Whippets
Baby Dog has a new stepcousin. Baby Whippet* was born about three weeks ago and today we visited him for the first time. Gran’s in town again, so we made a foursome. It started to pour just as we parked on the Whippets’ street. We hadn’t expected it to rain while we were out, so we had no umbrellas. Baby Dog didn’t even have a hat on. I carried her down the street with my jacket tucked over her head. She seemed to enjoy riding that way. At least, she didn’t complain.
They say always to bring food when visiting new parents, so we brought the Whippets a lime tart from the bakery at Market Hall. I remember the Pirates brought us food when Baby Dog was new, though I can’t recollect what it was. The wheel turns.
At three weeks old, Baby Whippet is about the size Baby Dog was when we came home from the hospital. At nine months and change she looked like a leviathan next to him. It’s hard to remember now what it was like when she was that tiny. Watching Baby Whippet was a reminder, though. He sat on Mama Whippet’s lap through most of the visit (Gran held him for a bit), nursed, and slept. Wow, those were the days, weren’t they? Baby Dog’s all over the place now, or trying to be. She wants to touch everything. She’s no longer content lying or sitting in one place. She’s happiest on the floor, rolling about and exploring. At the Whippets’ house I held her on my lap most of the time because their living room isn’t really baby-ready yet. She put up with it, but it was clear she wanted to be on the floor. She wanted to examine, for example, the animals of the house. She may have heard that we called them dogs, but their similarity to her avatar of doghood was largely theoretical. She wanted to examine the dog toys, which are unfortunately very similar to baby toys. She wanted to examine the sculptured on the mantel and the magnets on the fridge and the lime tart her parents were eating. She showed little curiosity where Baby Whippet was concerned, but he was still and quiet and snoozing. Just wait, though, Whippets. He’ll be grabbing at everything before you know it. It’s a cliché, but it’s true. It all flies by so more quickly than you expect it to; more quickly even than you realise at the time.
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*I’ve referred previously herein to Mama Dog’s stepbrother and stepsister-in-law as “the stepinlaws.” Now that their family numbers three, brevity and clarity require a less tangled soubriquet. Also, corny family monikers have become sort of the rule of the faversham. In due consideration of these and other factors, I herewith christen them “The Whippets.”
They say always to bring food when visiting new parents, so we brought the Whippets a lime tart from the bakery at Market Hall. I remember the Pirates brought us food when Baby Dog was new, though I can’t recollect what it was. The wheel turns.
At three weeks old, Baby Whippet is about the size Baby Dog was when we came home from the hospital. At nine months and change she looked like a leviathan next to him. It’s hard to remember now what it was like when she was that tiny. Watching Baby Whippet was a reminder, though. He sat on Mama Whippet’s lap through most of the visit (Gran held him for a bit), nursed, and slept. Wow, those were the days, weren’t they? Baby Dog’s all over the place now, or trying to be. She wants to touch everything. She’s no longer content lying or sitting in one place. She’s happiest on the floor, rolling about and exploring. At the Whippets’ house I held her on my lap most of the time because their living room isn’t really baby-ready yet. She put up with it, but it was clear she wanted to be on the floor. She wanted to examine, for example, the animals of the house. She may have heard that we called them dogs, but their similarity to her avatar of doghood was largely theoretical. She wanted to examine the dog toys, which are unfortunately very similar to baby toys. She wanted to examine the sculptured on the mantel and the magnets on the fridge and the lime tart her parents were eating. She showed little curiosity where Baby Whippet was concerned, but he was still and quiet and snoozing. Just wait, though, Whippets. He’ll be grabbing at everything before you know it. It’s a cliché, but it’s true. It all flies by so more quickly than you expect it to; more quickly even than you realise at the time.
___________________
*I’ve referred previously herein to Mama Dog’s stepbrother and stepsister-in-law as “the stepinlaws.” Now that their family numbers three, brevity and clarity require a less tangled soubriquet. Also, corny family monikers have become sort of the rule of the faversham. In due consideration of these and other factors, I herewith christen them “The Whippets.”
posted by PapaDogDuvalier | 10:52 PM
4 Comments:
Over on my side of the cultural divide, whippet brings forward images of teenagers sucking nitrous oxide dairy desert cream containers. How are you using it? Or is this child, in fact, the fruit of two Noxheads?
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Brownstein, dude... Whippets are small versions of greyhounds; and by that I don't mean the vodka & grapefruit juice concoction.
Happened across your site today - you are a wonderful writer!
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