So he barks at us

Josef Koudelka, Spain 1977. We're all having a little stretch here.
Josef Koudelka, Spain, 1977.

Contingency (vs. Necessity)

By Lydia Davis

He could be our dog.
But he is not our dog.
So he barks at us.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Lydia Davis writes the strangest little things; I am just in love with her. Her translation of Swann’s Way is what turned me into a mega-Proust fan, and I just finished her collection, Varieties of Disturbance, at times hilarious and perplexing.

My parents and my sister and brother-in-law are coming to stay with us this Easter weekend, and I’m excited to see them all. My father is especially looking forward to frisbee time with Eden. The fact that she is in heat doesn’t seem to be slowing her down at all! (Unfortunately for us, ha!) And she also appears to be adding the weight back on, which has been very encouraging. I think she’s going to turn out to be quite a lovely young lady, once we kick that giardia and get her back up to a healthy weight.

Do you have any fun plans for the weekend?

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