Skip to main content

How to Host a Baby II


There's an anal thermometer; that won't go well. There's a friendly alcoholic teacher down the street; sometimes, she invites you (inappropriately) to her roof deck for a cocktail; sometimes, she seems not to recognize you. "Alcoholic first grade teacher"--is there some redundancy built in? After twenty, thirty years, in that particular career, can the "alcoholic" just be implied? Alcoholic First Grade Teacher says that Salvy will be fine; she says a neutering procedure is much more invasive for *female* pups. Isn't that always the way? Experience schadenfreude. Do not give much--or any--thought to all those female pups. There is a rule, at Paws in Paradise--Salvy's "school"--that your pet can't visit unless he or she has been neutered. You and your partner have been ignoring that rule, for months and months; Salvy goes, eagerly, and perhaps he knocks up half of Park Slope. Who's to say? But thank God for Paws in Paradise. Thank God they don't ask for records. Also--note the pun. Salvy has his "paws" in Paradise...while also taking a "pause" in Paradise. You really, really appreciate that.

-Co-author a song for Salvy. It's about his stuffed chicken. I AM A CHICKEN AND I LIKE TO PLAY! I GO TO THE FARM AND I WORK ALL DAY! CHICKEN SAID HI! CHICKEN SAID HEY! CHICKEN WILL PLAY MOST ANYDAY! (Sometimes, there's a coda, part of an anthem of self-acceptance. I AM A CHICKEN, AND THAT'S OK!) A second verse begins to announce itself. A CHICKEN AND A CHICKEN WENT OUT TO PLAY! THE CHICKENS SAID LET'S HAVE FUN TODAY! Despite this tantalizing opening, a conclusion has not yet made itself known.

-"Children bring a neighborhood together," said someone, and maybe that's true, but mainly what you notice in your neighborhood, now, is alcoholism. Puffy faces. A ghostly cast of characters, mounds of pasty flesh, filthy jeans. They gather at the bar at Johnny Mack's; they share their feelings about Tom Petty. One day, one guy announces he will soon see a James Taylor concert. "James Taylor?" says his friend. "Why don't you just go ahead and kill yourself now???" And then he repeats the joke, because it was too good to abandon so quickly. "If you're planning to see a James Taylor concert, why don't you just go ahead and kill yourself now???"

-Fire Azir, the dog-walker. You have never fired anyone in your life. Oh, the texts! "Salvy was dragging today; it's probably because he's so heavy!" "Yuck, you let him swim in the doggie pond???" "Salvy's harness isn't working for me. Today, Salvy gave me bruises ALL OVER MY ARM!" "It was so wet this morning, and WHEN ARE YOU GUYS GOING TO GET SALVY A TOWEL?" Your fingers are shaking. You type the note of dismissal. You then find yourself preparing something like a legal brief, listing the texts; you are ready to do battle with Prospect Bark. No such battle is called for. After Azir's termination, she must walk the dog two more times. Contest this--because you do not have many more pressing things happening right now in your life. Lose the fight. Azir returns and sends two terse, awkward texts. "He pooped and he peed." "He did his ones and twos." The next day, the new walker writes and accidentally copies Azir, and, very quickly, there's a retort: "Can you guys please remove me from this group text?? THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!"

-The area around the former nads heals. Do some reading. In some parts of the country--perhaps in Palm Springs--wealthy couples purchase artificial nads for their dogs, mainly as an aesthetic thing. A cosmetic touch. Walk with Salvy; he flattens himself like a pancake, immobile, on the sidewalk, for several minutes, or he yanks you, and yanks you, in a mad dash, down Eighth Avenue. You feel the walks are a public display of your own incompetence. Sometimes, a stranger asks, "Will you do leash training? Will you do agility training?" Smile, and say, "Ask his other dad!" Another vet visit looms. The doctor said there's an unparalleled tick issue right now; ticks are everywhere, and they will come after you and your loved ones; they're a problem, such that scientists at Harvard are trying to engineer and clone attractive, powerful, mutant, disease-less ticks who will overrun the old-school ticks and make the world safe again. By the laws of Darwinian evolution, these alluring mutant ticks will overpower the dumpy old-school ticks; they will breed more, they will seem more attractive, and then why would anyone want to breed with the slowly-disappearing old-school ticks? Smile, and listen to this. It's 7:20 AM. These rooms are small; the vet has a very, very loud voice. Now: Just agree with her. Thank her for the speech about the ticks. Thank her for her concern.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...
1 comment
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more