Trevor Dog

A Tale of Love and Garlic

It’s lunchtime and all the ladies on my floor have scrunched into one room, digging into salads, which doesn’t mean we won’t be pouncing on the apple cake someone has so thoughtlessly brought in and put enticingly on the table.

We will. If only because we don’t want to hurt her feelings.

As the room fills with chatter, I’m somewhere else.

A certain someone is coming over for dinner and I have no idea what to make.

I Know Why the Love Birds Sings

Every morning it's the same thing.

After the downing of a certain green swill because the woman in the health food store handed me a bottle with the words, "Sweetie, you need to moisturize from the inside out," Mister Trevor Dog and I head over to the park.

And by "hanging at the park," I mean I sit on a bench and read Haaretz in English while Mister Trevor sniffs around, communes with nature and does his thing.

But this is really a story about two ravens.

We Can Make it if We Try

Is it a coincidence that Bill Wither's Just the Two of Us is looping around endlessly in my head as I walk my dog the evening of the breakup call?

In other words, once again, it is just the two of us: Mister Trevor Dog and Me.

Sure, walking him is like walking a boulder, since it often involves pulling dead weight.

Sometimes he just plunks himself down on the pavement, kersplat!, and when I turn around to see what is holding him up he is just crouching there low, glowering at me, giving me the finger.

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