Fiction author Robin Brande talks about writing, reading, and other vital matters

Look, I know he’s old, all right? He’ll be fourteen in November. And I know in my heart I love him, but

THE BREATHING HAS TO STOP!!!

It’s not just breathing, it’s this raspy, Darth Vader-like gasping and panting. He gasps all night. He gasps all day, lying on his bed in my office, driving me fundamentally insane. Pant, pant, pant, pant, pant.

I know what you’re thinking: So why do you take him on a 3-mile walk every day? Do you think that’s good for an old dog’s lungs?

Because he insists, that’s why. I’ve tried to leave him home. When it’s time for the walk he follows me from room to room to make sure I don’t forget him. And the few times I’ve tried to ditch him, he’s gazed up at me with those soulful brown eyes and gasped, “Take . . . me! Take . . . me!” So I really have no choice.

For the first half hour he’s fine. He pulls me all the way. Then the rest of the walk he acts like I’ve dragged him out of his hospital bed and made him go on this death march with me.

I know what you’re going to say: So why don’t you make the walk shorter? Like, maybe only a half hour–duh?

Because I tried that. And he gasps and pulls and wants to make sure he still makes it to that palm tree where the baby birds always fall with their little broken necks.

Urban Writer Legend has it that a VERY famous, best-selling author actually bought her husband a book store so he would go there every day and leave her alone BECAUSE HE WAS BREATHING TOO LOUDLY. Amen, sistah.

I’m going to buy my geriatric dog a dead baby bird sanctuary. He can go there every day–I’ll even drive him–and frolic among all the intestinal-parasite-giving, bald little corpses, so I can get some work done.

I love the Blue dog. I do. He folds up his long legs so he can climb onto the chair with me and curl up on my lap. He’ll fall asleep with his chin resting on my thigh. How could anyone not love that? And I know some day he, my first-born dog, will go the way of all elderly dogs, and I’m going to wish I had been more patient and forgiving (hey, Blue, remember that beautiful piece of fish you grabbed off my plate and ran under the piano with so I couldn’t catch you? Yeah, me too).

Sigh, pant, sigh. I’m open to suggestions.

Do they make those nasal strips for dogs? Or just husbands?

Technorati Tags: Dogs, Pets

Posted on Monday, July 10th, 2006 at 8:56 am under Dogs . Subscribe to responses: RSS 2.0 Comment Feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.