Dogs, like young children get confused easily about their species. Kids like to pretend they are animals sometimes. One of my favorite little regulars that comes into the cafe with his dad came in one day with marker all over his little face. The little dude is about 5, I think. I asked him what happened. He buried is face in his dad's neck, and his dad laughed and explained that he had woken up before everyone else, found the sharpie and made himself into a cat. Impressive. Sometimes Gershwin (my 8 year old golden retriever) thinks he's a blood hound, but only for a short period of time. He dozes like an old man....on the brink of sleep when suddenly ANY noise, real or imagined causes him to rip himself from sleep and issue this blood curdling baying sound that scares me every. friggin'. time. Usually it's in the middle of the night, and rips me from my restful sleep. This evening, I was painting when it happened. Focus. Listening to Patrick Watson on my laptop. Mere brushstrokes away from stopping for the day in the studio to go occupy my couch and finish my book. He bayed and skittered haphazardly to the kitchen window to check out the source of offending shenanigans. I....being rudely ripped from peaceful concentration let out my own blood curdling scream. He stopped in his tracks and came to see what was the matter. My heart is still pattering a bit. Thus ended today's stint in the studio.
But I did some good work before the adrenaline and subsequent giggling (did I REALLY issue such a scream?) kicked in:
The beginnings of a lovely mixed media painting of Quebec City, looking down at the lower city from atop the wall.
So....screaming aside, it's time to finish that book. There is no species confusion on this here couch at the moment. That's a good way to end the day and the long weekend I think.