You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
The little dog.
She’s white and fluffy and hops around more than a frat party on a Vegas pub crawl.
I call her Einstein, not because she’s brilliant, but because she looks like Albert Einstein when he was reinventing the universe.
Puppy Einstein has spiky white fur that defies gravity.
She is the E=MC2 of house training never quite certain how to let us know she has business outside.
She is four paws prancing and a little tongue that is always sticking out of her little snout.
She looks like a white gaseous space nebula, her hair so soft, so untamed, floating across the horizon of her own celestial plane.
Puppy Einstein has thick inquisitive eye brows like the great mathematician himself. Her eyebrows are bushy and plump like a hedge row at a cemetery.
They move independently up and down, like two furry see saws attached to her every thought.
“Want a dog treat?”
One eye brow goes up.
“Do you have to go to the bathroom?”
Another eye brow rises as her nose begins to twitch.
She weighs about 8 pounds, but she has the gravitational force of a neutron star, running round chairs and the kitchen counter and the sofa.
Puppy Einstein is energized, electric, like a quantum filament humming a sub sonic song in space.
Puppy Einstein is a dreamer, dancing a doggie jig at the mere thought of a pat on the head.
This little creature just wants attention. She is a furry clothes rack that must be fondled, moved, inspected.
Is Puppy Einstein cute? Like a baby Panda Bear cuddling with a baby kitten.
Is Puppy Einstein perky? Like an electric guitar.
Is Puppy Einstein fluffy? Like a load of down pillows coming out of the dryer.
Puppy Einstein is loving to a fault.
She loves us like Liz Taylor loved Richard Burton. Relentlessly, repeatedly, without question.
Puppy Einstein is not perfect, with some annoying idiosyncrasies that are tough to correct.
She have an overwhelming need to lick.
She licks so much, I think she has doggie Tourette syndrome.
If Licking were an Olympic sport, she would have a medal around her neck.
She licks the air, she licks the floor, she licks her fur.
But what she really loves licking? Human skin.
Is it the salt? Is it the taste? Is it the texture of human hand?
Whatever the answer, her tongue is a heat seeking missile in search of something to lick.
To her, a human hand is like sweet crack to a New York City junkie.
Einstein’s tongue is warm and moist. It darts out of her puppy mouth like a tiny wack a mole.
It is slathered in puppy goo, searching for something meaty and human.
LICK. LICK. LICK.
It’s like being attacked by a garter snake after a spring rain.
I get it. I know that’s a dog’s way of expressing affection, but it’s gross.
It’s a sausage like mosquito slathered in spit, always buzzing nearby.
That salivating tongue, moist and covered with whatever she licks off her hind quarters, is always at the ready.
The licking is one part puppy love and one part Puppy Neurosis.
Puppy Einstein is in desperate need of a 12 step program for excessive licking.
No. STOP. STOP. STOP. LICKING. I will say for the 18th time.
She will pull her little face back and stare at me, her black eyes, so sad, so deep, searching my face for reason.
NO. LICKING. WHAT’S THAT MEAN?
Her see saw eyebrows raise up and down as her tiny Einstein brain crunches the meaning of the words NO LICKING.
Like Albert Einstein staring into a dark universe, seeking truth, Puppy Einstein stares at my face, pondering the meaning.
Tick Tock. Tick Tock.
No licking. No licking. No licking.
OK. TIME TO LICK.
The tongue protrudes like a fleshy lawn dart and lap, splat, spit.
Yuk.
I have considered grabbing the little tongue.
I have thought about putting paprika on my hand.
I have pondered doggie hypnosis.
In the end, licking is just part of who she is.
Like her namesake, Puppy Einstein will remain curious and vivacious.
Alas, like the genius who saw what others could only dream about, Puppy Einstein will continue to lick at the air, tasting a flavor of life that others can only imagine exists.
Life’s Crazy™