One of the ways in which my job has enriched my life is that I get to spend more quality time with Glinny. I start my day later, which means my morning commute is a mere 20-minute drive out to the suburbs. Plus, I work one day of the week from home and I have my Friday's off as a result.

So, lots of Glin time.

Glinny will be two in July, so she's quieted down considerably. I mean, as much as a 70-pound golden retriever is capable of calming down. Right now she's lying at my feet under my desk, barely making a noise. She'll be still like this for at least 20 minutes, if not more, which is a feat I never thought I'd live to see as Glin tended to operate during her waking hours as though she'd just dove into a pile of blow. And it's not like I've ever done cocaine, or knowingly associated with cocaine users, but I have to imagine they behave much as my little puppy did at one time: humping legs, slobbering all over your face, and careening into things at full speed.

She's called "Crazy Glin" in my family for a reason.

But now that's she's a full-grown dog, she's more apt to chill and observe the world around her and then take moment, less reflective and studied, to lick her crotch. But even the crotch licking goes on with less fanfare then it once did. Which sometimes is a shame because usually that led into a five-minute game of "Whose Tail Is This And How Fast Do I Have To Spin In Circles To Catch It In My Mouth?"

That game now happens spontaneously, usually when she's standing in front of the mirror in the living room. Mirrors confuse my dog, but boy does she ever enjoy looking into them. She will knock you over to get a glimpse of her reflection.

I get teased pretty regularly about my devotion to my dog, animals in general, but it's hard not to develop an attachment to a creature who just wants to cuddle with you at every chance she can get. It's hard not to want to do things for her, to do whatever it takes to see to it that she has the best care, to take her on long runs, to feed her little bits of Roverolis even though, my God, they insult you every time you grab the bag because, really, do dogs care whether their snack treats feature a scent authentic to the cuisine being mimicked? Doubtful. Glin just likes getting rewarded for coming in when called and, stupid me, these are the treats she seems to like the best. Or maybe, God help me, I buy them just because I like saying the word "roverolis" despite how much the Italian seasonings irritate my nostrils.

However, even I draw the line at boarding her some place that features "all-glass rooms provide premium comfort with beautiful views of the river and wildlife, Web cam and custom interior designed by Michael Heltzer. Suites include bedding, toy chest, fresh flowers and black and white prints by Keith Carter."

Although seriously? The Aquatic Fitness center sounds a little tempting. Just a little.

Posted by Erin at 12:52 PM | filed under: Glin