Dog Splayed Afternoon

CubbyThis is Cubby, über-hound, chillaxing on the cool wood floor on a balmy late-spring day. Sprawled out in sharp symmetry, almost X-shaped, he looks like a doggie cookie-cutter, or the puppy piece in Monopoly, or a pendant dangling from the neck of a dog lover of strenuous devotion. In a word, he looks amazing. Like an artwork Jeff Koons could only dream of, or a taxidermist’s dampest fantasy. He would look stunning on a mantel, a small, regal canine, with a muzzle oh-so fluffily bearded.

Cubby knows none of this. If he had heard the above during his spread-out siesta, he’d be all, “Enough. Leave me alone. I am napping on the cool floor, dreaming of squirrels, fire hydrants, and fat kielbasas. You are a ridiculous man. Be gone … zzzzz.”

What we have here is a tableau titled, say, “Dog Day Afternoon.” Or “Dog Splayed Afternoon.” Some kind of post-modern still-life William Wegman could appreciate in all its unposed dogitude. (Although, of course, Wegman meticulously poses his long-suffering Weimaraners, what with their fancy clothes and anthropomorphic exertions.)

So what we have is less Wegman and more found art. Cubby, surely warm under that carpet of curls, located open range in the cool foyer, plopped down and stretched out from his head to his pom-pom tail. He exhaled and sighed: Goddam.

And this is how we found him, still as a statue, a statue of such accidental perfection it might be worth lots of money. Certainly, because his preternatural pose notwithstanding, Cubby, that cuddliest of canines, is worth a million bucks.

Buyers?

7 thoughts on “Dog Splayed Afternoon

  1. Awesome pic! Thanks for posting/sharing. My folks’ dog used to lie out — splayed like that — black standard poodle. My dad worked nights and my mum had him as a companion the first night they had a box set up with blanket, pillow alarm clock, etc. — found him sleeping next to it, just like that — legs out. He was my canine big brother, did not step on me, like me as I got older so I could do things for him like open door, etc.,–although at times he could open certain doors. To note he always stood tall, but technicaly was the runt of the litter. He was always underfoot, close to my mum, but many years after he passed I saw other standard poodles, while out in city, often twice his size/or height. Once I happened upon, a distressed girl with two out walking, through Harvard Yard, they had each wrapped their leash around her legs and immobilized her–so I stopped to lead them out/work out untangle, with help from a couple of other passerby’s too, and she thanked us/then went on her way–I think she was new at dog walking, et al.

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  2. Cubby! We love Cubby news. He is truly perfection. Their little bodies bring us such pleasure, no? Sherwood is now 15 and becoming tyrannical in his daily demands from both of us. Slight dementia? We cannot be sure, but he barks for no reason now, when he used to know exactly what he wanted of us. Now, he barks … and when we go to serve him, he is not sure why he called. Sad, but not overly so. We shall happily be his servants for as long as he’ll have us. I’m comforted to know Cubby has similar admirers. Much love to you all. Thank you for such consistently interesting posts.

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  3. Anne! Thanks for swinging by and for your lovely words about our best buds. I can’t believe Sherwood is 15 (!!). They do get stranger as they get older. Cubby has become a barking madman, over every little rustle or honk. When the mail person comes, look out! It’s an orgy of outrage from the little fella, as if terrorists have landed. He’s roughly 5, but, geez, he’s very old-manish. But, as you know, we love these crazy mutts. Love back to you, and thanks for the nice sentiments, Anne. Missing you.

    Like

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