Guest Blog from Watson
My name is Watson, and I am the new dog here on the hill. It is my job to love everybody. I can smell Emerson everywhere, especially at the pond and in the office.
William, my forever human dad, rescued me when I flew into Philadelphia. You see, I was born homeless in Moscow, Russia. Will and I moved into the cottage on the farm last summer. He works here as a property caretaker when he is not in class as an online student at Temple, doing his homework, or helping Trish with techie stuff. I just don’t get enough attention.
I was diagnosed a few months ago with separation anxiety. Separation from what is a good question. Will thinks it has something to do with having been abandoned by my canine mother. Trish wonders if I watch too much news. The veterinarian suggests I practice greeting people (and other dogs) with loving curiosity. The problem is, most people and dogs these days come to visit in little squares on electronic boxes. I only get belly rubs when I whimper. When I bark, beings bark back. (Humans, please take note.)
Despondent, I have requisitioned the loveseat in the office as my own. I figure that when I meet people at their level, they won’t look down on me. There is a special blankie on the loveseat just for me. There is a seat open beside me. On the furniture and invitational—that’s Graceful Mischief. I’m learning.
I dictated Trish’s Holiday Letter in December. I took my cues from the faint scent of Emerson’s pee-mail. Suddenly, I have a fan club. I even ended up in a line of a Community Poem for Valentine’s Day called, “We Love.” Somebody brought me flowers! Trish asked me to paw this guest blog to keep the ball rolling, as I have never understood balls in the air. Besides, my humans all think they have too many of those.
I LOVE to run and have to be careful not to knock Trish over. She has osteoporosis and is not allowed to fall. She gets down on the floor to play with me, but we take walks at different times and speeds. She says her body feels 70, but she is still a puppy inside.
Trish’s great nieces and nephew call her Wow. It’s Mom upside down. Makes sense to me, as I’m on my back when she’s giving me belly rubs.
Sending warm woofs from Wow and Watson!