First Blood
First a postscript to yesterday’s post: on my way out of the building tonight, the security guard – the same one from the other night – said to me “You remember the guy who was really angry the other night? Twenty minutes later he came back and apologised.” I told him that was good and that I’d been wondering about it. But again I failed to make any sort of follow-up question as to the nature of the argument, because again I had other things to do.
I had to get home early because I only had a brief window to walk the dog, slam down some supper, feed the dog, clean the kitchen table off, and have some cuddle time with the baby before our witnesses showed up. Yes, witnesses. It was will signing night tonight. We needed a quorum of at least three people who weren’t beneficiaries of the will to add their initials and signatures to the documents along with our own. You may laugh, but we did an Evite for it. we invited five people and in the end the necessary three made it: El Dingo and J&R. Mama Dog billed the event as “Will Signing & Cocktails,” so we put out cheese and crackers and vegetables and grapes and olives and liquor. A little soirée.
First though – the baby-cuddling. Baby Dog had spent the dinner interval in her high chair and was bored with it, so I laid her down on her blanky on the bed. We practiced rolling from tummy to back for a while, and then she decided to play with her favourite cloth block instead. She was quite absorbed with that for a while but eventually grew bored, so I started playing the “tummy gobbles” game with her. The way that works is I take off my glasses – the better to prevent them being snatched away by little hands – and pretend to gobble her tummy. Usually I employ sound effects – what we in the business* call “Foley” – for the sake of verisimilitude. The Foley sounds like this: “Gobbagobbagobbagobbagobbagobaa.” This elicits shrieks of delight and usually prompts frenzied clutching at my hair and beard. So it went. Our first guest arrived, and I said a perfunctory hello from the other room and went back to my gobbagobbagobba duties. Baby Dog laughed and grabbed my beard and I said “ow” because my beard is getting kind of long and she’s getting a hell of a grip. Then she sort of gobbaed herself and grabbed my hair with both fists and I again said “ow” because that hurt too. Then she shrieked a little and grabbed my lip with one little meaty paw and I kind of shrieked too, because not only does she have a hell of a grip but she apparently hasn’t had her fingernails trimmed in a while.
When I finally came out to joined the party, Baby Dog in arm, I felt a slight taste of salt. I called Mama Dog over to inspect and – sure enough – Baby Dog had drawn blood from my lip. There we go. Seven months, one week and a couple of days old and already our little girl has made her bones. I guess it’s a good thing we’re doing the wills now.
___________________
*The tummy-gobbling business.
I had to get home early because I only had a brief window to walk the dog, slam down some supper, feed the dog, clean the kitchen table off, and have some cuddle time with the baby before our witnesses showed up. Yes, witnesses. It was will signing night tonight. We needed a quorum of at least three people who weren’t beneficiaries of the will to add their initials and signatures to the documents along with our own. You may laugh, but we did an Evite for it. we invited five people and in the end the necessary three made it: El Dingo and J&R. Mama Dog billed the event as “Will Signing & Cocktails,” so we put out cheese and crackers and vegetables and grapes and olives and liquor. A little soirée.
First though – the baby-cuddling. Baby Dog had spent the dinner interval in her high chair and was bored with it, so I laid her down on her blanky on the bed. We practiced rolling from tummy to back for a while, and then she decided to play with her favourite cloth block instead. She was quite absorbed with that for a while but eventually grew bored, so I started playing the “tummy gobbles” game with her. The way that works is I take off my glasses – the better to prevent them being snatched away by little hands – and pretend to gobble her tummy. Usually I employ sound effects – what we in the business* call “Foley” – for the sake of verisimilitude. The Foley sounds like this: “Gobbagobbagobbagobbagobbagobaa.” This elicits shrieks of delight and usually prompts frenzied clutching at my hair and beard. So it went. Our first guest arrived, and I said a perfunctory hello from the other room and went back to my gobbagobbagobba duties. Baby Dog laughed and grabbed my beard and I said “ow” because my beard is getting kind of long and she’s getting a hell of a grip. Then she sort of gobbaed herself and grabbed my hair with both fists and I again said “ow” because that hurt too. Then she shrieked a little and grabbed my lip with one little meaty paw and I kind of shrieked too, because not only does she have a hell of a grip but she apparently hasn’t had her fingernails trimmed in a while.
When I finally came out to joined the party, Baby Dog in arm, I felt a slight taste of salt. I called Mama Dog over to inspect and – sure enough – Baby Dog had drawn blood from my lip. There we go. Seven months, one week and a couple of days old and already our little girl has made her bones. I guess it’s a good thing we’re doing the wills now.
___________________
*The tummy-gobbling business.
posted by PapaDogDuvalier | 10:09 PM
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