The thing I am having trouble overcoming is the shame that torments A. when it comes to having a dog, even a temporary dog. His family perhaps is the source of this? He vehemently does not want to be seen with the dog. He will not have anyone over, the embarrassment is so great. For him, having a dog is like walking around with grease stains on your shirt, or using the word "ain't" in a nonmusical context. Sure, I feel a little sheepish every time I stomp on the dog's paw and make her squeal in pain (this has happened like seven times in two days), and whenever I get tangled in the leash (usually on the stairs and at intersections). But for what it's worth, I got used to looking scruffy and encumbered and basically undignified when the children arrived. A. has not apparently surrendered to that yet. It is true that dogs seem to arouse disdain in some Muscovites, but we're not that long departed from the labradors in bandanas populating Wrigleyville, and the laid-back barefoot camaraderie on Saturday mornings at Montrose beach (plastic ball throwers required). There are models (distinctly American) for stylish dog ownership in his recent memory, is all I'm saying. I wish this did not have to be about his image.
But overall he's being a very good sport, nevertheless, and time will fix this one way or another.
It was so satusfying to give Foxy a bath today. She cleans up real nice.
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