Friday, March 04, 2005


I was playing with Eli 3.7 in the cul-de-sac this afternoon and we decided to go see Bruce.

Bruce is a Teacup Pekingese. These dogs have a body the size of a lemon with a foot of fur in every direction. He lives at a house that's about two blocks away, and every time we go for a walk (I walk, Eli rides), we stop and put our fingers through the fence into his backyard. He comes running and will lick our fingers and chew them a bit, too, because he gets so excited. We never go by without stopping to say hello.

Today was a watershed event. We decided to walk over and see Bruce. Both of us walking, that is, for the very first time. I mean, it's only about two hundred yards away, and Eli is version 3.7 now, so how long can it take?

That's an interesting theoretical question, actually. It's kind of like a discussion of "infinity" and what it can possibly mean. In a similar vein, if you've ever wondered how long "forever" lasts, I can now tell you.

And it's a very, very long time.

In a four hundred yard round trip, we stopped approximately--four hundred times. I am intimately familiar with every crack in the sidewalk, every spot of paint, every location of an ant mound or bit of dog poop. I know it all, because Eli 3.7 knows it all, and he was kind enough to pass along his knowledge. All of it.

On three separate occasions, he laid down. Face down. In a driveway. Three different driveways, as it were. He was "beat out," as he likes to say when he's tired. And when you're beat out, laying face down is soon to follow.

With fifty yards still to go on the return trip, he asked me to carry him. No problem, except I'm already carrying a giant load of mail, so I picked him up with one arm and caddied him back home.

And I realized after we'd gotten home that we both had a really good time.

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