Saturday, January 12, 2008

Who's this impossible wrigglepot, you ask?

Well, I'll tell you in a minute, because we don't want to give short shrift to my Wiener. And it's sentences like that that often confuse strangers. This is my Wiener:

photo credit: janet grey

She is beloved to me. Sure, little dogs are a pain in my ass. I grew up with a Newfoundland who could eat a box of 64 Crayolas and never bat an eye (though that anus was battin' a few lashes. Huh. That doesn't really make any sense. But oh if you'd seen those beautifully speckled piles of poop that were bigger than my whole Wiener.), devour all my Halloween candy, including the pillow case in which it was collected (they held so much!), and survive lip-flap dermatitis surgery with a furry stoicism.

But these little dogs! I tell ya! Eats a tiny sum of another dog's food: pancreatitis. Stung by a bee: allergic! Bit by a rattlesnake: well, okay that would be a problem with just about any dog. But would any dog curiously investigate until she finds a rattlesnake?! (please note fang mark on snout.)

AN ASIDE: You know? It may be helpful if you read my posts out loud. My train of thought is often horribly wrecked (but if you do read it out loud, please don't pronounce the "t" in often; I hate that.). I just think the parenthetical statements will be more easily understood if muttered aloud. Huh, what's the difference between out loud and aloud? I'm sure I know if I think about it. Or if you like, you can just call and I'll read you the entry. But then again, no (or a man who makes potions in a traveling show), because I probably won't pick up and I'll probably email you back instead of calling which would defeat the whole purpose.

All righty then, where were we? My Wiener. Sigh. So you know how unmarried woman get about their pets? Yeah, that's me and der Wiener.

photo credit: ryan sloan

So after I bought a house it seemed to me that Wien was ranging around her new domain looking a little lonely. Her manner suggested to me that I was boring her. My mom had always said that when Wien gets older, maybe I should get her a puppy. Well, she wasn't all that old, but clearly I wasn't fulfilling her needs. So I got Auggie, Wien's half sister (same dad).

I just don't think I should go into Auggie's life story this very second, even though, to my horror, it's only an 18 month story. I thought I should warn you that she's no longer with us before you see her pictures. 'Cause if I didn't, it would be like you knew her and then she died. This way you won't bond. So this is Auggie:

SHE is the impossible wrigglepot. See, I'm not sure if you an tell by this picture, but Auggie was really squishy. I wonder why it is that puppies have no bones? Anyhoo, not only was she completely boneless, she was a squirmy freak! My brother-in-law Simon (who soon I will begin referring to as "Simon," but without the "") adored lil' Aug, as did all others with a heart. And she'd get so very excited when he loved her up (but perhaps not as excited as when my sister Julia would fully let Auggie climb in her mouth. Simon finally put a stop to that as he had to kiss that mouth and it was starting to make him feel oogie.) that she would be writhing with joy in his arms. So one day Simon says, "She's an impossible wrigglepot." Damned descriptive, I'd say.

So I decided it was time for me to incorporate. I'd been daydreaming for years about what I would call my "company" once I incorporated. Something unique and darling, of course, but something reminiscent of me. And when Simon said that, I knew. Because I, too, am an impossible wrigglepot. Although I'm unlikely to clean your teeth with my tongue, I'm not so very different from dear Auggie, 'cept for that being alive thing. My parents always said, as I climbed all over them in my youth, that my boyfriends would love me when I grew up. Turns out, actually, it's taken years to find the guy who not only doesn't mind my squirrelly love, he actually yearns for it. The fool.

My accountant (also dead, curiously) told me I may regret having to regularly write out Impossible Wrigglepot, Inc., and, well, he wasn't absolutely wrong. There's rarely enough room on my contracts. And I generally don't spell it correctly on the first try when typing it. But dangit, I'm glad I did it. Now that Auggie is no longer, it's a tribute to her. And it makes me feel all boneless and cuddly. Julia and Simon, however, refer to me exclusively as Wiener. Hmm, telling.

I'm awfully fond of you,

Jo
photo credit: janet grey

1 comment:

Mollie said...

i miss auggie, shiny, brown.