Boss is trying to juggle too many things at once.
The immediate effect of this is a diminution of tummy rubs.
It is one thing for him to become fantastically involved in a project, such as the book he's been working on, where he goes all abstracted and lost in what he calls nuances, pausing from time to time to try out a line or paragraph on me. And pause, he does, asking me for my reaction. But this is different.
I am working to get at the heart of it.
It is not easy. Things with dogs and people tend toward greater fucking complexity as age visits them. Dogs are famously said to be living in the now and if not living in the now, napping contentedly until the next now arrives, say Boss wanting a walk or a coffee or one of those impulsive trips to Chaucer's Books in the Loreto Plaza (which also has a Gelson's Market, which often reminds Boss to go hunting therein for my favorite snacks of duck, beef, and chicken jerky). I'll give Boss this, when he is not in the now, he is in the What If, the place he projects himself to write things. The things we have in common start, of course, with our bond; we are a pack and there is that pack interconnectedness that transcends our individuality to the place where we each through our pack-ness understand the individuality of the other. With the visitations of age and experience, lines are often blurred. I, for instance, have a wired-in instinct to bury things. Boss frequently gives me pieces of almond croissant to bury. Sometimes, looking for a place to bury the piece of croissant, I think to eat it instead, which is a bafflement to me and to Boss. Sometimes, when hanging out and Boss is swirling the dregs of his coffee, we silently marvel together at the complexity of things.
I think Boss is working on some new complexity. I am working to get at the heart of it so that I can help him decide where to dig.
Showing posts with label Epstein a cat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Epstein a cat. Show all posts
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Definitions
There are two kinds of smarts, street and cultural.
I have street smarts, which is to say wired in or, as Boss would put it, instinctive.
Boss has, as I would put it, cultural. He has some wired-in stuff, of course, but most of what he gets comes from reading, interacting with other humans, and experience. While I have on occasion seen him sniff when entering a place, I'm glad he has me to sniff for him and let him know something about the surrounding. People need dogs. Boss needs me. There are some people who need Boss, to balance out the equation. His students and clients. Of course his friends. Notably, among these is C. and W. and the Englishman, F., and that guy up at Westmont, C., whom the Boss first met at the Xanadu Coffee Shop.
Lately, Boss has been working furiously on a long, long project involving definitions. I was around when the idea for it began percolating. Students and clients began asking him questions about terms and ways that were appropriate for writing things, particularly for telling stories. He has been clarifying, providing definitions that a dog could follow as well as definitions a writer could understand (if the writer had a dog). I think this is all rather nice, particularly since somehow Boss managed to lose or otherwise let get away from him a sizable draft of the work. By my count, he has been carefully redoing the work since November of last year.
He has not, however, sought to define the word "change." You are surprised that a dog would know about quotation marks, I can see that, but from my years of listening to his classes and editorial discussions, I know a thing or two about quotation marks. I know that dogs do not need them, but humans do. If you're going to be around humans, you'd better get used to quotation marks.
Back to change.
We all do it. We all progress (I learned that word from Boss). Sometimes he says, "Sally, shall we progress to bed?" or "Sally, shall we progress to our walk?" Occasionally, when he is in a mood, he will say, "Sally, can we progress to the car and leave the sniffing for gophers to another time?") We move from place to place, we become more familiar with things, we adopt behaviors and their effects. Those of us who are dogs particularly enjoy a settled routine where we can spread out, become part of the surrounding and take in the joys of the surrounding. Some people--but never a dog--would call that approach taking things for granted. We do not take for granted. Our behavior is based on how much we have absorbed. This is our growth. We move into things and we become them.
This is largely what the Boss tries to get in his work and in his attempts at teaching others who want to do the kinds of work he does. This is what I do with Boss.
There is never enough time, and things have their own way of growing, sometimes away from us, sometimes even closer to us. Boss tries on occasion to tell me things about his regard for me, and they are good to hear. But my behavior is already based on my understanding of them, and I know of them as I know to herd animals and humans, and I know of them as I know I will sometimes find myself in the midst of some response, back into the present moment and doing.
We are all of us, humans too, growing toward places we have set our hearts upon. Being is a growing. We grow as long as there is being. Life without Boss is unthinkable and so I will stop thinking because that would get in the way of my being.
P.S. Epstein cannot be all that poorly off. He left some of his kibble uneaten, but to show him the order of things around here, I have eaten it.
I have street smarts, which is to say wired in or, as Boss would put it, instinctive.
Boss has, as I would put it, cultural. He has some wired-in stuff, of course, but most of what he gets comes from reading, interacting with other humans, and experience. While I have on occasion seen him sniff when entering a place, I'm glad he has me to sniff for him and let him know something about the surrounding. People need dogs. Boss needs me. There are some people who need Boss, to balance out the equation. His students and clients. Of course his friends. Notably, among these is C. and W. and the Englishman, F., and that guy up at Westmont, C., whom the Boss first met at the Xanadu Coffee Shop.
Lately, Boss has been working furiously on a long, long project involving definitions. I was around when the idea for it began percolating. Students and clients began asking him questions about terms and ways that were appropriate for writing things, particularly for telling stories. He has been clarifying, providing definitions that a dog could follow as well as definitions a writer could understand (if the writer had a dog). I think this is all rather nice, particularly since somehow Boss managed to lose or otherwise let get away from him a sizable draft of the work. By my count, he has been carefully redoing the work since November of last year.
He has not, however, sought to define the word "change." You are surprised that a dog would know about quotation marks, I can see that, but from my years of listening to his classes and editorial discussions, I know a thing or two about quotation marks. I know that dogs do not need them, but humans do. If you're going to be around humans, you'd better get used to quotation marks.
Back to change.
We all do it. We all progress (I learned that word from Boss). Sometimes he says, "Sally, shall we progress to bed?" or "Sally, shall we progress to our walk?" Occasionally, when he is in a mood, he will say, "Sally, can we progress to the car and leave the sniffing for gophers to another time?") We move from place to place, we become more familiar with things, we adopt behaviors and their effects. Those of us who are dogs particularly enjoy a settled routine where we can spread out, become part of the surrounding and take in the joys of the surrounding. Some people--but never a dog--would call that approach taking things for granted. We do not take for granted. Our behavior is based on how much we have absorbed. This is our growth. We move into things and we become them.
This is largely what the Boss tries to get in his work and in his attempts at teaching others who want to do the kinds of work he does. This is what I do with Boss.
There is never enough time, and things have their own way of growing, sometimes away from us, sometimes even closer to us. Boss tries on occasion to tell me things about his regard for me, and they are good to hear. But my behavior is already based on my understanding of them, and I know of them as I know to herd animals and humans, and I know of them as I know I will sometimes find myself in the midst of some response, back into the present moment and doing.
We are all of us, humans too, growing toward places we have set our hearts upon. Being is a growing. We grow as long as there is being. Life without Boss is unthinkable and so I will stop thinking because that would get in the way of my being.
P.S. Epstein cannot be all that poorly off. He left some of his kibble uneaten, but to show him the order of things around here, I have eaten it.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
The Gatsby Thing
It is time for dogs everywhere to be up.
Not the drowsing kind of up where you keep the awareness channel open, just in case They want something of you or They fail to see an impending danger. No, not that kind. I mean up, up.
As I lay drowsing last night, the Boss was having a telephone conversation about something called The Great Gatsby. He has spoken of this Gatsby thing to me on several occasions, informing me of his regard for the person who created it, although it seems remarkable to me that something as potentially splendid as this Gatsby thing could have been produced by a person without a dog. Boss assures me that this was indeed the case, and so I suppose it could be true, which means I have to accept the possibility that on occasion something slips through the cracks of the known and unknown universe.
I'm confident I know the person at the other end of the telephone; the Boss does not sound that particular way with anyone else. I can also tell when C. is at the other end of the line; there is a particular jollity in Boss's response, for indeed C. is probably the Boss's closest friend. C. has dedicated books to Boss and has done a handsome portrait of the Boss's long time pal, Molly, a portrait that makes me think with some relief that Boss has had a history of dog in his life. I can't complain; there is a large photo of me, at least two feet by three feet, taken by ENK, occupying the entire mantle over the fire place. Were you to see it, you'd agree that I am up to the task of keeping Boss at operating level. In terms of pure size and personality, that photo keeps potential trespassers on their guard. I don't think Epstein would dare enter the room, because of my projected aura.
It is now time to get the Boss in gear, hopefully reflecting with his work the same connectedness with his work that he exuded when he was talking about this Gatsby thing last night. Work and connectedness are all important. I was connected well with Greenwell Avenue yesterday afternoon when Boss took me there. The trees, chaparral, and rich smells of the place are a tonic. I catch up on the animal news--a horse having been here, a rabbit there, some dumb Golden over there, and that fucking coyote I sometimes chase. We spent time with ENK, then it was back to work and the connectedness of work.
There are many pleasing things to say about connectedness. It is good that Boss sees this, finds it with people and with his work. It is what we have, and when we become lost in it, over our heads in the concentration and devotion in it, we are in something Boss and some of his friends call love, and which we dogs, we who know when it is time to be up, call being.
Not the drowsing kind of up where you keep the awareness channel open, just in case They want something of you or They fail to see an impending danger. No, not that kind. I mean up, up.
As I lay drowsing last night, the Boss was having a telephone conversation about something called The Great Gatsby. He has spoken of this Gatsby thing to me on several occasions, informing me of his regard for the person who created it, although it seems remarkable to me that something as potentially splendid as this Gatsby thing could have been produced by a person without a dog. Boss assures me that this was indeed the case, and so I suppose it could be true, which means I have to accept the possibility that on occasion something slips through the cracks of the known and unknown universe.
I'm confident I know the person at the other end of the telephone; the Boss does not sound that particular way with anyone else. I can also tell when C. is at the other end of the line; there is a particular jollity in Boss's response, for indeed C. is probably the Boss's closest friend. C. has dedicated books to Boss and has done a handsome portrait of the Boss's long time pal, Molly, a portrait that makes me think with some relief that Boss has had a history of dog in his life. I can't complain; there is a large photo of me, at least two feet by three feet, taken by ENK, occupying the entire mantle over the fire place. Were you to see it, you'd agree that I am up to the task of keeping Boss at operating level. In terms of pure size and personality, that photo keeps potential trespassers on their guard. I don't think Epstein would dare enter the room, because of my projected aura.
It is now time to get the Boss in gear, hopefully reflecting with his work the same connectedness with his work that he exuded when he was talking about this Gatsby thing last night. Work and connectedness are all important. I was connected well with Greenwell Avenue yesterday afternoon when Boss took me there. The trees, chaparral, and rich smells of the place are a tonic. I catch up on the animal news--a horse having been here, a rabbit there, some dumb Golden over there, and that fucking coyote I sometimes chase. We spent time with ENK, then it was back to work and the connectedness of work.
There are many pleasing things to say about connectedness. It is good that Boss sees this, finds it with people and with his work. It is what we have, and when we become lost in it, over our heads in the concentration and devotion in it, we are in something Boss and some of his friends call love, and which we dogs, we who know when it is time to be up, call being.
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