Neurotic

When I got my dog she was six months old, definitely not out of puppyhood. She was very wired; squirrels especially set her off. She was fast enough to catch them, too, except that her spoilsport owner never let her run loose all over the street. The squirrels would dash up a tree and then taunt her while she strained at her leash and barked.

Once in a while she'd be in the kitchen or loft and spot a squirrel on the skylight. That would occasion a volley of piercing barks. You don't know temporary insanity till you've been subjected to a prolonged barkfest by an excited cockador.

Tazzy is three years old now--no longer a puppy. She has at least four walks a day, more if her owner is avoiding a deadline, and usually a good run and a ride in the car, too. Ali and Amir tussle with her frequently. Since I work from home, she's almost never left alone. People drop in at all hours, sometimes purely for her amusement. At night, she's got her pick of any bed in the house.

One would think she'd be a pretty well-adjusted dog. Lots of love and attention and exercise; rarely any opportunity for boredom; never any abuse. But lately she's developed a neurotic habit.

It might have started with the squirrels on the skylights. And then an occasional bird landing on the glass. And then a lot of autumn leaves swirling by. And then even more maple keys, striking the panes like little hailstones. She began to notice all the activity on the roof, and bark at it. Even at night, she'd see a reflection in the glass, and bark.

She comes into the kitchen, and for a minute she's fine. Then she'll sneak a quick peek up at the skylight. Then she'll turn her head, and her eye will roll upwards. A soft growl will issue from her throat. And then a low bark. Suddenly her muzzle is pointing to the sky and she's barking nonstop. Think doberman when the burglars come over the wall, and you'll have it.

If she's in the loft, she'll jump onto a chair and put her front paws on the rail. She barks and snarls mightily, but the hostile maple key just keeps asking for more. I have to throw her out of the room before she throws herself over the edge.

I'm not sure how I should handle this problem. I guess I could get rid of the dog. Or have all the instigating maples cut down. Or cover the skylights and do without the light and warmth they bring. Or banish Taz from the wing of the house where I spend almost all of my day. Or take her to a veterinary psychiatrist for therapy sessions.

But what a bunch of sucky alternatives. I think I'll just be patient, and hope her neurotic habit goes away as quickly and mysteriously as it came.

Bad Poetry: Harmonious Hog

The Reverend Samuel Wesley, Sr., is possibly best known as the father of John Wesley, founder of Methodism. He was also a poet, not always a first-rate one. The following excerpt, from his first volume, Maggots, is a good example. It's a stanza from his A Pindaricque on the Grunting of a Hog. A "Pindaricque," for those who might not know it, is an ode after the mode of the ancient Greek lyric poet Pindar.

Pindaric odes are long lyric encomia--poems written to praise and glorify someone or something. The subject should be lofty, the treatment serious. Pindaric odes are modeled on the songs of the chorus in Greek drama (strophe, antistrophe, epode), thus have a triadic structure. Many odes after Cowley in the mid-17th century retain the tone, style, and subject matter of the Pindaric ode, but not the stanzaic regularity.

Why an Anglican minister should think the grunting of a hog a subject worthy of a pindaric ode is anybody's guess.

from A Pindaricque on the Grunting of a Hog

Harmonious Hog draw near!
No bloody butchers here,
Thou need'st not fear.
Harmonious Hog draw near, and from they beauteous Snowt,
Whilst we attend with Ear
Like thine prik't up devout,
To taste thy sugry Voice, which hear, and there,
With wanton Curls, Vibrates around the Circling Air,
Harmonious Hog! Warble some Anthem out!