This is what it looked like outside on the South wall last Tuesday. They're all gone today. I take pictures of everything every day and I'm still surprised by the speed at which everything is stripped away.

Oh, this dog. So the other day he starts biting his tail, and then licking it constantly. I think he has an itch, because I am wise in the ways of dogs. But it doesn’t stop, and after a while he is angry at his tail, growing at it, chasing it. His tail is his nemesis.

So I figure it’s the ol’ anal glands acting up, and decide I’ll take him in to the vet so they can express them, to use the marvelous term. In the morning he makes it impossible for me to sleep, because he’s at the end of the bed slurping on his tail. I get up and go to the spare room, and he follows, so he can slurp his tale some more. It’s like listening to walruses make out. I go back to the other room, and he doesn’t follow. I get some fitful sleep because now I hear it down the hall, or hear it in my head.

slurp slurp slurp grrrrrrrrrr

slurp slurp slurp grrrrrrrrrr

slurp slurp slurp grrrrrrrrrr RORW

slurp slurp slurp

slurp slurp slurp

In the morning I make an appointment and off we go.The vet weighs him: he’s gained three pounds since we were there two weeks ago, which is good; prevously, he’d gained about two ounces in a month. So feeding him more seems to be doing the trick - and I mean a lot more. It’s certainly done wonders for his mood and spirit.

Hmmm, says the vet. His gums are quite pale.

They weren’t before. What could that be? A parasite, of course. Sometimes I think we don't have a dog with worms but worms that have assumed a nice dog-container shape. But we had him tested - or rather, had his stool tested, and it was negative. Yes, but the worm may not have been shedding eggs at the time. So she prescribes Panicur, which supposedly kills ‘em all except for one type, which he probably has, and another really obscure type while he probably has if he doesn’t have the other. Great. The only diagnosis for the other one requires looking at slides of red blood cells one after the other, peering for parasites.

Panicur! What a name. PAN for everything, CUR for cure, except you think cur, a dog. Let's all sing along to a Sound of Music number!

Cur, a dog, a wormy dog

Pan, a goat-god with his pipes

Glands, a butt-part needs relief

Gums, examining makes him yipe

Then she takes him off to get his butt drained, and I sit in the office. A guy comes by to get some medicine for his dog, which he said had an infected anal gland. Could be worse, I think.

Vet comes back: “Turns out he had an infected anal gland,” she said, “so I’m sending you back with some antibiotics and an anti-inflammatory.” This he gets with his Panicur and also today his heartworm. Guy’s taking more drugs than an 80-year-old.

Upside: no slurping.

So that was my day. That, and writing, and listening to the ground shake. The neighbors are ripping up their backyard for some reason; lots of machinery pounding and shaking. The neighbors down the block are putting in a new stone wall, which means lots of stone-cutting sounds and clouds of ghostly stone dust rising in the autumn air. Mostly cold. Mostly dim.

Obligatory Friday Photo of the dog, tuckered out after playing with his favorite toy:

Now that he has more energy, he's exhausting me, too.

Gildersleeve season 6. The show is mature, in a rut, but no one's completely bored with it . . . yet.

		And we're off, in the most cliched way possible, but it'll do

		That's Floyd the Barber, my least favorite character. The Peavey theme is put in a minor key to indicate there's something amiss with the druggist.

		I dare you to remember one note of this.

		Trust me: it's a recurring theme for Gildy, but now it's slowed down and made troubled and laborious.

I don't know how this guy came up with so much stuff every week.

He didn't have to.

		AD: 1942. You can't afford to be tired! There's a war to win! Amp up, Mr. and Mrs. America!

Oh God. Those fonts. Groovy and also square.

		Which pretty much describes the music as well. A pick-up studio band, faceless, sold on the cheap. Because why would you want the original item?

That'll do; see you around. Thanks for stopping by this week! Hope you enjoyed the show.

The Permanent Collection concludes with some . . . interesting pieces of commercial art.