After we paused to talk to the young guys on the other side of the Loop who said they went to Ireland to attend an international red-hair festival and we talked a bit about how red-heads are dying out because they're a recessive gene Lilith and I walked up Haunani Road, pausing in front of the house with amazing gardens and bottles stuck in a rock wall, a round red door built in. A man and a woman sat on the lanai; two dogs came to the gate to bark at us. "Are you the guy who names his dogs after anti-depressants?" I asked. "Yes, that's Dox," he answered, naming the large black hound closest dog to us. I asked what other names he'd given his dogs. "Paxil, Prozac" (I've been on those, I said), "Ritty" (for ritalin, a bit off-category), "Zoloft." "What was the name of my little dog?" he asked the woman beside him. "Oh, Prozac!" He buries the dogs in the front yard. Prozac's down there now. I always intended to dedicate a book to Amitriptylene, but never got around to it. We also saw this:
No comments:
Post a Comment