And The Oscar Goes To...

Dog, for the best performance of a canine creature who has some kind of weird psychic ability to manipulate time and space and circumstance, and then, be so incredibly charming and down-to-earth likable that you just have to give him the award!

(Now that I think about it, Dog reminds me A LOT of George Clooney,



although Oscar night worked out better for Dog than for Clooney this year.)

(And, although I liked George MUCH, MUCH better in the Ocean movies and ER than in Michael Clayton, I must admit that George looked totally HOT at the Academy Awards, and my guess is that if Cameron would have been the sole judge, he would have won, but we all know what a pushover Cameron is for a great smile and a little animal magnetism.)

But, as usual, I digress. The real point here is…There Are No Coincidences.

Dog continues to amaze and freak me out just a little bit with his New-Agey, “The Secret”-type powers.

Some people who read this are going to think that I am totally over the deep-end. Some will get it. And, like a memoir of addiction or other specific, unique experience that you can only understand if you have “been there,” others that will read this and think, “Thank God, I am not the only one.”

My version of the first step of the traditional 12-step program is “I admit that I am powerless when it comes to Dog. My life has become unmanageable.”

A little background of the past week or so….I’ve been feeling guilty. I’ve been sick with a lingering cold. It’s been raining like crazy. Dog has been getting, maybe one teeny walk a day, which is quite obviously not enough for a rambunctious dog like himself.

And when Dog drags me along on those teeny walks to Cody’s house, begging for a playdate, I selfishly resist because of the residue of muddy paw-prints in the living room from their last rainy-day playdate.

Although I had been fighting a cold and it was drizzling heavily on Sunday morning, I walked Dog, trying to urge him under the umbrella and out of the mud.

I knew the walk was important because we were committed to going to an Oscar party at my very fabulous friend’s house and Dog would be left alone later. My friend has a little, white, fluffy dog who we all love and normally we take Dog along when we go there for dinner, but, for this gathering there would be too many people, and I know that Dog can be the teensiest bit of trouble, especially where Cheese appetizers and People and Fluffy Female Dogs are involved, so the plan was to I leave Dog home alone.

So, Dog, who had not had that much exercise/attention over the last few days, would be forced to spend probably five hours alone in the dark (ok, I leave a light on for him), empty house. I know this is the fate of many dogs, and many dogs may rejoice that they are alone in the house and can sleep on the good couch with nobody around to shoo them off, but Dog is not used to this and I always think of of all the Havanese Websites that I found after we got Dog, all saying something along the same lines of:

This is a sturdy active breed that loves its family. They do not do well left alone and thrive when they are the center of your universe.

So, it's not just me! Just as I’m feeling guilty about leaving Dog alone for so long, Dog or the Universe or our collective subconscious creates magic…

One hour before we had to leave for our party, who do you think called me on her cell-phone? Who, other than a life-size chicken treat, would Dog most like to see materialize as a result of his magnetic thoughts? Cameron, of course!

We had ordered a ridiculous number of Girl Scout cookies and Cameron’s twins wanted to see Sunny when they delivered them, so they were on their way over to our house.

When they brought the cookies, as Dog jumped and cried and licked Cameron and her daughters with glee, I whispered that we would have to leave Dog alone for a few hours that evening and if they wanted a “playdate” that would be ok with us. Cameron and gang were thrilled with the coincidence.

So, I enjoyed the party, not thinking of Dog at all, knowing that he was having the time of his life. We picked him up after the party and we were all happy—Dog for all the attention, me for knowing he was loved and well-cared for while we were gone, the Sullivans for having a spontaneous playdate, and our party hosts, for not having a crazy Dog running around stealing goat cheese off of their coffee table and ruining their party.

My question for Dog is “How do you do it?”

And, p.s., George, if you are interested, Dog and I can give you a really good deal on some consulting about this "The Secret" thing in time for next year's Oscars.