Dog is Cat
10/2/09 22:36![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madrobinsEmily, on a rainy evening, yearns for the Other Place.
The Other Place is exactly like this one, except without rain. Mud is okay. Mud does a body good, in doses just under the threshold of "will require a bath." But not rain. Perhaps, in the Other Place, rain drops are just far enough apart for her to snake between. Or else the rain, as in Camelot, only occurs after everyone is home and in bed. In the Other Place it's perfectly reasonable to go out at 11pm for a last squeeze, because there would never, ever, be rain while one was trying to answer Nature's Call.
So Emily goes out for a squeeze, and it's raining. She drags my husband across the street, pees as efficiently as a scatterbrained dog can, and drags him back across the street again and into the house. No leisurely stroll down to the end of the block where she prefers to do what dogs do. Back into the house, where she shakes furiously to get the last wretched drop of precipitation off her pristine spotty back, then prances up the stairs to the hall. And here is where the Other Place comes into her calculations. The minute Spouse gets to the top of the stairs she starts dancing around in the "let's go out so I can poop!" dance. Perhaps she hopes that in the thirty seconds between coming into the house and reaching the top of the stairs the wet has vanished. As likely, she thinks that this time, if she goes out, she will go out to the Other Place.
And yet, alas, no: still this dimension. Sorry, dog.
The Other Place is exactly like this one, except without rain. Mud is okay. Mud does a body good, in doses just under the threshold of "will require a bath." But not rain. Perhaps, in the Other Place, rain drops are just far enough apart for her to snake between. Or else the rain, as in Camelot, only occurs after everyone is home and in bed. In the Other Place it's perfectly reasonable to go out at 11pm for a last squeeze, because there would never, ever, be rain while one was trying to answer Nature's Call.
So Emily goes out for a squeeze, and it's raining. She drags my husband across the street, pees as efficiently as a scatterbrained dog can, and drags him back across the street again and into the house. No leisurely stroll down to the end of the block where she prefers to do what dogs do. Back into the house, where she shakes furiously to get the last wretched drop of precipitation off her pristine spotty back, then prances up the stairs to the hall. And here is where the Other Place comes into her calculations. The minute Spouse gets to the top of the stairs she starts dancing around in the "let's go out so I can poop!" dance. Perhaps she hopes that in the thirty seconds between coming into the house and reaching the top of the stairs the wet has vanished. As likely, she thinks that this time, if she goes out, she will go out to the Other Place.
And yet, alas, no: still this dimension. Sorry, dog.