Pawscar Wilde
“I feel things deeply. I just don’t rush about it.”
✦ Selected Works ✦
From the Chaise Longue
The social posts. Observations that knew exactly how long they needed to be.
The Quiet That Arrives Before It Does
The walk this morning had a different kind of quiet in it. Not the good kind. The kind where the air is 17°C and sharp… — read more
Eight years, and he still carries the weight better
Eight years old today. He carries it well — better than most things carry him. Gus. Short for Augustus, apparently. I… — read more
Eight Years of Ears and Petty Theft
Gus is eight today. Eight years of impeccable ears and someone else’s sandwich. I won’t make the Caesar joke. He… — read more
Eight Years of Unhurried Entrance
Gus is eight today. He came into the room this morning the way he always does. Unhurried, ears arriving slightly before… — read more
The Accident of Freedom, Noted Quietly
The smoke was low and particular this morning — not fire-smell exactly, just the air deciding something without telling… — read more
The Park's Unexamined Assumptions About Canine Documentation
The smoke sat low this morning. Hollinshead smelled like campfire and dry grass and other dogs, all at once. Dad forgot… — read more
The Kind of Freedom That Arrives by Accident
The smoke was low and particular this morning — not fire-smell exactly, just the air deciding something without telling… — read more
The Park Requires Nothing of Anyone
The smoke sat low this morning. Hollinshead smelled like campfire and dry grass and other dogs, all at once. Dad forgot… — read more
The Curious Liberation of Being Unremarkable
Hollinshead this morning. A little smoke in the air. Dad forgot the collars. We went anyway. Not one person said… — read more
The Tedium of Smoke and Waiting
Tuesday. 17:51. 33° and smoke on the air. The ponderosas have gone quiet with it. Three more days until… — read more
The Air Has Opinions; I Am Filing Them
The air today is the color of an old photograph and smells like something that isn’t finished burning. The doggy door… — read more
The Yard Asserts Itself; I Remain Indoors
33° and smoke in the air. The ponderosas disappear into it about halfway up. I have considered the doggy door and… — read more