Be Careful What You Wish For

It is raining. It rained all day yesterday too, and all last night. We desperately need this rain, but, you know, on the weekend? Not that weekends, per se, mean anything to me, who sits here in her pajamas in front of a screen all day every day, until the days blur together and time has no meaning. Still, I was going to plant roses for my mother today and now that plan is foiled. Curses.

It's good to know that if I am suddenly rendered deaf, dumb and blind I will still know that it's raining. I figured this out last night when I went to bed, because when I lay down to sleep a pungent and familiar aroma came drifting towards my nose from the comforter: wet Theo. I'm sure that Theo, being so well trained and all, would never get on my bed. He swears up and down that he never, ever gets up there. Although I have noticed that when I'm gone for a while, as I was yesterday, that if, when I get home, Theo is not in his accustomed position (flat on his back with legs up in the air on the couch) then there are usually somewhat suspicious thump crash and scurry noises coming from my bedroom. Theo then comes to the door gleaming with innocence, despite the fact that my bed is disarranged and covered with long golden collie hair.

Dog trainers all say that you can never punish a dog unless you actually catch them in the middle of the act, because they have no memory and are purely zen creatures of the moment: embodiments of buddha nature, except of course for that pesky worldly desire for food, the grosser the better. I say to this, bullshit. If dogs have no memory, than why am I expected to hand over a milk bone every single night after the last foray outside? If he's living purely in the moment, how does he know what shoes I wear for walking him and why does he get wildly excited whenever I put them on? Ha. I am more logical than dog trainers, but on the other hand I am also far too soft hearted and pretty much never punish my dogs for anything, relying instead on positive reinforcement and the kind of long tedious monologues on the nature of karma, the unfairness of life in the world and the necessity of everyone in this house cooperating lovingly with one another that have worked such wonders with my children, who will do more or less anything up to and including washing the dishes to avoid one.