Thursday, January 24, 2013

Rain Dogs Make Me Cry

UntitledI like a lot of Tom Waits's music but I don't know the entirety of it very well. Whenever I think of him, though, I think of Rain Dogs. Couldn't hum a line of it but it's etched onto my heart. The only time I heard it someone, who knows who, decided to tell me what it was about. Apparently there's a phenomenon where dogs get lost because they go after something or get dumped or make a wrong turn and before they head home it rains and they aren't able to get the scent back so they can't locate home. It breaks my heart to think of it every time.

That's not my dog's problem. He's not lost anymore and there's no reason, really, for him to find his own way home. After the last couple of days, though, I gotta tell you, I don't think he could find his way home on a clear, warm day with a trail of liver bits to guide him! Maybe he's too excitable to concentrate, I have no idea.

Here's the thing that's leading me to believe he's nasally challenged. It was frigid again this morning. We slept in, knowing that going outside for very long would be fruitless. So we get out there and I'm letting him lead me and he's moving at a clip, even pulling me, but at a corner where he might head home he heads away. At the next corner where he might head home he heads away. And the next. At that point I decided it was too cold to go any farther so I moved us onto the homeward path. Ed seemed unconcerned, perhaps even a little wistful that we weren't continuing. Until, that is, we got to our corner, half a block from our house. There he doubled down, pulling like a sled dog, throwing exasperated looks over his shoulder at me because I was slowing him down. He hauled my strolling ass all the way to our building and into the lobby before he took a moment to shake off his frustration while I opened the door.

Inside the apartment he doesn't greet me or the dog walker at the door anymore. He stays well away, cushioned by a blanket or the couch or both, daring us to force him out there into the scentless cold.

Photo: Not My Dog taken by me on the island of Murano, Italy

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