Wait, was there something I was supposed to do today? I took unscheduled leave because of the weather, but I just feel like there was something...
Was it something at work? Because I already sent the e-mail to let people know I wouldn't be in, and as far as I know I don't have any urgent projects right now. I'll have to put a podcast together tomorrow, but that's easy enough. And of course a couple of videos were going to be posted, but they're still well within their deadlines. Man, what was it?
"...I believe you can get me through the niiiiight..."
Something around the house maybe. Was it the package I'm expecting? I thought that wasn't supposed to be here until tomorrow. No, as far as I know, today I'm just hanging out with Belle...
Belle. I feel like she had something to do with it...
That can't be right, though. Because I wouldn't have forgotten something related to the best girlfriend on the planet, the girl who makes waking up each morning such a joy, right? I would never let something slip my mind and risk such a bright smile and dark, shining eyes. Why, if only there were a day specifically for our significant others, one day reserved for expressing just how they make us feel, perhaps through cheesy Photoshop gags. Something like Val-
"...I believe we can reach the morning lii-iiiiiight!"
Happy Valentine's Day, Belle! Now you know why I was googling pictures of Tia Carrere this morning!
Did you know? Anyone who uses a name online taken from an Ayn Rand novel has forever forfeited the right to be taken seriously. Now you know.
I tell people that I'm not entirely comfortable with doggy daycare. It seems like something that rich yuppies do, and I instinctively cringe at the possibility of rich yuppiedom, especially living around here. But we get it half-price after Belle's part-time dogwalker discount, he only goes three days a week, and the results... well, let them speak for themselves:
That dog is knocked. out.
I saw this on Kung Fu Monkey, but apparently it's spread to the game blog networks, and Brinstar tagged me. The goal is to write five things other people don't know about me. I'm re-introducing the variation that one of them is a lie.
I don't usually do memes or tagging. If you want, tag yourself on my behalf in comments.
The dog does not wear clothes. I am adamant about this. While Belle suggests that he needs a coat or boots for the cold Virginia winters, I insist (despite all evidence to the contrary) that Wallace has dignity and we will not abuse it.
That said, he looks pretty sexy in these boxers, no? Much more work-safe than before!
When Wallace and I go for car rides, we have a little song that we sing. The lyrics go something like this:
You're not vomitin'
You're not vomitin'
You're not vomitin'
'Cause you're a not-vomitin' dog.
Its melody is a bit like a non-gendered toy commercial jingle from the 80's. I start the song whenever Wallace starts to look vaguely carsick--which, even for a dog of great intelligence and expressiveness like our puppy, can be hard to judge. Better safe than sorry. So far it is working, although whether it is the power of suggestion or the fact that we've only taken one trip since I've started singing, I couldn't say.
We sing this song because Wallace did throw up in my car the other day. He's had vehicular accidents before, but it was always in Belle's car. It is simply human nature: dog vomit all over your girlfriend's property is a pity, but also slightly amusing. Dog vomit on your own property is a capital crime. But in my defense, what Wallace produced in my car was orders of magnitude more disgusting than what I saw in hers. The stench from his Exorcist impression was honestly the most disgusting thing I have ever smelled, much less mopped up with a paper towel. I don't know how he contained it--I think it started eating through the floor mats. He's such a mild-mannered dog, it's sometimes hard to imagine that he's capable of these Geneva Convention violations.
What's really funny is that I have started to worry, and Belle is relatively nonchalant about his uneasy stomach, which is a reversal of our usual roles. Normally, the interaction goes more like this:
Thomas: (not looking up from the book/video game/television) That's just something that dogs do, babe. My dogs played in the blender half the time. He'll be fine. It builds character.
But in response to my concerns that perhaps we should change Wallace's food, Belle raises an eyebrow. "Dogs throw up all the time," she says. And she has a point. Dogs do throw up on a regular basis. They are scavenging animals, after all. In fact, for some dogs, it is just another means of communication. Where cats bring you dead animals as gifts, the dog might imagine that nothing could express his joy and simple love for you nearly as much as the contents of his digestive system. It's near the bottom of his heart, right?
Or at least, I find that it helps to think of it that way. Especially when I'm breaking out the paper towels again.
People often describe our dog Wallace as "handsome," and he is indeed a handsome dog. But is he merely handsome? No! There is a veritable flood of adjectives for this puppy! Words like "tasteful":
Belle: We have to name her!
Thomas: Okay. How about "Pumpkin?" My parents had a tortoiseshell named Pumpkin. She was a good cat.
Belle: But she doesn't look like a pumpkin. When I think of a cat named pumpkin, I think of a big orange cat.
Thomas: Fair enough.
Belle: How about "Meko?" M-E-K-O.
Thomas: Where did that come from?
Thomas: What about "Neko" instead? It's Japanese for cat.
Belle: So we're naming our cat "Cat?"
Thomas: I guess so.