Another Day, Another Dog

Four and a half years ago I was asked to move to Mexico by the love of my life. Having virtually nothing going for me in New York City, I took her suggestion of “try a little adventure” to heart, pack up some clothes, sold off all my junk, and took my cat Baby on a trip to Zacatecas, Mexico.

My Honey Bunny, not exactly being a cat person, thought I should have a dog also. Our housekeeper’s mother was always taking in strays ( she has a small “rancho” and has the room ), and she said she had a spare pup that she would bring over. That was Jake, the black and white contortionist in the photo above. We became great friends.

Later on, we had to get another housekeeper, because the first one was having a baby, and had to leave our employ. We got a young lady whose husband is a student at one of the Universities in town. They were given a Schnauzer pup as a gift, but couldn’t afford to keep it, and we got Schultz ( the little black dog above ). Unfortunately, Schultz got out, and being a little cutie, was probably picked up by a passer by to take home to their family. It was a said day for us here.

Well, then a neighbor’s son brought over a pup, because his family had a dog, and he couldn’t keep her, and we got Katy, a tiny little thing that grew into a miniature horse. She is mostly Belgian Malinois, and  tries her best to eat us out of house and kibble. Katy must have been broken, because we had to have her fixed, and while at the Vet, they had a cute little older dog that was up for adoption. She was so cute, in fact, that the both of us surrendered and took her in, and she became Roxie, dog number 3 in the house.

Now, Roxie is older, she has a cataract in her right eye and seems not to see at all on that side. She must have been the pet of someone and either they got tired of her, or passed away and no one would take her with her “older dog” problems. It took her a week or so to get used to things at our house: having two younger siblings, and a cat to contend with, but she has stolen our hearts, and moans with pleasure when her ears are scratched, and rolls over to have her belly scratched. She even has learned to play with everyone else a bit also. When either of us leaves the house and returns all the dogs wait expectantly until we show our faces. They all do some kind of dance and howl if we even turn the corner on he block, even Roxie.

My Sweetie says that I am never happier than when I am taking care of something, and I suspect she knows me much better than even I know myself.


THE TIN DRUM by Günter Grass

Great review of a book that SHOULD be read

What Has Been Read Cannot Be Unread

Tin DrumThere are books that I like, books that I like a lot, and books that kind of slap you upside the head and whisper fiercely in your ear, “Now THIS is a book.  THIS is great writing.  THIS is how it is done.”

The Tin Drum is still muttering in my ear, for many reasons.  It’s when I start muttering back that things get a bit sticky.

It is a delicious example of what we might call magic realism, a first-person narration by what soon becomes apparent is an unreliable narrator, Oskar Matzerath.  The book’s first sentence:

Granted: I’m an inmate in a mental institution;

lassoed me in and never stopped enthralling me from then on.  Oskar starts off by first telling about his grandmother who wore 4 skirts, one on top of another, all the color of potatoes.  She had five, and changed the order of the layers daily…

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