By Nellie Curtiss …
Originally published January 19, 2001 – the Valley Courier
Aloha, my black cocker spaniel, watches TV every night with me. Exhausted from collaborative teaching and newspaper building, I greet two rambunctious critters. Actually three if I count, I should count, my cockatiel now 8 years old. Situating myself with a frothy espresso, a nuked dinner, the news, and the remote control, I snuggle on the couch for a brief look at the channels. Animal planet runs the Crocodile Hunter and Emergency Vet—our favorites.
Aloha jumps up on the couch, the back of the couch, to snuggle his head in close to mine. He hugs, then hogs my neck. He turns his head this way, and that, at every TV dog’s expression. Late last night he watched the romance-comedy Return to Me. I think he eyed the two-toned dog in the movie.
On Mondays it’s the evening line up with Ally McBeal. He loves Ally. He runs from one end of the house to the other when she comes on. He zooms up to his couch perch and waits for me to stroke his ears. Then he twists so he watches every dance number, every whistle from the lawyers, and every dancing gag. He wags his tail, an appropriate greeting. Al Green and Vonda Shepherd’s music are his favorites;
Aloha pats my arm to the rhythms. Sometimes he climbs up on my lap when I’m researching on http://www.DogPile.com.
Hey! I might be teaching him to surf the Internet for other woofers. Yes, Aloha thinks he is human. Daily, he fancies himself king. After he explores the snowy yard and waits for the birds to fly to the feeder, he sits on his throne—that big blue chair on the porch. Sharing a looksy with the two spotted dogs across the street, he watches squirrels dangling and eyeing birdseed left on the porch.
When I plead for Aloha to come back in the house because of the chill outside, his roughened paws push the screened door shut; then he zips away—like third-graders playing chase in the afternoon. His tail shakes out his thoughts: happy or sad or just playing hard to catch. If he holds his tail straight up like Pepe Le Peu, then I know he’s proud he uncovered the Christmas bear. If the tail lines up with his back, then I know sniffing and searching are the prime agenda. If his tail is still, then Aloha is sleeping or chewing a toy.
At night Aloha charges to bed and kaplops onto my newly sheeted bed and pillows. He loves to give puppy licks to Tiffany. Her tail wagging in unison with his, Tiffany issues a gargling growl: “I’m prime dog here.” Her growl never deters Aloha and he just kisses her then darts to the other side of the bed or into the kitchen to lap some water.
As the moon wanes in the wee morning hours and I wake for water or check email, my shiny coated Aloha is at my feet, grabbing at my pajamas. He gazes up into my eyes as if to say: “Aren’t you sleepy yet? No? Then let’s go for a walk, woof, woof, woof; or one better, let’s watch the Animal Planet or that movie Wag the Dog.”
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