Empuddlement of the Canines

I could not take a picture to illustrate this annual phenomenon because the gale-force fan required to keep my un-air conditioned living room, well, living–and not full of very hot, dead mammals–has blown fur from cracks and crevices I did not know existed, exposing my not-terribly-secret shame: that my house is comprised of 90% critter fluff.

But I can paint a word picture.

Karmann. Sprawled on her side in the fan’s breezeway, lifting her back leg like a little drawbridge every time a person walks past, or a kitten sneezes, with the hope of funneling whatever remains of the subsequent breeze onto her belly. Staring blankly, too miserable to bother closing her eyes.

Calvin. Not actually bothered, but pretending to be because Karmann is his lead monkey and what he sees her do, he emulates. Comfortable on his bed until Karmann gets up and staggers over to the water bowl or pants her way around the living room, at which point he pops up and then plants himself on the wood floor near to Karmann’s eventual puddling. He seems to be trying really hard to affect an air of overheated exasperation, but his head is too quick to rise at the sound of people movement. He still wants the walks, even as he pretends not to.

You can almost see the irritated thought bubble that forms over Karmann’s head every time Cal lies too close or blocks the fan.

When Karmann gets up, every 10 minutes or so, to seek a cool piece of floor, she stops by me, staring and panting, with eyes hard-set in her adorable little face as if to say, “You said it would be cooler up here. You said we were leaving the awful season of walkieslessness behind. You are a liar and now I know it and I cannot un-know it. The cats told me this would happen.” *slow slide to floor*

I need to get my girl puppy a window unit, lest she perish in this House of Lies.