On Pets and Other Patriotic Things.

America...fuck yeah!

Happy July 5th everyone! Ugh. OK, can we just agree that this is routinely the most anticlimactic day of the year to be an American? On July 4th you're gorging on flag cake and grilled meats, exploding things, putting the finishing touches on your tan, and misting up at John Phillips Sousa marches (just me?). Maybe you're doing all those things at once while watching a parade. On July 5th you're stuck face to wattle with the other glum Metra commuters. And there is no cake anywhere. Wha wha.

My fellow blogger put me to shame this year with his uberpatriotic D.C. celebration spot. Double fireworks all the way...so intense! I'll admit to jealousy, but I did have a pretty good consolation prize. I got to spend a long weekend with my favorite house pet*: Okie.

Okie is my landlady's rotund and hirsute golden retriever. Golden retrievers are the most American pet you can have. True statement. Okie's a total lover, but now that warm weather is finally here to stay, he's taken up residence in the flowerbed outside my windows. Given that my apartment is ground level this now means I am greeted by a furry, panting face whenever I exit the bedroom. 

Having a house pet is great. I essentially get to play the fun aunt who swoops in to give rubs and feed treats, but then leaves before any actual work (poop scooping) happens. And Okie is an ideal "nephew" because he is fairly lazy and undemanding. In any event, he's loads better than the other members of the natural kingdom lurking around my nest. House centipedes...totally not patriotic, probably Commies.

So, the Independence Day fun is over for this year, but that doesn't mean we can't all plan next year's extravaganza. I'm thinking... parade of puppies on the National Mall, with sunbathing Marines handing out burgers while we all sing, "God Bless America".

* This is not to be confused with my favorite pet, period. He knows who he is.

City Fauna

Hey there, buddy.

It was late morning and I had found a coffeeshop with excellent coffee, delicious pastries, The New York Times (I was in New York, so it was still fresh), and a shady porch. Heaven. The farthest thing on earth away from a city danger. Until I was accosted and adorably, awkwardly attacked by a hungry kitten.

The creatures that roam our city streets fall roughly in two categories: rodents/pests and Things On Leashes.  I guess there are also birds, but for every graceful peregrine falcon in its skyscraper perch, there are blathering armies of aimless, pooping pidgeons, which fit nicely into the first category. How unlikely then that I should meet such an enterprising member of the city-jungle's third estate:  part-pest, part-TOL, part-neither.