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Neville's leash constipation
Tuesday, May 30 2017
location: Porches hotel, North Adams, Berkshire County,Massachusetts
Porches offered a help-yourself continental breakfast which we took advantage of. There wasn't much for a vegan there except for bread and cereal, though they had both almond and soymilk options on hand. The calico cat in the lobby had moved overnight to a different chair maybe 15 feet north, abandoning her sack of catnip.
For the whole drive home, we listened to the S-town podcast, a spinoff of both This American Life and Serial. S-town stands for "Shittown," a bumfuck village in central Alabama where our hero, John H., tries to live a life of enlightened curiosity, fixing clocks and building shrubbery mazes while interacting with (and employing) the only people there are: the tattooed ignoramuses and racists who don't give a fuck. It was a fascinating view into one complicated man's mind. Why did John S. choose to stay in that intellectual desert? He must've felt a strong connection to the land. But it wasn't just that; he also showed compassion for the idiots around him, much as he did for the stray dogs he'd feed and take to the vet. He's sort of what I might've ended up being had I chosen to stay in rural Augusta County, Virginia. But we're more than two episodes in and we still don't have a sense of where his evident education had come from.
At the Saugerties exit, we got off the Thruway and picked up Neville from Eva & Sandor's house east of Woodstock. He'd been a good boy, though he'd suffered from constipation the whole time. Eva and Sandor are (like many of our friends) nervous nellies and hadn't felt comfortable letting him run around outside off-leash, and that didn't afford him the customary privacy he has in his normal life necessary to take a dump.
We returned home (with plenty of time to spare) for me to begin my day in the remote workplace. Despite how he'd been when left alone with Andrea, now that he'd returned home with us, Neville was perfectly appropriate with her. Even seemingly simple dogs like Neville evidently have a lot more complexity going on in their heads than we can imagine.
This evening, I went down to the Greenhouse upstairs to be alone with a beer and some pot, much like I did the other day. Again I was visited by cats. First it was Celeste (aka "the Baby") and Oscar, though Celeste didn't stay long. Oscar, though, took advantage of his new pet door knowledge to come and go several times. He was there when I left in the wee hours of the morning, stumbling through the darkness without a flashlight (I'd gone down there while there was still twilight) back to the bed I share with Gretchen, two dogs, and a rotating cast of cats.
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