Me and Him and Her

Just some things is all. The one picture down there nice and moonly is just what happened when her tried to take me a night photo.

Dark one night, dark and they still didn’t let me in, instead her came out with the wash basket and was hanging up her things on her precious strings. In the pitch dark, yeah. Why at night I don’t know. Yeah, unrational. Her thinks her’s saving time, how? If hanging up takes the same time in the dark or the next morning sun? Then her called to him, he was bogged down in his house chair, her called “Will you weigh him? because I would like to give him some m-i-l-k.” Whatever ailed her. Like I wouldn’t know that word anywhere. So him got out of him’s chair and got me in and held me while him stood on the jiggle thing in the bathroom with the speedometer. Held me up so our chest furs met, and I must of run everything off, all the bones in the woods, so I got all Cat’s food Cat didn’t want when Cat had supper, plus especially a long slosh of milk, unbelievable.

Pitying or affectionate, it’s hard for me to tell.

And yeah, they weigh sometimes, I’m supposed to be 20. 20 means I can snack because 20.5 is okay said the vet.

And if you think this is slanted, all about just food, okay. Because that’s how it is. You live for food too so get over it. Like when I ate the ice cream box her threw out in the grass, scarfed it up good, no problem, her or him always does that, but then her was in there moaning to him how the peaches with the ice cream was better than the strawberries with it, and what about me, did her give me peaches no. Not even strawberries.

Her constant rubbing on me, ug. Honestly, I love on the belly, belly is good enough to die for, about orgiastic, but this digging in my hair and dandling with her fingers, “So silky soft frowzy, oh honey,” why can’t her back off. Well it’s just the price.

So on the porch him and her were feeding and I was next by in my chair, and when her swung her arm over and gave a touch I musta flinched. Musta not seen it coming and braced myself first. “You don’t like to be touched,” her said, conversational. “But no,” her said, “you lick.” Probly meaning if you lick you musta want to be licked back or touched, same thing. “You lick,” her said, “you’re a licker,” and I about shot out of my chair because there for a blink I thought she meant likker and I am not no strong drink, oh I am not.

“Buster is really dumb,” her said, whatever that meant, I was right very near her swinging foot swinging under the outside table. Him was having his fourth muffin, her was counting in her head one two three four, I heard.

“Well you know whose child he is,” him said.

“Is he dumber than Solomon?” her said and then I knew. The baby that comes sometimes, not plum dumb. Slobbers much slobber. And if you’re waiting for crumbs you’re dumb. But I don’t think.

Always the woods, him and me, me and him, the blackly dirt in the tree stumps with maybe mousers in there and the downfell tree trunks for going wirewalking like and my tail up straight for balancing, and meanwhile him has his spray thing for his pinkly gly-co-so-stuff for dying off the evils that are invasifying. Keeps finding more invasifyings. I hear her say sometimes in the house, “What next? Is it ever over? You say you got the whatever weedlings and now it’s some other whatever weedlings and you’ll never be done.” That’s her take and him says, “Yeah, yeah,” like him knows better but still.

So her saw some pinkly on me one day, “What’s that? Huh?” On my feet it was, at least. “Just the gly-co-so-stuff,” him say, and her gurgles in her throat like her’s drowning. “He’ll lick his paws,” her said, “he’ll get brain damage.”

“Naw,” him said, “naw.” “Huh-uh,” her said, “look it up, look up brain damage.” And him musta. Him musta found neurological damage in the Wikipedia or somewhere. And him got out a bucket all concerned and stuck each one of my legs in, in the water, leg, leg, leg, leg. And her said, “No, again, I still see pinkly.”

Her wasn’t crying, but oh boy. And her kept looking for signs I guess. Like when her heard a thump onct, me bouncing off the porch instead of clearing the edge and my feet skidding like usual on the porchboards. “Brain damage,” her said, “he misjudged the porch edge, see? Unless he just tripped on that hose in the grass, always lying there, always lying there, why don’t you put it away for a change?” Then her forgot to keep looking I think.

It’s not just the blackly midges in my eye corners, any dog gets that. But her always scratching through my hair for the burrs and needles, ug, that hurts. Yeah from the woods. Her’ll be saying condoling whispers through her lips. And her has to get him to hold my face firm so her can get the place under my jaw. I mean it it hurts there. And then while I’m still on the picnic table up on my haunches her bestows the Cheerios, her pours them in her hand for me from out of her jar in her groom basket that has the brush and all.

But this time, no, her was just doing the belly rub, luxurious, my legs all splayed in the air like flags, and then her felt maybe a tick and her had to go for her basket stuff. So I endured her scratching off the piece of dirt or was it a bug shell, after which her put the Cheerios in her hand down next to my cheek, and me flat on my back I just swung my mouth sideways. Still with my legs up. The most novel experience, eating sideways.

“Buster,” her said, “are you going to finish your tomato?” because I’d got one down off the table in the shop where him puts them from the garden to finish ripening and rottening. I didn’t say nothing, there on the porch, I licked her leg.

“Buster,” her said, “think of all the starving children,” but I just sprawled, let my nose poke out past the porchboards, the sky had grayly matted clouds and the crickets clicked and the fan in the house whirred and I felt enough protected from scurvy.

That Lulu came again who they always pat her and say Loo Loo, Loo Loo, high to low like singsonging. Isn’t that Lulu just like a person, they say, a little person, such a sweetie, fits in laps perfect and doesn’t much yap.

And I like her all right myself, and her Lulu smell, and then they all yell at me no, stop it, stop that, and all I’m doing is, I don’t know, no damage anyhow. We had our own damage done, had our things taken care of. So why do they go nuts. I’m just posing like a regular boy, what’s so wrong.

In some evenings the brownly house chair is mine kind of. Some. Then usual I go out to the shop place for sleeping. Him’s got the water out there for me and blankets and hay and all, and all him says is “C’mon Buster,” him has a half a dog food in his hand, and obedient I go along.

But in the house sleeping is better. I rember I rember when I was sick, oh sick, the vet stuck his thing in and said fever, so they let me in the brownly chair all the long night, they did. I in the chair, her across on the chair long enough for her stretched out, him down on the floor in between. Soft brownly chair, slept, slept, and not ever moving. Ever so often her went “Is he still breathing” because her was too away across, and him close by went “Yes” and went back to the snores.

I still wouldn’t recommend sick, pained like that and couldn’t walk right. Lime they thought maybe, but who knows.

Him and I just back from the woods and him went inside where his closet for fresh shirts, and I saw him looking out, her in her porch chair and me up right on mine on my dirty second class pillow. And him said out the window, “My two favorite people.” And her said back to him, “His too.” And I got down off my haunches and laid my legs out flat in front and looked the other way all nonchalant. But still pondering it in my heart. What he said, people.

“We don’t drink with our tongues like you do,” her said one day, “although maybe they’re instrumental.” I was watching, her was supping from her Chinese lady mug with the lid off. Her, and me looking, and the sun coming on, and my one eye caught in it, the pupil part shining yellowly I bet. Shining evilly is what her thought, I bet, not even occurring to her how it backdropped her own frowzered head like a mop on fire.

There’s some other stuff but I don’t know, we’ll see.