Dog Thoughts

The dog of my youth was a cairn terrier named Spot, who cried when I cried, ran joyfully around the house when we returned from a trip, and assassinated rats.

My friend sometimes left her black standard poodle with me while she worked. Gaia was the most intelligent of dogs, and would lay her head on my leg when she needed to go out. When I spoke, she cocked her head to one side, pretending to understand everything I said.

Years ago, I painted a portrait of three dogs, one of which was totally blind. When it was rounded up for a reference photo, the dog took one whiff of me and ran away. My reference shot turned out to be the owner running down the street after that ungrateful mutt.

My niece’s black terri-poo, Dexter, loved organic chicken from the health food store. When I had him over, he slept at the foot of my bed, and chased his tail each morning when I awoke. Was he happy to see me or the chicken breakfast sure to follow?

Folding My Tent

One of my first sidewalk art shows took place on the same weekend a Florida winter storm blew through. All bluster and no bite, the storm came off the Gulf of Mexico with enough wind to topple my primitive art display.

As I cursed and scrambled to secure what I could, my artist neighbor sat stretched out in a lawn chair, reading a book. Finally, she looked up, and, with the hint of a smile, spoke for the first time.

"I always go to an art show expecting the best but prepared for the worst."

This past weekend I endured another disasterous show complete with the usual suspects - beer drinking good old boys, babies in strollers, goth students with no money in their pockets, corporate hot-shots with nothing except money in their pockets, and every kind of dog imaginable. And everyone of them competing to not buy the most art. It was the worst and I was not prepared for it.

In times like this, I tend to become philosophical and go on and on about "the wonderful learning experience even if I didn't make any money." The truth is, I should have learned my lesson with this kind of show years ago. Small art shows just starting out, with little advertising, and a bad location, should be avoided like a Thomas Kincade print.