[Silas visits A Picture’s Worth today.]

Murphy has some funny habits. Whenever it occasions me to smoke in the kitchen, Murph will join me and expect a cookie treat. When I drop something or break something or drop and break something, — that is, when I do it, not her —, Murph will run to her kennel and hide. I have to tell her it’s Ok before she comes out. One of her most annoying habits: whenever I take insulin, which is four times a day usually, Murphy will follow after me and wait for her cookie. You really have to be careful what kind of behavior you encourage and reward. I expect that when she was a puppy, I must have given her a cookie a couple of times after I took my insulin. Now she expects it all the time as part of the routine. It’s altogether unfair of course. Needle for me, cookie for her.

About ten minutes before I hear the thunder or spot the lightning, I will be assured that it’s coming because Murphy will go hide in the bath tub. It’s sad, of course, the way she shakes and hides but, and I feel guilty to say so, it’s awfully cute. When guests come to my apartment, they buzz up which comes through the telephone. If it’s that time of night, and the pizza man buzzes up and I answer the phone and say “Come on up”, Murphy gets excited. Really excited. Tail a-wagging. Tongue a-panting. She gets the crusts. Now I like pizza crusts actually. But Murph is crazy for starch and especially crazy for pizza crust. Of course when I first got Murphy, I was very well-intentioned. I would never feed her people food. But I’m a sucker. And I can’t say no to that face.

Similarly, when I’m peeling carrots, wherever she was and whatever she was doing, she knows and she comes. And when I’m slicing cheese, same thing. Recently, after the trauma of the window installation a couple of months ago, Murph – especially late at night – likes to sleep in the bathroom. I leave the light on for her. But when I go in to use the facilities, Murph will, eventually, leave me to my industry. But if I’ve been negligent walking Murphy, and I’m using the facilities, she will come to the door and watch me. It’s a serious guilt move. You get to do it, when’s it going to be my turn?

When I dance around my living room, Murphy often wants to dance with me. Now typically when Murphy knows I want to take her picture, she is a trained and patient poser, but, on the other hand, when I first get my camera out – which happens a lot – she will still go hide in her kennel. She stalks squirrels. They – Murphy and the squirrel – will spot each other and begin a very long staring contest where, over the space of about a minute, she will take a single hunter’s step. She’s nearly always enthusiastic to meet another dog. She will pull me across a street to meet a dog. But then it almost always happens that she becomes immediately disinterested and aloof. This does not go over well with other dog-owners. It’s as if she is always looking for a particular dog and is always disappointed. Who is this magical dog she is looking for?

And when I say, “Where’s Barney? Where’s Barney?” she will always run and get it. Except when Barney has become so terribly infirm that she refuses to go get any of the remaining Barney bits. This is how she lets me know she needs a new one.

SS