I see the ramp ahead

So, it appears to be July. I think I missed April.... and May.... though June, I recall. Specially the end.

I am, of course, gearing up (waaaay up) for Diabetes Dog Camp. I hope I have a good bunkmate. I hear we play a lot of shuffleboard, and the chicks from the Girls Camp come over every other Saturday.

In truth, I really haven't much of a clue what to expect.... the three weeks... of canine immersion... seems extravagant, extreme, -- but I know it's said to be necessary so this dog alerts when I do get low and high... and isn't just a pricey pet. Yes, there's a reason for these T crossing I dotting days (and daze).... though mentally/emotionally... believe I'm removed a bit, and will remain so, until I arrive.

And that arrival is... this month, a week and a half from now. I fly to St Louis on July 12th... and am eager to hang with two dear friends and their families. My final dogless hours will be spent with several pals -- men who know me as well as anyone on earth -- who will then see me directly off to this new life, this utter, madcap, made-for-a-nonsensical script adventure. Neil and Jimmy and maybe Brett will drive me to lovely, humid Jeff City MO... drop me off Sunday morning The Thirteenth... and off to class I will embark.

While it's only days... um. Three hundred twelve HOURS (still good at arithmetic!) until I head to MO... I can't quite wrap my head around exactly how differently my life might be shaped, upon returning. I mean, I'll have a dog sitting next to me ... everywhere. EVERYwhere. Every WHERE.

Can you imagine?

It's gonna be A Thing.

To wit:

Thing 1 of 2

Scene: Night, streetlights abound, on a busy San Francisco street, bustling as hipsters and hippies and homeless folk amble hither and fro. A man walks out of what appears to be a movie theater. He is holding a dog leash. A dog is on the leash. They are both wearing snarky Urban Outfitters tee-shirts.

MAN: I dunno, Frank. I know that the whole show was about the give and take of love and loss, acceptance and required grace... but I don't think it translates when they break up their marriage, for seeming nothingness.

DOG: Come on, buddy. Big was an asshole! Of course that's what was gonna happen! I don't know why you don't believe that! Speak in platitudes about love if you want... but sometimes it just comes down to who's a good guy, and who's a bad guy. (beat) Big WAS a bad guy!

MAN: (getting worn down) Alright, fine. But was it really believable that they have Charlotte poop her panties? Seriously? This isn't South Park....

DOG: (indignant, knowing) Dude -- that's what I DO. I poop. Outside, even. I've been saying for years that Hollywood ignores it... and I'm glad we're getting mainstreamed a bit. So back off with your "it doesn't happen." I'm a DOG, man. It DOES happen.

(they keep walking)

DOG: Are we hitting the bar or is it a Netflix night? I think "Turner & Hooch" came today.

(DOG sniffs the air as MAN slows to a halt, looks yonder)

DOG: Dude! You're low! <<>> I KNEW you shoulda finished the popcorn... Dammit. (Louder) Here's some glucose, pal. Lets roll. (BARK! BARK, BARK!) Taxi!

(AND... scene)

THING 2 of 2:

Scene: Radio station newsroom is a well lit, cubicle ridden, carpeted office space. Several professional looking people are standing around a long, curved table, with a pile of newspapers, shuffles of paper, and a few coffee cups and soda cans strewn. Others briskly appear and leave, including one thirty-something man with an unshaved face and a rather silly laugh. Shouts, computer printers, ringing phones and a general low thrum of bustle fill the air.

MANAGER: Okay, people.. top stories today -- We've got the Sierra wildfire, the Mayor's Viagra plan, and the bicycle theft spree in Berkeley. Any other ideas?

ANCHOR #1: I really think we should do something about Barack Obama's shoes. Why would he wear that not-so-taupe and less-than-black leather color loafer? It's almost reddish. Is he actually a communist? Or, -- I heard this on NPR -- a self-hating liberal Jew?

( Thirty-something man appears at the edge of the frame, looking harried, holding more than a few pieces of paper and chewing on a pen cap. A DOG is next to him. Both he and DOG are wearing Converse Chuck Taylor's and olive-colored pants with frayed hems. Each chew gum. DOG holds a Sugar Free Red Bull in one paw, and gestures with it as he addresses the gaggle).

DOG: Did you guys see Olberman's Special Comment yesterday? It was all about shoes on the campaign trail. You know: comfort versus substance. Then he showed a picture of Cheney campaigning in 2000 -- wearing Keds! ZING!

ANCHOR #2: I saw that! Pretty interesting! Maybe we could talk to Olberman, or someone from Politico?

DOG: Cool. (turns to 30SOMETHING) Hey bud, wanna try that? I've got the number on a post-it near my jar of treats.

30SOMETHING: Yeah, great. I like it... (looks in the opposite direction of treats jar, which is downstage right. DOG stares at him, cocks head, sniffs air)

MANAGER: What else? (DOG looks back at MANAGER)

ANCHOR #1: I know we did an oil prices story this morning, but I don't think we can ignore it this afternoon. It's $175 a barrel! Anyone have a fresh angle?

DOG: I called my Kibble company this morning to ask about the prices -- I mean, I work in radio! I can't afford venti chai latte prices for a bowl of horsemeat, capeche? They're like, 'we're looking into local production -- to cut shipping costs' -- but I think it's B-S. They're Chevroning all of us. Even the Bichon Frises, who eat like one friggin' spoonful a day -- are paying through the ASS --

MANAGER: (thinking hard) -- Oiling up of dog food prices! This could work ...

DOG: -- and it's crazy big money, Boss. We canines 'heart' food! (BARKS knowingly)

(everyone nods appreciatively)

MANAGER: Let's get on this. Pooch, you need help making calls?

DOG: Naw. (sniffs the air, nose high) ... Um. (sniffs, quietly woofs, catching it in his throat like dogs do) Wait a second...

(DOG looks left and right -- sees 30SOMETHING sitting down, head in hands, rocking a bit -- DOG bounds to him, growls an affectionate but purposeful growl-into-light-bark, and licks 30SOMETHING's face with knowing vigor)

30SOMETHING: Hunh? Dog food? Whuh? In the Newsroom? Who?

DOG: No worries y'all! I've got him. (unzips man's camouflage backpack, pulls plastic bottle out, flips it up in the air; man catches it -- clearly not their first such maneuver) On second thought, sir -- why don't you call the Kibble people? I'm gonna watch my bud here for another minute... gotta be at it by drive-time! (licks 30SOMETHING again)

MANAGER: Got it. I'm on it.

(Everyone crosses to opposite downstage direction. Newsroom hubbub continues. 30SOMETHING and DOG stay seated. 30SOMETHING pets DOG, who circles and lays at his feet)

(AND... scene)

===============

Seriously. This is where I'm headed? Everywhere I am, a dog is too. Saving my tuchus.

Life is upside down, soon soon soon.