Suburbs of Our Discontent

Hunting dogs appear often in early modern art. Dogs with a keen eye on the prize. Dogs flanking their owner, waiting for the next command.

But mostly, Shakespeare associated dog growls with bad omens. From 3 Henry VI:

"The owl shriek’d at thy birth,—an evil sign;
The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;
Dogs howl’d, and hideous tempests shook down trees."

From 2 Henry VI:

"The time when screech-owls cry and ban dogs howl
And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves."


This weekend we said goodbye to our doggie houseguest, Sherpa, who didn't bark at all. We were dog-sitting Sherpa for a couple of weeks while his owners were out of town.

We almost didn't take Sherpa. We wanted to "try out" dog ownership, but we didn't want the kids to get the idea that we were definitely going to get our own. The other reason we hesitated was that Sherpa got diagnosed with cancer and was given "a couple months" to live.

But we took the darn dog anyway, and of course everyone got really attached to him. We cried when he left. My kids didn't even know he was sick--they're just super-emotional all the time.

So why such a late-night post? I've spent too much time Googling "Tibetan Spaniels adoption" today. Sniff.