Murph is a little unwell. I’ll put it the way I put it to her, “You got ass problems? Does my little scooch-monkey have ass problems?” I don’t expect her to answer. And it’s quite clear, the answer, so there is no need for her to respond.

I’m not too concerned. For a couple of days every month or so she has, um, intestinal troubles. During these times, she almost always keeps her appetite. And except for the obvious problem, she still gallops and plays and fetches Barney for more tug of war. I don’t know where “scooch-monkey” came from. She’s not a monkey. And I’m not altogether sure what scooch is.

She woke me up at 6 this morning. She never wakes me up unless she has an urgent problem. I’ve spent a lot of time outside today. It’s very lucky that it’s quite warm. There’s a new woman on my floor. She lives down the hall and she has two wiener dogs. I call her Bonnie. She looks a little like Bonnie Franklin from One Day at a Time; only she always looks frazzled and wears her nose perpetually pinched. She also suffers perpetually fretted up eyebrows. When I pass by her apartment door, whenever I pass by her apartment door, her wiener dogs yap like crazy. Three, four floors down, inside the stairwell, I can still hear her crazy dogs.

I was outside this afternoon. Murphy had relieved herself at least for the time being. I let Murphy run around the backyard without a leash. Officially frowned upon, I suppose, everybody does it. Even the landlord’s son. And besides all that, Murph has never harmed a soul and has never run away. And, one of god’s creatures, she deserves at least the transient illusion of freedom. As we all do. She pounces through the snow. Jaws agape, she dives through waves of snow and takes mouthfuls. Sure I tell her not to. Sure I make disapproving noises, but how could I stop her? It might be that, even, that has caused her current distress. And I attempt, a little, to interrupt and to discourage her. She plays. And she was playing. And Fretful Bonnie comes out with her two wiener dogs and the dogs of course go nuts. Murph plants herself and sits and stares at the swirling ball of brown commotion. This woman looks at me and barks out at me, “Could you, could you do something with your dog? Hello? Hello? Could you control your dog, please?” I walk up to my quietly sitting dog and leash her. The woman stands up and huffs significantly, then aims her dogs away from me. She turns around and looks over her shoulder and moves farther away.

Murph is now sitting by the door. I could ignore her until, five or ten minutes hence, she comes up to me and inserts her head between my desk chair armrest and my lap, or I could just take her out now. I look over at her. She makes her face. I will take her now. I just hope Fretful Bonnie isn’t out back. Still, I think I will walk past her door, just to stir up her noisome pups. Of course that’s a little cruel. But a little bit of cruelty can be a little satisfying. Especially when you’re felling just a little sour.

SS