His name is Brando (as in Marlon Brando) and he is a big, sweet dude. (More about him on the dog blog.)
Our weekend was spent getting him accustomed to home life, bathing both dogs, and taking them on lots of walks. Having two dogs has been a lot of fun, actually. I think it’s the perfect number of dogs. Pyrrha is quite enamored with him and seems to treat him in much the way that a little sister does to a big brother: lots of picking on him and trying to entice him to play with her.
Brando has reminded me how shepherds are truly one-person dogs. German shepherds tend to pick “their” person. (Unlike, say, a golden retriever, who sees every person as “their” person.) Pyrrha, clearly, picked me. But Brando has definitely picked Guion. If Guion dares to leave Brando’s sight, Brando lets us know with many varieties of cries, howls, and whines that he is very upset about Guion’s absence. It’s quite sweet, actually. I often walk back into the living room to find Brando sleeping on Guion’s feet.
I think we’ll both probably cry when he gets adopted. (Guion probably a little more than me.) But tears of joy! Certainly.
Having a foster dog has also really cut down on my reading. I have barely touched a book in a week, which is extremely unusual for me. I think David Foster Wallace wore me out, actually. I seem to have lost a lot of reading momentum after finishing Infinite Jest. But I am honestly enjoying a small break from my self-competitive nature.
Kelsey and Alex are coming to visit us this weekend, and I couldn’t be more excited. How wonderful it is to have a sister and brother-in-law who are so genuinely delightful.
As one who was raised in North Carolina, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much snow before.
We both got the day off, which was spent doing all of the lovely, lazy things we don’t do on typical weekdays — walk the dog in the middle of the day, paint one’s nails (me; I keep offering to paint Guion’s and he keeps declining), read several books, make real oatmeal, host Chelsea and her pups (Annie and Nell) over for a midday play-date.
We were also among the lucky ones in that we never lost power. I think we’re still on the hospital power grid or something, which surely helps.
The big decision we made this week is that we are going to become a foster home for dogs from Pyrrha’s rescue, Southeast German Shepherd Rescue. We may have our first foster this weekend, and I am very excited and nervous about it. I have wanted to foster for a long time now, and thanks to Guion’s support and our wonderful landlords’ approval, I think now is a great time to accomplish that item on the Life List. (If you care even mildly about following this fostering adventure, you can rest assured that I will be blogging about it at Doggerel.) Antsy with post-cabin fever energy, I set up the second crate in the “dog room” tonight and started getting really excited about this challenge.
For now, though, I am thankful to have had an extra day to just spend with my husband and my dog. I do love them so.
We had a wonderfully productive and busy weekend. We spend too much money at Lowe’s, now that we have this prodigious garden, but it always feels justified somehow. (More things need to be grown! Grow all the things!) We bought those bright red chairs on Saturday and they were worth every penny; that’s my new summer reading spot. Pyrrha seems to like the chairs, too, even though they look suspiciously tasty.
We went to this event with Pyrrha’s rescue at a local vineyard on Sunday and sat under a hot tent and sweated with a pack of 10 or more German shepherds. What is it about seeing a bunch of dogs of the same breed together that is so thrilling? I don’t know, but it was fun and Pyrrha seemed to recognize her former foster pack.
P. is also starting to fall in love with Guion, too. It took her some time, but I think they will be inseparable very soon. (Just so long as he doesn’t replace me in her hierarchy of affections, I’m cool with it.)
In my annual summer tradition, I’ve started the fifth and sixth volumes of Proust, TheCaptive and The Fugitive. It’s a little hard to believe that this is my fifth year with Proust and that I shall nobly lay him aside next year. (What will happen in years seven and eight? Infinite Jest and then The Pale King. Why, yes, I do like to plan ahead.) I like to talk about Proust a lot, especially in the summers when he is thick in my brain, but I shouldn’t. He’s easily the most pretentious author to name-drop. He’s almost never appropriate conversational fodder. Poor Prousty. (Meanwhile, I think “Marcel” would be a nice name for a bi-color or all-black German shepherd. Next dog?)
This won’t count as an official update, but we are in the thick of moving craziness right now. We are realizing, however, how totally blessed we are to have found this little house, our mini-homestead. Meanwhile, everything continues to happen at a dizzying, thrilling pace: Chris and Sallie got engaged last night; my little brother graduates from high school this weekend; Mike and Windy are coming in on Friday to help us with the final moving things; and our home visit with Southeast German Shepherd Rescue is tonight! All of these moments that I have been waiting for, happening all at once…