I've Got Mail!
My Irish heart is stirred. It's not that I fall in love easily, mind you.
You may recall my brief encounter with the dashing golden from Canada.
He had asked me to.... of all things... "marry" him, but then... well, he disappeared just as quickly as he came on the blogging scene. (No link, right? Like I said, *POOF* gone.) It may have been the comment about my being the alpha in our home. I should really learn to keep my darn feminist mouth shut.
Well, let me tell you - the other day I received the following email from yet another admirer. Shortly thereafter, I suffered a rash of symptoms which include uncontrollable tail twitching, general inattentiveness, or not responding when called (even when there's doggie treats involved), and a loss of appetite, to name a few.
Here's the letter:
I couldn't agree with you more about the blahblahblahing they all seem to do. When I bark, and a fine and fierce bark it is, if I do say so... I have good reason. Why, just the other day my human parked his car in a different place than he ususally does. That was a fine reason to warn the house something was not quite right, eh? And I howl when I feel neglected. Sometimes my human goes in the next room (odd dens they create...don't you agree?) without giving me a decent amount of morning affection... you know... big hugs, scratching in the usual places and, of course, biscuit de jour. And I let him know. I hooowwwwwl as only an Irish Wolfhound, or perhaps a Basset, can. But I tell you... no blahblah involved. But, I mean every sonic sorrow. No matter that the door is open and I could get off the couch and just go to him for the completion of the morning ritual. No! He needs to do this properly. And he knows it as well as I. After I am sated, he can go about his business... and I can have a snooze on my couch.
I have a confession to make. About once a week I bark... at absolutely nothing. No woodland creature passing in the night.... no automobile coming up the drive, not even a passer-by on foot. I bark a bit, standing right in the middle of the room with my couch, and my human will come out to see why I have sounded the alarm. I just smile at him and then go sit on my couch. A mild form of entertainment for me. And nobody gets hurt. Understand that this is as close to blahblah as I ever get... and it clearly is NOT blahblah.
Lulu, about the feline thing... I have one of those as well. It imagines itself to be canine so I indulge its delusional construct. I even go so far as to give it a canine greeting when we meet. I stick my schnazola on the tail end of the feline. It seems to at once accept the greeting and act as if there was no greeting taking place at all. They are, at best, odd creatures. At any rate, the kitty jokes are laughoutloud funny... keep 'em coming.
Well, I need to go have a nap.
Oh, how rude. My name is Fergus. If you're ever in the neighborhood I know of a fine beach with the finest odors.....mmm..mmmm.mmm. A fine place to sniff and romp... romp and sniff.
Lulu again. Now isn't that just the sweetest letter ever?
Fergus, he says. Sounds sort of like something you'd contract from fleas or mites.
Clans, pipes, and drums.
Scottish extraction, Irish eyes.
Furry legs in kilts.
A romp on the beach.
Salt air, crashing waves.
My Druid on the woodland shore.
Ah. There's that lightheadedness again... the uncontrollable twitching tail.
I think I need to chew some grass.