Zelda-Sept2008, originally uploaded by wendy4767.

I thought when she finally popped the basketball and it lost all its air that she would abandon it as a toy. Nope, it’s still her favorite and now she can actually get her teeth into it!

I’m aware, with the bird, that she is a wild animal. That she doesn’t think like I think, that her perception of the world is quite different, that her priorities aren’t mine and that her feelings are probably not like mine either. She appreciates me as a cushion, she understands me as a living creature separate from herself (I believe) and distinct from the other living creatures (aka the boy and the dog) but I honestly don’t know what more she’s capable of. Lately I’ve been trying to train her not to chew on power cords and she sort of seems to be getting it, but she looks at me with a posture that says she’s trying to decide if what I’m saying or doing is meaningful to her, rather than any evidence that she actually understands what I’m saying.

With the dog, everything I do has meaning. (She definitely doesn’t understand everything I say, but I think that’s lack of interest.) But every movement I make, every shift of position, every tone that comes out of my mouth, she’s attuned to it all. It makes it remarkably hard to go out for lunch and leave her behind. This dog has me wrapped around…her perfect black ears.

Choosing Surgery

I’ve spent the day on the verge of tears. We–I–decided last week to get the beloved puppy spayed. Honestly, I didn’t want to. But it’s the law in Santa Cruz, and I felt surprisingly uncomfortable about knowingly violating the law. (Back before I knew it was the law, I didn’t care at all.)

It wasn’t that I truly believed we’d want Zelda to have puppies. Even though she’s an incredibly perfect dog who should certainly be passing her genes along…well, there are plenty of dogs in the world. I do resent the law, though: it seems like such a Republican effort, to make puppies either criminal or for profit, with nothing in between.

But more than that, it’s major surgery. We have to keep her quiet for two weeks. WEEKS! Zelda! Quiet!! No jumping, no running. These phrases are oxymorons–things that simply do not belong together. As I told the vet last year when we cancelled our first appointment to get her spayed, asking this dog not to jump would be like asking her not to breathe. It’s not an option.

But I did it anyway. I took her in this morning and left her at the vet’s. It’s the safer choice, it’s the legal choice, the world doesn’t need more puppies. But I just want to cry.

My Dog Can Climb Trees

I’ll make Rory go out with the camera later and take a picture, but yes, the dog is willing to climb trees. I’d already suspected that she’d be willing to climb most anything if the temptation was strong enough: last night, I was up in the bunk bed, trying to make the bed, and she actually climbed most of the way up the ladder to get to me. A ladder is not easy for a dog, and she got stuck about one step from the top. She just couldn’t get a solid enough footing to make the last push.

Today, Rory took her to the park and climbed a tree and up she jumped, scrabbling and clawing at the bark until she was safely lodged in the crook of the branches.