My Dog Is Ahead Of Her Time

About a month and a third ahead.

Out on my deck I've created a little patch of lawn for her.  Once she's peed that patch to death, I go to Home Depot and buy some new sod, which is exactly what I was up to today.  Home Depot keeps their sod in the front of the nursery in a big pile, and it's very possible that somewhere around this pile was the warning that this sod had been artificially treated to be prettier, but often I stumble around stores, lost in my own head, so I didn't take notice.

And sure, as I hoisted the strips of sod and the nearby day laborers shouted, "Lady!  Lady!  Lady!" and I mused to myself, "I am no lady," I might have noticed that the grass looked especially green.  Not unlike the color of the plastic grass at the bottom of the Easter baskets my parents used to give me and my brother, despite our familial indifference toward the purported resurrection of Jesus (we practiced the same indifference toward the Yom Kippur fast).  But I just thought, "Spring?" 

Today was the first warm day L.A. has had in awhile, and the world did seem to be amping up its hues.  I saw a picture of Paris Hilton at the premiere of her new movie and she looked oranger than ever.  On the style section of People magazine's website, they were trying to convince readers that sky blue eyeshadow-- swept across the entire lid-- was making a comeback, trotting out Beyonce and Rihanna as proof.  When Christmas and I took our walk this morning, there were gardeners in front of every other house, depositing red and pink flowers in their frothy beds. 

So, "A trick of the light," I shrugged.   "The turning of the seasons."  From there my mind similarly turned to the coral sundresses hanging on the left side of my closet and the Daisy Dukes I cut from a pair of corduroys and the idea of cutting bangs, which, for whatever reason, is an idea that resurrects every year (like Jesus) but is usually followed by the realization that bangs will totally fuck me up during summer and the awareness that I will regret the decision all the way until the following spring.  (These mental safety mechanisms fail about once every four to five years.)  I never claimed that when I'm lost in my own head that well is particularly deep.

Upon returning home, I unfurled the new sod and was happy as Christmas danced happily upon it.   I went indoors to catch the tail end of One Life To Live as she christened the grass with her holy water, and five minutes later she ran into the house and climbed into my lap, flipping over so I could play drums on her stomach.  And that's when I saw that the pads of her paws were a green that veered into teal territory, and I said, "Ohhhhhhh shit, Christmas.  I've always hated people who dye their dogs and look what I've done to you!"  I tried buffing her paws with a towel, but the color wouldn't lift.  Water and puppy shampoo took the green somewhere closer to the seafoam of my childhood bedroom, but as you can see from the pictures, the effect is still pretty noticeable.  So, like bangs, we're simply going to wait the look out.  In the meantime Christmas just barks a close approximation of "Irish pride" whenever anyone gives her lip.

Comments

[lisa-marie]

Artificially greener grass? I've never heard of such a thing! It's not toxic to Christmas, is it?