The Mammoth Lakes Repertory Theatre, in cooperation with Mammoth Lakes Foundation, will present the Second Annual Mono County Finals in the national Poetry Out Loud competition Saturday, Jan. 28, at 6 p.m.
Fido is having the time of his life.
Every day is the finest time of his life, if you ask me, but even I would admit that this day ranks right up there.
He is reading his fortunes.
â€śDog who pee on dog gets a leg up on the competition,â€ť he intoned. Waiting a comedic moment, he then howled in glee.
Fido had received a box of dog fortune cookies in the mail. Who from? He doesnâ€™t know. An admirer. But right there on the Chinese takeout box, was the label, â€śKung Fu Fido,â€ť made somewhere in Minnesota.
December 16th, 2011
Fido is shopping.
â€śThe trick,â€ť he said, â€śis to find gifts that dogs themselves dig, rather than humans. Get it? Digging dogs?â€ť
Fido paused to lick his, um, belly. He lay near the table, dictating to me as I worked the Web on his behalf. His legs are as nimble as fence posts, and his paws just canâ€™t work a keyboard.
â€śYou have an actual strategy?â€ť I asked.
â€śWhy, yes,â€ť he said.
â€śI get it. You are a very clever dog, my good man.â€ť I gave him a pat and a scratch.
Fido closed his eyes halfway. He was in thought.
Fido does not pass gas.
â€śItâ€™s an untoward behavior,â€ť he said the other night. We lay in bed, ready for a long winterâ€™s nap. â€śItâ€™s no more acceptable than it is in humans.â€ť
â€śItâ€™s a good thing you think like that,â€ť I said. â€śOtherwise youâ€™d be outside.â€ť
We had just finished reading the long, long, l-o-n-g New York Times article about purebred dogs, especially bulldogs.
â€śInveterate farters,â€ť said Fido. â€śItâ€™s why I didnâ€™t mind that the Georgia Bulldogs didnâ€™t win. Not even the Superdome would be able to mitigate their behavior.â€ť
Fido is teaching me deep breathing.
â€śHey, hey, hey hey!â€ť
He lay on his side and invited me over.
â€śI have noticed that lots of humans donâ€™t quite get this,â€ť he said, â€śbut once you get the hangdog of it, itâ€™s easy and it will make you feel better.â€ť
I had just passed through a weekend of football â€” college and pro. During the Iowa-Nebraska game a week ago, I was a total wreck. I can handle a boring game if my guys come out on top, but alas, it was that kind of game and that kind of season.
Fido hates the woodstove.
Go figure. Dogs are supposed to love them, if you believe the pictures in the L.L. Bean catalogs.
â€śGet me out of here,â€ť he pleaded. â€śWhat is this? Aruba?â€ť
This was on one of those really cold days in early November, when the wind howled and the temperatures dove. Outside, our street was frozen solid, with icy spots all over the place.
I built a fire in the woodstove and things were darned cozy at our place, at least for me.
Fido retreated from the living room and took up a post under the dining room table. He panted.
â€śPeople get the wrong idea about Oakland,â€ť Fido said.
â€śYeah, I know. What makes you say that?â€ť
â€śI was there for more than a month, and I didnâ€™t see anything like the stuff that showed up on the Jon Stewart Show or the TV news.â€ť
Fido leafed through the California section of the Sunday New York Times, pondering the pictures. When Fido reads the papers, itâ€™s awkward because his finger dexterity is poor, and he tends to get distracted easily.
This time, he lingered.