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brown spots in the bed
Saturday, September 1 2012
Today was the first full day of keeping Ramona contained within the barricaded subset of the first floor office so her repaired knee could heal. In terms of energy, she wasn't causing us all that much trouble because we were keeping her more or less continuously strung out on tranquilizers. There was, however, an unfortunate new problem that we hadn't anticipated (and which Eleanor never manifested during her two knee surgery recoveries). For some reason Ramona was having some difficulty maintaining bowel control and there always seemed to be a little bit of shit dribbling out of her asshole. This distressed and perhaps even embarrassed her a great deal, and she would have happily maintained her personal hygiene had the cone around her neck not prevented this. But with no way to clean herself, the shit dribbled out and left brown stains all over the place, including the sheets and blankets of the futon we'd set up so we could sleep with Ramona every night (though I'd slept upstairs last night). I spot-cleaned what I could and removed Ramona's cone of shame so she could attend to her ass, something she did with excited urgency. I found Ramona wasn't especially interested in her stapled-together incision and I could just leave the cone off while I was around. All she really wanted to do was dig her snout into her own asshole.
Late this afternoon, Sarah the Vegan (who had been dogsitting in Bearsville) came over to visit with Ramona and then perhaps go out with Gretchen and me to the first Saturdays art opening thing down in the Rondout. She'd donned a little black going out on the town kind of dress and everything. But then on the drive over she decided she wasn't in the mood, so she ended up just hanging out with Ramona for an hour and half while Gretchen and I went to the openings.
KMOCA was featuring a show called "Custom Hardware," featuring sculptures that looked like enormous bars of brass that had been passed partially through a rolling mill and non-functional urinals made of fitted-together copper pipe. Unusually for KMOCA, the exhibit wasn't displaying a single weak work. Unfortunately, though, they'd run out of wine, and without wine I wasn't feeling very social. I mostly just hung out by myself in the midst of the crowd, holding a leash attached to Eleanor (the only dog we'd brought to the gallery itself; Sally was back in our car). Periodically I'd have conversations with people, but I allowed myself to become unusually bored.
Eventually, though, Gretchen and I drove with our friend Carrie to another gallery about a mile west on Abeel, a new place called One Mile Gallery near the place where Mark Hogancamp, that outsider artist featured in Marwencol, lives. The main problem with One Mile is that it is on darkly-lit high-speed segment of Abeel, and semi-distractedly walking with friends to and from the parking area across the street, particularly after partaking of the wine (of which there was plenty) is a way to greatly increase one's odds of becoming roadkill. It's a small gallery and appeared to attract a younger scene than KMOCA. Today's show featured some lovely paintings of birds and works of oddball embroidery details added to mass-produced pictoral fabric prints.
Unusual for a night on the Rondout, Gretchen and I didn't end up eating out. We were worried about Ramona and the Pupusa foodcart we briefly considered kind of skeezed Gretchen out. So we went home and Gretchen put together a dinner of Trader Joes dosas and a large salad. There was nothing of mutual interest on the DVR for us to watch on the tiny television I'd set up downstairs, so we ended up watching Storage Wars: Texas.
For linking purposes this article's URL is:
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