Hey, Feeder! Yes, you.
No pleasantries from me this time, as I must be brief. I now flit from one safe space to another, judging escape routes, primed to flee to higher ground at any moment.
The arrival of Marge, yet another dog, complicates an already over-committed schedule and adds threats to personal safety to the demands of the Patch Translation Project. No one would suggest that Marge is menacing. Descriptors like goofy, ungainly, and effusive come to mind. But she is large and uncoordinated, with paws that indicate significant future growth. A friendly bound-and-pant motion, a universal greeting among canines, can result in whiplash or concussion when initiated by Marge, even though she intends only a routine morning hello.
Complicating matters is the ongoing intensity of Meg, whose typical approach is conducted at blazing speed. Given her muscle mass and athleticism, it is wise to make way. But such a natural reaction results, not in avoidance of her affections, but rather an increase, as she accelerates her approach and effusively licks me from all directions, circling in a dervish of dog energy. The only way to manage Meg is to stand completely still, but remaining stationary is a guarantee of brain injury from Marge. I am sure you recognize the predicament I face.
I’ve been in conversation with both Meg and Marge, and while I don’t find their reflective lives to be of any substance, we are on speaking terms. But in the moment (or, sadly, many moments) of contact, their cognitive functions cease, superseded by one thought only: CAT. They are both young, and thus I have hope for future maturation on their part, and also an escalating fear that our next decade together might be one of constant dodging on my part.
I will hope for a swift decline for them both, including arthritis and loss of vision. Protective action on your part prior to that eventuality would be appropriate, and, many would say, the least that you could do.
In vexation,
Henry
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