buddy, was probably marginalized appreciably.

Of course, that could be seen as a good thing. You don't want your most significant relationship to be with a pet. But, again, nothing came out of all that impassioned clicking and typing. It may as well have been just a more elaborate role-playing computer game. Nothing was ever real.

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I spoke too soon. We would have to have a few families vying to make this dull, down-trodden neighborhood of sleepy San Antonio into Times Square. We cannot get a few minutes of silence so that a dog can take care of business. Baghdad must be filled with less of the sound of gunfire and explosions!

And I guess we all get to stay up to greet the new year. Oh, the community life. Oh, the joy!

xXx

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Bill is raking leaves. Bo actually perches his front paws on the window sill to bark at him. But Bo misses the first time and it is a shaky and short-lived effort, and he is content to sit down facing the window. God, I love the old boy!

xXx

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Monk got up for his first bathroom run at a little before four. Not bad. But then Bo got up and seemed... interested. Although it had been some time, maybe weeks, since Bo needed to go out in the middle of the night, Monk did not care to take chances and play with the eskie that way, and he took Bo outside. However, that was the last of sleep for the night. Not being allowed back into the Land of Nod by five, Monk decided to jack back into cyberspace with this wonderful new vehicle that is IE7.

xXx

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Taking Bo outside on the pre-dinner rounds, Monk regretted that it should be too dark to get in another little session with O. But he found some consolation in the thought that this is a seasonal limitation. In the spring and summer, the pre-dinner rounds will indeed make an excellent opportunity to take another hit at the hit-and-run reading. It is one of Bo's leisurely longer rounds.

xXx

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It feels good to see Bo still running and barking for his biscuits, with his eyes algow.

xXx

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Only one bathroom run! And that's following a four-coke day, including one for dinner. That's a full seven-hour sleep, and we are fully caught up.

During that bathroom run at around three, Monk prompted Bo about going outside, albeit not very forcefully, not wanting to go out into that wintry cold and risk breaking his sleep. Bo did not rise to the offer, and Monk did not force the issue. It has been a few nights in a row now that Bo has not needed his nocturnal rounds.

xXx

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Now the temperature reads like it feels: 36. We are running the heater for the first time.

And it was a good night sleep. Monk did have to do a couple of quick bathroom runs at around one, but then he was dead to the world until after six. This felt really good, until he thought about Bo.

The problem is that Bo will go only so far to try to wake Monk up. The eskie will not make contact with him, nor will he bark. Instead, Bo races back and forth from the floor to the mattress and right up to him, and he will only emit a little despairing groan. As far as I know, this has always been enough, but when Monk is dead to the world, one is doubtful. There did not seem to be any problems this morning, though.

The cherry on top this morning was none other than the one and only Jackie Guerrido. Her pornographic chest was shown to full advantage. It makes your mouth water. And she was wearing a skirt that did not drop half-way down her thighs. She looked like she would be comfortable sitting in any massage parlor, smiling and ready to take the next grateful man into a private little room.

xXx

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Watching Bo standing with the wind fanning his clean, shaggy, white coat - a precious sight.

The sun came out in the afternoon, but the wind is still carrying a bite.

xXx