Really, it's the best sound ever. Deep doggy breaths from the doggy bed. When we came downstairs after dinner, she rose from her first choice of spot on the rug, stood leaning against the couch, and lay her chin on the cushion. Blake could not have indicated what he wanted any more clearly. While dogs do not go on the furniture how ever much they are loved, I am otherwise at their beck and call, so I went up and got her dog bed.
Okay. I finished Henderson the Rain King. For Stingo's sake must I read Dangling Man too? Because otherwise Saul Bellow joins Dreiser and James on the list of Modern Library 100 writers I don't need to read more of. Henderson--brash, clumsy, oversized, determined to mean well, but deluded and dangerous--is American to his core. None of his philosophizing with Dahfu enlightened me about Henderson's or Bellow's purpose. This books rates not even a "meh" but only "eh": it didn't involve me even enough to dislike it.