Ritual

Here is how the evening goes, night after night:

I get off the bus, walk up the steps of a quiet house. There is one lamp on. I can see the triangle ears of a quizzical dog -- Rosie -- who is standing on the back of the couch looking out the window, attracted by the sound of my bus.

I slide the key in the lock. All is quiet. I turn the knob. Quiet. I push open the front door. The screams begin. Screams and moans and shrieks and howls, and they just get louder and louder and louder.

Rosie is waiting by the door. The noise is not coming from her.

The noise might be coming from him.

Auugggh

The noise absolutely is coming from him.

He's in his kennel, and I feel bad because he's been in there for hours. But it would be folly to let him out right away. First I have to take off my down coat, because he loves to pull on it and his teeth get caught in the fabric and I fear holes and loss of feathers.

Then, if I am wearing a dress, I have to go upstairs and put on pants or else he will destroy my tights.

And if I am wearing a sweater, I need to change into an old sweatshirt because otherwise his little teeth and claws will get caught in the yarn of the sweater and snag and pull it.

Then I usually have to go pee.  (I get to pee first. Rank has its privileges.)

Rosie is watching me patiently as I go about my tasks, following me from room to room. Angus is hollering bloody murder and throwing himself against the sides of his kennel.

I open the kennel door and he rockets into my arms, he bounces against me, his claws catch on my sweatshirt and if I forgot to tie back my hair (I forgot to tie back my hair) he grabs a chunk and pulls.

I open the back door. Rosie goes out, trots down the back stairs into the yard. Angus goes out, turns around, leaps into me again. I can't tell if he's trying to embrace me, or knock me over.

We go outside together. All the way down the porch steps he keeps turning and leaping against me, and I have to steady him and aim him again toward the yard.

Once his feet hit the snow, he's off--racing across the yard toward the spirea bush, toward the rabbit pellets, toward Rosie, stopping to pee, and I am forgotten.

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So on Tuesday he will be 14 weeks old. He weighs 22.5 pounds. According to the puppy calculator, he'll be 83.5 pounds when full grown.

I just keep reminding myself how wrong it was about Rosie....