Please Meet Cousin Baby Jamie

I'm a doggy and I have a name and that name for me is Jamie. I'm a visiting dog of MR's family. These other dogs here, they call me Baby Jamie, but I'm either their age or older, so it's not really fair that they call me that; like they think I'm a baby, but I'm not. Have you ever had someone say something to you which is a thing that you're not, but they say you are anyway? That's what it's like for me, Baby Jamie, I mean: Jamie.

I would like to change my name to The Stud Jamie, but when I suggested that, they all (everyone!) laughed and chortled and basically broke my heart with their derision and my own misery which erupted like a disgusting boil.

Which isn't to say I cried. As I said earlier, I am not baby. I mean, I'm not. Look at my adult face. Look at these grownup, dewy eyes. I'm cousin Jamie. I'm a force of nature.

This is me Slipper saying hellooo because here you are meeting Baby Jamie the babyiest of all babies in babyville who sleeps with a blankie and a teddy bear and who snuggles and cuddles and coos his baby baby good mornings every morning afternoon night and in between times when his face scrunches up into a baby smile and a baby scowl he loves all hugs! Because he's a baby!

And like a baby here he is letting me eat all the snacks because I'm bigger and faster and more grown up in the way an adult is grown and can get to more food maybe I should've given it to him so he can get bigger and stronger but I was hungry when I was here in this moment in time and I couldn't imagine not chomping down on those little bison bits the meat pellets of deliciousness that I chew.

I'll let you talk to Jamie for the rest of this Internet post but remember I said hello to you and that I love you!

He calls me a baby?

You read that paragraph, right? I mean, the whole thing?

Okay.

Back to what I was saying. I'm Jamie, the Stud, a Force of Nature (it looks better capitalized, doesn't it?). Maybe I need more titles too: Jamie the Beautiful, Jamie the Interesting, Jamie the Wise, Jamie the Adorable, Captain Jamie of the Shining Seas, Jamie the Strongest Tiny Dog of All Time.

But I'm not so tiny. I'm bigger than many of the things like flowers, grass, leaves, sticks, Slipper's eyeballs, a frisbee, butterflies, and other things like that that aren't so big you can't fit them in your mouth.

My mouth is a cave I put things inside for later when I want to look at them again.

Also: I like beautiful things. I think people say weeds are weeds and not flowers because they are close minded. I think people say many things like that when they aren't thinking well.

If everyone was as good a thinker as me they would look at plants like this and think: ah, the beauty! Or in Slip's case maybe: I want to eat that!

But I've worked on not being close minded. I am Jamie the Wise, you remember? And I'm five years old or so. Ages and eons older than Slippy and Lucy. But not the cats - we don't discuss them - they have foolish cat-tendencies like not eating their own vomit and pooping all in the same place. Weird.

Call me Jamie of the Flowers.

I want to be surrounded by beauty. There is already so much pain and suffering in this world. I chase prettiness like some dogs chase tennis balls.

And I like to help people. To look in their faces and say to them, "hey, it's okay. You'll be all right." Because when I was little there wasn't someone there to say that to me, and I really want to be the one to say that to someone else who is sad or bummed out or who just feels so lonely they slouch and slink and hide behind their hair.

Slippy is right. I do love hugs. I am Jamie the Hug Machine. Jamie the Kisses You Can't Get Enough Of. Jamie Sunshine. Jamie the Doggy. The Doggy, Jamie.

And I'm your cousin too.

Mingus, Mr. Pawsley, and Halcyon Dreams

Luco said I could write on this thing. Something about feeling too morose to get out from under the bed. Whatever, right? Some of us have real problems.

I have a habit of chasing what the people here call "bed mice." I know there are not real mice in the bed. I understand that it's just their fingers wiggling under the sheets. But I can't help myself.

When I see that jerky movement, I know the bed mice must be mine.

Guess who also loves bed mice. Just guess.

I'm on here too because this is where I live in this place and if Mingus does a thing I get to do it too! Like the bed mice which I think if I could catch them they'd taste like salt probably and something else maybe I never had before. So when Mingus looks for bed mice then so do I. I call it riding on his wave of fortune.

No I don't! Ha! Did I fool you? That's what Luco says I do which I don't know what a wave is but I bet it's delicious. This picture is me getting ready to chomp chomp into some bed mice invaders that would love it in my mouth!

Yeah, the dog is the animal who also loves bed mice. Are you surprised? Sigh. I've worked my whole life to catch these things - fingers.  I've spent sleepless nights trying to find the mice - fingers. And so many hours imagining sinking my teeth into their rodent heads - fingers. I'm sorry. When I get passionate, it's hard to stay rational. Yes, I know, I know, they are people's hands. But the way they move is just so seductive. I can't look away. I can't not try and try to capture them.

What a world that would be, huh? A world where the bed mice are real and the blood in my mouth is from them? I can't really even believe in such a place. It's irreconcilable with my own world. It would be like living Outside but getting let back in sometimes. Inconceivable.

Although.... I hear there is going to be plumbing work done in the bedroom. With a trench dug through the floor. Perhaps then the mice will come crawling into my house. Perhaps then I will taste their blood and chew their sweet flesh. Halcyon dream.

I've been telling you but you won't listen because you're obstinate which is a thing like stubborn but it sounds better and so you are delusional which means you don't know what you're talking about Mingus! Bed mice are real. All you have to do is just keep on believing in them and then when you bite down you bite down into them into their soft bony bodies and when their blood fills your mouth it's a celebration like the biggest party in town ever and everyone gets to come except Luco if he's being a jerk.

Look into my eyes. You're getting sleepy. Now you're hypnotized. The bed mice are real! They're real!

I don't think hypnosis works like that, Mr. Pawsely. First you need to swing a watch or something. Or get a spinny thing. But listen. Why do you have to encroach on that which I love? Why do you try to wrest from me a simple, deep pleasure?

I look at you and wonder how you manage to bring such misery to this place. How do you do it, dog? Mr. Pawsley? Please answer me. I need to know.

You're being a jerk like Luco! I do a thing because I love it and you love it too so why can't we share it and get closer and be buddies until time melts our faces off? I want to have fun with you and do the things you like to do. I want to give you my stuff too like yummy cat vomit I saved for you to have it's from you first so I'm giving it back it tastes like wonderfulnes.

So share with me and be my friend.

Or I'll eat all your cat food.