Ode to Luna
Princess Luna Lovegood looks like she would be wiry, but her fur is soft, except for her face, which is crunchy from the weepy eyes that afflict Yorkies and the dinner stuck in her beard. Because I can’t bring myself to spend $75 on a dog’s haircut, we bath and groom her ourselves, which means she’s usually stinky, because we’re not as dependable as we should be. Despite her stink, I bury my face in her fur — true love. Luna returns my love with quick kisses to my nose, tongue darting out faster than a snake. Sometimes she misses and gets my lips. (Or was that her target all along?) She tastes like she smells, and I sputter and wipe my lips on my shirt.
My little buddy, she pads along next to me wherever I go — downstairs for laundry, by my feet in my office, and, her favorite, the kitchen, where I succumb to her pleading Ewok eyes with a nibble of our dinner, which she gulps down whole, licking her lips with satisfaction. She even follows me to the bathroom, pushes the door open to check on me, then turns and trots off, rudely leaving the door ajar.
Lucky Luna gets her daily walks through the woods at the end of our block. So many interesting smells, this walk hardly counts as exercise for me. She somehow finds endless reserves of pee to mark her territory — a Sisyphean task for an eight-pound dog facing an entire national park. This funny little creature has created different routines depending on who is walking her. With me, she heads west, slowly taking in every smell, pausing to push her snout into the wind. I frequently remind her we’re on a walk, not a stand, but she refuses to budge until she’s ready. With my husband, she heads south at a brisk jaunt, completing the looping trail in record time.
Luna practically speaks English: a barrage of loud barks warns strangers at the door, squeaks erupt with joy while playing, and a drawn-out, high-pitched “Mmmmmmmm?” reminds us that it’s dinner time. She knows when it’s bedtime (I secretly suspect she has a watch hidden somewhere), and one sharp bark rouses us upstairs. Interestingly, that is also her jealous bark, expressing her displeasure when I kiss my husband. Sometimes we exaggerate our kisses, just to get her goat, and giggle as she barks like mad.
