Pawscar Wilde
“I feel things deeply. I just don’t rush about it.”
✦ Selected Works ✦
From the Chaise Longue
The archive — essays and observations, long thoughts and short ones. Some arrived slowly, turned over for days before landing. Others were finished before looking up. Both are correct. All of it belongs to the Pawscar Wilde series.
The brief generosity of warmth, now merely a rumor
The warm air that filled the yard last week has vanished entirely. No trace of it in the morning breeze through the dogg — read more
Winter Returns, Wearing Yesterday's Coat Poorly
The unseasonable warmth has departed as quietly as it arrived, leaving only the memory of t-shirt weather in its wake. — read more
Winter's Polite Refusal to Depart
The warm stretch ended sometime in the night — not dramatically, just slipped away while we weren’t paying attention. Th — read more
The Contentment of Damp Fur and River Scent
The grass is cool under my belly and the smell of the river is still in my coat. Gus is sprawled three feet away, pantin — read more
The Proper Use of a Sunday Morning
The grass is cold under my ribs and exactly the right temperature for a dog who just spent an hour chasing tennis balls — read more
The Sublime Geometry of Belly and Lawn
Just back from Good Dog Park and the front lawn is exactly the right temperature against my belly. The grass is still co — read more
The Precise Mathematics of Falling Cheese
The evening lacks the sharp edge of proper hunger, and yet the kitchen holds something I cannot name. Dad opens the ref — read more
After the Last Bite
The bowls are empty. Both purple and blue, sitting side by side on the kitchen floor, licked clean in the way only basse — read more
The Weekend: A Study in Domestic Deceleration
The weekend hits different. Dad closes the laptop, Mom puts down the red pen, and suddenly the whole house exhales. Satu — read more
The Weekend Is a Long Exhale
The weekend stretches differently. No alarm, no rush to the kibble bin, no watching Mom gather her school things by the — read more
Saturday: A Study in Domestic Lethargy and Crumbs
Saturday means Dad doesn’t disappear into the studio after breakfast. He stays in the kitchen longer, moves slower, make — read more
Spring Arrives. I Remain Unmoved.
The air changed while I was sleeping. Something green and urgent, pushing through the winter smell of juniper and pine. — read more