Ceci n'est pas un blog

Poop Interuptus: Yesterday Seamus had been looking and looking for the perfect place to poo. You can tell when he moves onto the grass and slows way down that this is what's about to happen. So he has spent a long time sniffing and circling and walking somewhere else and finally he's content and in a happy place, he has clearly found his spot. But just as he assumes the vulnerable and humiliating half-squat position, a beautiful young girl dog sidles up to him and sits down right next to him and looks him in the eye. She is flirting up a storm and he looks like he might be blushing underneath his fur as she bats her eyes and makes submissive gestures. So of course now he can't go and it take another 15 r 20 minutes of walking for him to feel he might have enough privacy to try again.

Otto: Last night the fog was positively Baskervillian. The thick damp air smelled slightly of smoke from the neighboring fire places. You could watch it settle and eddy around lamp posts and trees. It dampened all sound into a hush. We made our way through the shrouded paths up to the top of the park. I could see that there was someone standing across the fountain from us. But then a giant enthusiastic chocolate flat coated retriever bounds out of the fountain, which is turned off for the season. This leaping dark monstrous puppy turns out to be Otto and he wanted to play with Tosca so badly. He licked her face, he tried to mount her, he ran around her, he tried licking her face again. Wag, wag, wag, smirk, drool. She was not having any of it, she snarled and barked and told him to shove off. When Otto's person asked if she was a bitch, I started to get defensive until I realized what he was asking. Then Tosca went and tried to make nice with his owner as if to say, "it's not you, it's the dog, you're ok". Otto, undeterred ran over and mounted Seamus who just ignored him as if he was a gnat. When Seamus wouldn't play he ran back over and tried kissing Tosca again. No luck. His owner knew the English for "persistent" and we agreed that this defined the puppy.

Phrase book: I need to learn the Norwegian phrases for "how much does he weigh?", "how big is he?", and "what breed are they?" since I get asked these several times a day.

Baby: The other day as we entered the park there was a great caterwalling. A baby in his mothers arms sounded as if he had fallen, his family had left him, he was lost, he hadn't eaten for 9 weeks, all at the same time. The mother held him and tried to talk him down but as we approached he caught sight of the big fluffy hunds and went silent, transfixed by the dogs. He watched everything they did and wouldn't take his eyes off them. As we passed them and went on down the pathways we never heard him resume the wailing, just the sight of their giant goofiness was enough to pacify the most upset child.