She wasn't spotted at ALL, is the kicker.
I had to take a break from talking about my grandmother. There's still a lot I want to say about the experience but I needed to mentally break from it for a while. Give my heart a rest.
So I was out in the way-back backyard yesterday playing soccer with The Jake when the small granddaughter of our neighbor walked up to the split-rail fence separating our yards.
"Your dog's pretty spotted!" she remarked. I just had him shaved to the skin so she was correct, he does appear to be particularly spotted right now. There are many responses to this observation that would have qualified as appropriate. But for some reason I can't put a finger on, possibly a Tourettes/Crotchety hybrid condition, I immediately defaulted to a conversation I overheard between a rafting instructor and a rafting kid while
on the Salt River several months ago. The kid, a boy, watched the instructor climb into a kayak roughly the size of a kazoo and announced with lots of amazement, "That's a small kayak."
"
You're a small kayak," the instructor shot back, deadpan. It was the funniest thing I'd heard in a long time. I repeated it the rest of the day without provocation.
"Can I have that towel?"
"
You're a small kayak."
"You want a bottle of water?"
"
You're a small kayak."
"
You're a small kayak."
"Turn around and stop fucking looking at me."
Like that.
So when this little girl-- cute, you know, with the soft shiny baby hair and the being short and whatnot-- told me my dog was pretty spotted, I did what came naturally.
"
You're pretty spotted."
So less time in the backyard, I think. From now on.
