Oranges in the Market

"I'm going upstairs to blog," I told Gregg. 
"What are you going to blog about?" He said. "Nothing happened today."
"That's true," I agreed, "But I gotta write something." 
"When George Orwell was writing his diary while he was living in North Africa," said Gregg, "Some days he would just write something like 'Today there were oranges in the market,' and nothing else."
"Well," I said, "Then I'll write that." 

Today I had to work, so I dropped Ray at daycare. I didn't recognize any of the dogs except Bear and Porkchop but I knew Ray would be happy as long as his favorite piece of meat was there. 

At the end of the day, when I picked him up and took him home, I figured he'd be way too tired for a walk but he immediately wanted to go out. So we walked and then played a game of tug-of-war. The tug-of-war toy is a rope with a knot on either end and a big rubber ball that slides between the knots. While we were in the middle of the game, one of the knots came undone and the ball slid  off. I squatted on the grass to restring the ball and Ray, who was in one of his goofy, run-in-circles-bay-at-nothing-moods, plowed right into me knocking me flat on my back. He looked bemused, bewildered, and extremely contrite. He came over to see if I was OK. I reassured my hound that I was fine and tried to restart the game, but Ray would have none of it. He felt too bad about knocking me down. What a good dog. 

Ray passed out for the rest of the night. I brought Moonie downstairs to join us for awhile. She was purring and lipping (big Black Rhino lip). Hugo was out on the front porch watching us through the window. 

At bedtime, I tried to get Hugo to come in through the front window because when we open the front door, it wakes the dog and we can't get the cat to come in. But Hugo wouldn't come in the window, he thinks it's uncivilized. So Gregg went out, picked up the cat, and brought him to the front door. As soon as the door opened again, Ray woke up, stretched, and fell off of his bed. He was too tired to climb back on it so he just lay there. I sat on the floor beside him, petting him, and blocking Hugo's view of the big dog's head. Everybody knows, dogs are invisible if you can't see their heads.

Gregg dropped Hugo on the floor and closed the door. Panicked, Hugo ran for the stairs. Ray sneezed (wouldn't it be ironic if he was allergic to cats, I thought) then immediately stuck his nose up, sniffing the air. He jumped to his feet, his nose went to the floor. Ray tracked first to the stairs then back to the family room where Moonie was relaxing on the couch. She took off like a shot for the stairs too. Ray, knowing that he had missed out, but not sure of what, nosed around for a little while longer then headed back to the couch where I was lying watching the tableau unfold. He jumped up on the couch, lay down at my feet, and fell asleep. I sighed.

With my cats now gone, I sat up to pet the dog. I ran my hands over his doggy body. Every time I pet him, I find myself a little astonished at how solid he is. It's like petting something made out of wood that breathes and has fur. Hugo is a solid cat but it's more like petting something made out of coiled springs than something solid like wood. Moonie just feels fragile; when I pet her I can feel all of her bones. Like a supermodel, Moonie believes in bingeing and purging to keep her figure. I always handle her like she could break. I sure don't have that feeling with Ray. He feels indestructible under my hands. 

Oh, yeah, and today there were oranges in the market.