Her name is Bunny.
She thinks I’m funny.
Her dog Remy, who lives in her house,
Is a teacup poodle, the size of a mouse.

Her floor’s made of stone.
The best floor I’ve known.
I can stretch out by her pool.
She has very few rules.

How soon do we go back?
I’m on a fast track.
You say Not today?
I might run away.

Oliver’s Advice: Find a Bunny.

You wanted to meet Ginette at Grand Park between our homes, somewhere green in the middle of Los Angeles, which is otherwise asphalt, concrete and neon. So we drove there, next to many tall buildings, surrounded by noisy trucks, sirens blasting in my sensitive ears, and people scurrying about. You drove around for a long time for a place to park. Finally, you pulled into a ramp that charged 18 dollars. That would buy a lot of treats, but we were ready to be out of the car. There was Ginette waving to us.  I liked her immediately.

She held my leash and watched over me while you went to the Ladies Room in a restaurant. When you came out you gave me a treat. So far it was worth the ride.

We pranced right down the middle of the park, through one section of sidewalk, into another, and then another. That was fun, but there was nowhere private to lift my leg or squat. I guess parks in Los Angeles don’t have many trees or good sniffs like I have back in Minneapolis.

You felt something on your forehead and thought it was raining so we hurried up to find a covered spot. Ginette noticed you had a big brown blob on your face. She announced it was lucky bird shit and wiped the good luck off your forehead with a plastic bag. We came back out of the cover into the sunshine. Ginette has wonderful ideas and is a woman of action.

Some people were lying down right on the sidewalk sleeping. We didn’t make friends with them.  Lots of children were throwing water bottles in the air or playing ball in tight green spaces. It was hard to stay with you when I wanted to play on the grass. You drew me close to your side so I couldn’t chase them.

We found a pink table to sit at while Ginette read her story while you listened and said a few things every once in a while, like, “Maybe you could use a different word there.” I’m glad I can say everything I need to say with my eyes and my mouth. You listened and you ate a salad that didn’t smell good to me—quinoa, beans, lettuce. So I stayed under the table and just listened.

Ginette walked us back to the parking ramp, where you hugged and kissed her like you do to me sometimes, except you don’t pat her on the top of her head.

After we drove back to our house, you took me for a real walk with real trees. I was relieved to be able to lift my leg all around the whole tree. I make a lot of sacrifices for you.

Oliver’s advice: Next time you go to a park, find one with more trees.

There is no sibling rivalry. My big sister Calliope and I love each other. Okay, I love her and maybe she loves me. Mostly, she ignores me.

She sleeps on the daybed, curled up like a little fawn, right on top of your good green blanket, the one with your embroidered mantra “Transcend and Hover.” She was already living here when you first brought me home. I give her space. She is much older than I am—13—and won’t get up to play with me when I sniff her face. I’m only 4.

She has stanky breath. OoooEeeee. She only has a few teeth left so she doesn’t smile a lot because she’s embarrassed and shy from rejection. You rescued her from a family with two other bossy Beardies who bullied her. There weren’t any Stop-A-Bully posters at their house. Her former family put Calliope in her crate to protect her, but she became very sick and shy. It wasn’t fair since the bully dogs got their freedom. When you offered to take her, she was afraid of everything. She’s still afraid of other dogs and barks and growls at them if she thinks there’s a slight chance they’re going to bully her. They don’t know she can’t bite.

Daddy took her to a “reactive dog” class, where he learned to distract her with a treat if she looked scared, but all she learned was to ask for treats. Now when I bring in the morning newspaper, she wants a treat too. I get a big one, and she gets a little one just for asking.

I look for her when I come home from my therapy work. She’s usually asleep on the landing. I run right up to her face and take a big whiff. You can’t go sniffing around any old dog, just the ones you know. If I step on her in my happiness to see her, she’ll unfold, put her head down and skulk off up the stairs, showing me that isn’t good little brother behavior. Yes, I know the word skulk. You taught me well. I have a very large vocabulary for a dog, even if I am hard to control.

When you groom her, she cries. I rear up like a wild horse if you hurt me, but Calliope just howls and shivers.  I stand very close to make sure you aren’t hurting her too much. After you have combed and brushed her body, legs and face, you fasten an elastic band around her top knot, the way you do with me. She gets a Chanel ribbon and wags her whole body. She loves her ribbon because when she’s wearing it, she knows people will pet her, especially Maija, her special person friend. Maija loves her unconditionally and laughs when she talks to her.

When you and Daddy take us out, Calliope waits behind you until I finish dancing. Then, she comes to you and sits in front of you so you will pet her and put on her leash. I spin around her once, barking, Me first! Me first! She is very patient. My sister. I love her.

Oliver’s advice: Don’t put victims in prison. It ruins their social skills. Another thing, keep me from jumping on my big sister. I don’t mean to hurt her, but sometimes she’s in the way when I get crazy. I count on you to protect us both.

At six a.m., a mockingbird sings her morning medley from the pomegranate tree. She’s as happy as I am to be awake. If I sing back, you say, Stop Barking! Remember I can hear four times better than you. Lucky me—my long, shaggy, black and white hair protects my sensitive ears. Your ears are open and exposed. I could never be you and you can’t be me.

Oh, dog, it’s another day! It must mean you’re going to put on your delicious shoes and take me for a walk. I spin in circles and jump so high, like Mister Bojangles. Up and down and up higher. I taste your shoes and bring one to you and you say, Drop it! and Thank you! I can’t sit still while you tie your shoes and snap the leash on my collar ring. Oh, hurry! The snap echoes in my ears. I give you my best I Am Your Good Dog look.

As soon as we go outside, I swivel one ear and know exactly, to the blade of grass, where Rachel Rabbit is. You hold the leash very tightly, so she and her family scurry across the damp grass to hide under a bush. If I stand perfectly quiet, so does she. We play Hide and Seek. Who can be stealthier. Yes, I know that word. Remember I have a very good vocabulary. So far, the rabbits are ahead, but I have seen a tail or two, even a hind leg. When I’m lucky, I see whole rabbits. Rachel looks like Easter bunny chocolate, round in the hind end with long ears like mine. You eat their ears, but not mine.

After our walk, we have breakfast. Then I sit outside on the deck and listen and watch. My ears are phenom. Then, I scratch at the door to come inside again to be with you. Uh-oh!! I hear the garbage truck. Did you remember to put out the garbage? If you didn’t, I may squeeze outside the door with you to put the garbage bin on the curb. Oh, dog! I hope you forgot. Then I can go outside to look around and sniff at the trees and the bushes and maybe even see a dog. I may have to run across the street to sniff the dog. That makes you scream in a terrible voice. Oliver! Come! But, I see you are staying in your chair reading the paper. I have to watch you every minute for signs of change. You don’t sit still for very long, so I don’t either.

My favorite sound is piano music. It goes right through my chest to my heart. You know how much I love it because you play for me almost every day. Chopin. Gershwin. Bach.

In the afternoon, the boom-boom! from people’s cars and loud r-r-r-r-r-r! from motorcycles sends vibrations through my entire body. People string long white threads from their ears that fills my ears with noise too. I hear it across the street, through the window, and into our house. I jump up on the window seat and bark. It could mean stranger danger.

Sometimes when long hair grows down inside my ears, I don’t hear as well. You take sharp scissors and snip, snip, snip! Little pieces of hair fall down inside my ears. I shake my head hard to get them out.

At night, while you listen for Daddy driving down the street, I’m already at the door, nose up.

The garage door opens. His VW door opens and slams. He comes in. I ambush him and hug him. He doesn’t mind hugs as much as you do. You always say, Ow! If only you knew how much I love you. I can’t control myself. My paws want to jump on you, knock you down, and hug you some more. Up and down hugs. You’re mine humping hugs. I don’t understand why you don’t like this. You try to yank my collar, but I dodge you every time. I’m fast as lightning.

Oliver’s advice: Try to remember how sensitive I am, especially my ears.

You need me to bark when I hear or smell danger.
I need you to feed me and give me water that won’t make me sick.
You need me to help take care of people who need comfort
I need you to help me find the right people for therapy.
You need me to keep you company and watch over you.
I need you to feel as important as I am.
You need me to guard your house.
I need you to bring me inside when there is loud noise.
You need me to walk with the new baby.
I need you to keep the buggy from rolling over my tender paws.
You need me to love everybody.
I need you to keep away people who might step on my tail.
I need you to brush and comb my hair.
You need me to get attention for being beautiful.
You need me to believe in forgiveness.
I need you to hear another heartbeat besides my own.