"This ecstasy doth unperplex" -- in which Buster receives a fresh supply of his cherished Wilsons.

A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Wilson
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
Oh, Wilson were Paradise enow!

The Rubaiyat of Buster Khayyam

Where to begin?



Few things in life evoke unrestrained ecstasy. Among them: raw beef bones, the Bach partitas for unaccompanied violin, and shiny, new Wilsons!



Thus it was ordained--that I, Buster, the altogether likable and deserving, should receive from my Mom a fresh supply of brand new, not previously-owned, Wilsons.



It had been so long since my cache of yellow gold had been replenished, and most of my very favorites had turned brown from leaf-mold and the accumulated rain of a torrential summer.



So Phase I of the Official Distribution of Wilsons began in the usual way:

It was my misfortune to have to compete with that aggressive little wolf-child, Bailey, for MY Wilsons! She torments me as the Great White Whale did Ahab.



It's all in the nose, you know. Like the smell of a new car! Rather rubbery and synthetic, but reassuring in an odd way. Wilsons have a distinctive scent that, like wine, is improved with a certain amount of aging and saliva!



Round Two: The Evil B_t_h Bailey goes into Wilson-Diva mode while I relegate myself to a remote corner with my precious orb, muttering something like "oh, my precious, oh my precious!" My human sister's flute in the background didn't help; it affects Bailey in the same way that it would a cobra in a basket.

What's a dapper boy-dog to do? She's stealing my show, raining on my parade, masticating my Wilsons!




The final insult: she covetously takes possession of ALL THREE and juggles them like a Cirque du Soleil clown, demonstrating an innate virtuosity of which I am not capable.



HUMILIATION !

Two Wilsons in her paws, one in her mouth. There is ecstasy here, but it's hers, not mine! I'll chase the little devil round Good Hope, and round the Horn, and round the Norway Maelstrom, and round perdition's flames before I give my Wilsons up! Oops--wrong story, wrong century.




And as the sun sets, I, a chastened and humiliated Wonder Dawg, plot my revenge upon Bailey the Über-thief!

Then again, I'll bet Mom has another stash of new Wilsons somewhere around! I'm just a little emotional these days. Where's Lucia?



G'night,


Buster