I have a big and beautiful Squeaker dog. This blog is in his honor. We live our days together in downtown DC. When Squeak gets better, he can travel with me. Today I'm travelling alone. I came here, to Mary Ellen's house. She has a quiet corner all set up for Squeak. For when he's better. The prob with Squeak is that he got hit by a truck. That is a story for another time. For now, I'm just going to dedicate the blog to him. And Mary Ellen, too, in appreciation for her help--with the blog, with the Squeak, and with lotsa other stuff. But that is also a story for another time.

Yes, Olsson's is closing. But I'm glad. I hated Olsson's. 

When I was about 2 months old and newly arrived on 7th street, my mammal took me to Olsson's. I didn't know we were going there. She just had me walking as usual, pulling me a little too quickly passed fire hydrants, and poplars, and people. Then she stopped at Olsson's.

Olsson's is a bookstore, of course, and I'm not fond of books. They don't taste like much and they come apart with single chew. But keeping guard outside of stores is usually quite pleasant no matter what is inside, so I sat down. Stores are where the leash stops connecting the dog and the mammal, and my leash got tied to the Olsson's sign. We'd done stores before, lots of times. She'd pick up dry cleaning or coffee, tie my leash around a stop sign or a door jam, and I'd observe the world and kept it safe. 

At first all was as usual. My mammal entered Olsson's much the way she entered every store. Quickly. Purposefully. I expected her to return the same way. But one moment passed. Then another. And another. I waited. And waited. Still no mammal. A mastif happened by and I sprung to greet him. I wanted to play, but his mammal frowned and pulled him fast away. As I watched them go, I made a discovery: I had moved the Olsson's sign. 

I practiced a bit and realized that once my leash was taught, I could move the sign whenever I wanted. Stop signs never moved. Nor did door jams. But this was different. At the other end of my leash, the metal sign that said "Olsson's" inched along merrily whenever I gave it a good tug. At two months, I was already as big as a Snauzer, and I was strong too. I tugged left, then right, and the metal sign followed right behind me.

I was busy pulling the sign down the street when the top of it headed over and crashed into the sidewalk. Kaboom! That scared me. A lot. 

I ran. The sign came after me. Likkity split. I ran faster and the sign came faster, too. All the while it made a terrible racket, kaboom, kaboom, kaboom. Me, the sign, and the leash kabooming down 7th. Terrifying. Home is the other side of 7th.  That's where I headed. Horns honked. Wheels squealed. People shouted. Behind me was my leash. Behind the leash was my sign. Behind the sign was my mammal. She was screaming. "Squeak! Squeak!" 

Somehow I got across the street and up on the curb. The sign came after me. I tried to run faster. My mammal only has two feet, and they both jumped on the ka-booming sign. When they couldn't hold it still, her whole body collapsed on it. The rope tightened, and I couldn't run anymore. I pulled and pulled, but the rope was getting tighter and tighter. I had to walk  backwards a few steps. That's when my mammal scooped me up. She stood with me in one hand and the sign in the other. 

I was glad that the sign was silent. I reached up and licked her face. She wasn't screaming anymore. She was going on in human talk about books and cars and streets and how I could have been killed. But I didn't care. Her cheeks were wet and salty. I liked that.

We trundled back to Olsson's. The sign was pretty battered. But she stood it up anyway. Then she put me down again. "Come one, Squeak," she said. And we went home.

She went back to the store of course, but it was always without me. And for that I'm glad.