July 7, 2004

Those of you who have had the good fortune to meet my dog A. will undoubtedly testify that she is the friendliest creature on the planet. Anytime she comes within yards of a human being, she goes nearly mad with joy, leaping about, tail wagging, hoping against hope to be petted or talked to or played with, and, even if that hope is left unfulfilled, generally so glad to be alive she can melt even the coldest of hearts. Furthermore, she is utterly indiscriminate in the bestowal of her affection; I suspect that even a reprobate on the order of Injustice Antonin Scalia would receive the same treatment as wonderful people like you and me.


The other night, A. and I were at E.S.’s place. I was surfing the web, E.S. was studying in the next room for some sort of test the hospital was giving him the next day, and A. was lounging on the couch with him, when there came a knock on the door. Now, E.S.’s building is very small; the only other people who live there are the owners, E.S.’s sister, and his ex-boyfriend E.W., who hates my guts. Neither E.S.’s sister nor the owners ever stop by, so this had to be E.W. In the past, when E.W. has knocked on the door, I have tended to hide either behind the refrigerator or in the bathroom. But this time, E.S. was in the other room and didn’t hear the knock, and so, despite E.W.’s terrible, terrible temper, I thought, “Oh, fuck it. I’m sick of hiding from this man either behind the refrigerator or in the bathroom and I’m sick of his refusing to speak to me or even look at me when I do have the misfortune to encounter him. I’m going to answer the door and he can just fucking deal with it.”

So I did. And we had a remarkably civil and pleasant conversation in the brief time it took E.S. to make his way to the door from the other room, followed by A. E.W. looked at her, bent down and beckoned, and said in a dog-friendly voice, “This must be A.!”

And she didn’t move a muscle.

My dog, who would dance happily around Tom’s de Torquemada if he happened to walk through the door, stood stock still.

He tried again. “Come on, A.! That’s a good girl! Come on, A.!”

At which point she went and hid under the table.

“Sometimes she gets shy around strangers,” I lied gleefully.

The three of us finished our conversation and E.W. left. A. emerged from under the table to fulsome praise from Yours Truly.

It’s one thing to have a cute and cuddly and furry and friendly animal that gets so excited every time you come home, you feel for a brief moment that you’re not totally alone in the world.

But an animal that hates your enemies is a gift with a price above rubies.

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8 Responses to Those of you who have

  1. Patrick says:

    Give that dog a steak soon!

  2. bara says:

    Very cool dog!

  3. bond girl says:

    Please make me the happiest girl in CO by telling me E.W. still reads your blog–you know, in an effort to protect E.S.’s delicate heart from further destruction, or some such nonsense. šŸ˜‰

  4. Convivia says:

    I have nothing to say to this, but I thought you might be interested in some topical slashfic:

    Running Mates

    John Kerry could still hear the crowds cheering as the limousine pulled away from the stadium. It was an incredible feeling–he had never inspired that level of passion before. And he owed it all to the man by his side.

    He looked at the boyish face, still glowing from excitement…at the tousled hair he longed to run his fingers through. Everything came so easily to this man, this golden boy. He was charm personified. Kerry felt like a moth drawn to a flame.

    i”What are you thinking, John?” Edwards asked. Kerry was startled, and didn’t know what to say. I was thinking about what your mouth tasted like, he realized. Oh, God. How could he have let this happen?

    “Let me show you what I was thinking,” Edwards went on, and Kerry realized that his running mate had slid across the broad leather seat until his muscular thigh was pressing deliciously, deliriously against his.

    Kerry held his breath–what was happening?–as Edwards’s strong arm encircled his neck. He felt the warmth, the incredible softness of this kiss, this incredible kiss, like a revelation. Like the fireworks above the Mall on the Fourth of July.

    As they broke apart, finally, for air, Kerry looked at the sculpted, perfect face so near to his own, this marvelous, magical man who was offering himself so tenderly.

    “Bring it on,” Kerry said, in a husky whisper. “Bring it on.”

    In an unrelated note, there was a nice profile of your friend LN in the Boston Globe today.

  5. Musikchyck says:

    oh, that is perfect! exactly the reason i love dogs.

  6. Jess says:

    What a wonderful dog!

  7. Kris says:

    You are blessed with too many things Faustus, and I don’t think you are quite aware of that yet. I have a dog which like A. but the difference is that she doesn’t have this extra sense for evil. But I still love her.

  8. JP says:

    Way, way too late, but I just read this and had to comment. I once had a cat who loved everyone, though not quite to the same degree A. seems to. Anyway, I brought a new friend home one day, and the cat walked up to him, looked him over and threw up. A couple of months later I too realized the guy was a jackass.


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