Ivy’s discovered a parallel universe. Her world has now moved beyond what is on the floor, to what is three feet above her head: bright blue S’well bottles; creaky, shiny doorknobs; luscious Granny Smith apples; herb-rubbed top round roasts; unsuspecting cats on the radiator cover.
She sees.
She stops.
She barks.
I’ve discovered some things, as well.
Rain beads on her back like bulging drops on a windshield.
She doesn’t need to go out as often—yet, I don’t rest on that knowledge.
She likes to bark and it sounds like yelling to me. I remember that she is a puppy, and likely trying to communicate something to me. (Couldn’t she just whisper?)
She enjoys the bathtub.
She makes me laugh out loud.
I’m told by her breeder, Beth, that Ivy is bored. I am not another puppy. She can’t lay on the ground and bite my ears and wrestle. No matter how many times I throw the ball across the dining room floor, I am still not her pack member in the way she needs. I’m told two are easier than one.
I simply can’t imagine it.
Thursday, February 27, 2020
11 weeks, 6 days