Monday, November 26, 2007

Caped Zoe

Sailor here.

Zoe is in Cape Cod, which I find curious. I am trying to picture fish coats but just can't do it. What does a fish need with a coat? Isn’t it hot and humid on the Cape in the summer? Mom says that fish don’t need bicycles either. Huh? I suspect I shall wait another two weeks for Zoe’s return to ask her about fish and bicycles and capes. And Moms.

Today, Zoe emailed me to tell me about her adventures on the deck at the summer house. There she was lying in her shady spot with some chicken wings between her paws having supper. When she was almost finished, she decided to stash the last one under the planter to save for a midnight snack if she ever gets let outside at midnight. She pushed the wing into a corner and lay back down to digest.

Suddenly and from out of the blue, an enormous seagull swooped down and stole Zoe’s chicken! Zoe was dumfounded. Never had she seen a bird so big. Never had she been burgled out of dinner. She leaped up and watched the gull fly off with her meal. I think it will be a long time for Zoe to recover from that one.

As if that weren’t exciting enough, Zoe also said that she has a new friend. He is part border collie and visits her at the same time on the clock every morning. Zoe says they play Spithead and wrestle and she loves him because while her tail is always high in the air, telling him who is boss, his is always much lower, telling her he agrees with her. Zoe calls him BW because he has black and white patches all over his body and smells BeWitching.

He plays with her for an exact amount of people time (but only about two seconds in dog time) and then takes off for the next stop on his daily rounds. Clearly, here is a dog completely unconcerned with doggy time and much more in tune with what Mom calls corporate time. Mom says that I, on the other hand, am completely baffled by corporate time and revel in dog time. Mom says that this world would probably be more enjoyable if the same were true for people.

I wonder where BW goes and what he eats.

Two days ago, BW came to Zoe’s house all squeaky clean and fluffy and smelling like the DogWash. When he left BW’s legs, belly and tail were coated in black, sticky mud.

“So much for the DogWash,” Zoe said. “That’ll teach them.”

Zoe didn’t tell me how her fur fared, but she was a bit nervous for the rest of the day, expecting a trip to that dreaded place herself.

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