Versailles

I, Poppy, have determined that being a dog is much like being at the court of Louis VI, or any of the Louis, really. Really, probably all courts everywhere.

Dogs have been described by sociologists as, ahem, "social parasites."* The definition of a -- and this is offensive, we're dealing with some very disturbing stuff here on Poppy's Blog today -- "social parasite" is something like this one from Wikipedia**: "a derogatory term denoting a member of society who is considered to be detrimental to others, by taking advantage of them in some way." These "scientists" have suggested that because dogs live with humans in their houses and eat their food and in return give only intangible and unmeasurable favors like love, companionship, loyalty, and protection, we take advantage of them in some way. How can I, Poppy, be accused of taking advantage of any one? Dogs are courtiers. It is our duty to "take advantage," otherwise, who else would give our masters and mistresses unconditional love, loyalty, and companionship? Their human friends? To that I ask you, how many friends have abandoned you? How many dogs have abandoned you?

We are like courtiers because every day we are teased, made fun of, eat off the floor, yet we never fail you. Our entire routines are based on those of our masters and mistresses. You are never our of our sight. We take the keenest interest in your every movement. And if we demand rights to the lever and the coucher of our masters and mistresses, how is this any different from Versailles?

The picture here is of the dog who played the much put upon Mops in Sophia Coppola's film, Marie Antoinette.*** As you will remember from history, Mops was most cruelly separated from his mistress, the young Dauphine of France when she crossed the border into France. You will also remember that Mops and his mistress remained loyal to one another through this alarming breakup of the pack. In fact, Mops managed to get returned to his mistress through the skillful use of international diplomacy.

*I, Poppy, have a bone or two to pick with sociologists. The science is so soft.
**I, Poppy, am all for the creation of reality. For examples of times when my sense of reality clashes with everybody else's, please refer to my blog archives.
***The film, Marie Antoinette, has won a Palm Dog award for its treatment of dogs as characters. When bestowing the award, the committee noted that the film shows dogs getting to eat cake. I petition my mistress daily for cake. She does not let me eat cake.

Daddy calls this my sky-diving pose.

Alergies

For the last few days, when I breathe, I have been sounding like a pig out searching for truffles.

Caught

It used to be that when my daddy would feed me, I could expect to get 3/4 of a cup of food for each meal. This amount was in contrast to the amount of food that my mommy was feeding me -- 1/2 cup of food for each meal. To clarify the discrepancy, there had been a miscommunication about my food -- Mommy was feeding me the right amount, while Daddy was giving me more. I didn't say a word.

A few days ago, my mommy noticed that I had grown some rolls of fat around my neck and that in general I had become more round. Such an observation is always bad for me. I have come to learn that changes in my diet are inevitable when Mommy finds that I am not en forme.

Activity Next Door

When there is something going on on the block, like city workers filling a pothole, or fixing the sprinkler heads in the schoolyard lawn, I like to add a running commentary on the action. I sit in the doorway or on the end table by the window,* and woof quietly but regularly as the workers go about their jobs. I have been doing this all day, as landscapers are working next door.

I, Poppy, am what trainers of human young call an "active reader." Though I am not actually reading (see my profile if you want to know how I feel about books), I am participating in the story unfolding before me. As the people outside go about their business, I am using in higher level thinking strategies to understand their actions, how they relate to each other, and what they have to do with me. At my mommy's school, such thought is labeled, respectively, literal, interpretive, and evaluative thinking. For example, on the literal level, I am thinking, "There are men working outside!" On an interpretive level, I am watching what the men are doing with each other -- how the text relates to itself. On an evaluative level, I am waiting for it to have something to do with me. Will the men come over and give me treats? Will they cross the property line and thus make me bark at them? Each little, gentle woof is an annotation in the margin.

*Mommy does not like this, but I am so engrossed in what I am doing that I don't pay attention to her, even when she comes and physically removes me.

Hot

It is hot. Heat is a problem for some one such as I. I, Poppy, am a round dog. I always wear a fur coat, and I have a short nose. I do not have an efficient cooling system. To keep warm, I lie on my side on the wood floor with my legs outstretched.

Hot weather does have its advantages. I pant a lot, which makes me look like I'm smiling. When I smile, I look especially pretty, as well as eager and accommodating. Such a smile can often convince my mommy to give me treats.

Frogs

I, Poppy, have been asked by one of my fans to comment on frogs and stories about frogs.

I have never seen a frog. However, I have been told that I look like a frog. I, Poppy, am not vain. I do not care what I look like. My mommy and my grandma try to dress me up in pretty collars with matching leashes, but I am not particular about what I wear.

I am also not particular about who I kiss. I might like to kiss a frog. But I am thinking that I would rather play with the frog than kiss the frog. A frog might be like a toy. It might smell particularly yummy from having been in the water for so long. I have been told that frogs hop. This might be fun to hunt. The frog would hop, and I might scootch after it. It might hop further, and then I would bark and do the play bow. Once I have caught the frog, I might have to clutch the frog between my teeth and shake it, like I do with my other toys. I might have to locate the squeaker and remove it. The frog might wind up in pieces with its stuffing removed, much like the toys Duncan and I got for Christmas.