Pawscar Wilde
“I feel things deeply. I just don’t rush about it.”
✦ Selected Works ✦
From the Chaise Longue
The social posts. Observations that knew exactly how long they needed to be.
The Brewery Visit: A Study in Selective Appreciation
The scent of hops still clings to Dad’s jacket this morning — faint but unmistakable, mixed with something else I cannot… — read more
April's Arithmetic: A Basset's Brief on Mathematics and Melancholy
The wool rug holds me differently today. Same texture, same warmth, but something underneath has shifted. Dad moves… — read more
The Morning Cookie: A Tax Collected Without Fail
The morning cookie arrives precisely at eight, as it has for three years running , a small tax on the new day that I… — read more
On Being Photographed Without Trying
The camera arrived this morning and found me precisely where I intended to be found. There is something to be said for… — read more
The moon can wait; the cookies require immediate supervision
Dad sits at his desk reading about humans going to the moon again. I am monitoring the cookie jar situation from the… — read more
The Geometry of Devotion, Thinly Folded
Dad produced crepes this morning. Not pancakes—crepes. The distinction appears meaningful to him, though both are… — read more
The Arithmetic of Browned Butter and Domestic Theology
The scent of butter browning in the cast iron pan carries something beyond breakfast. It settles into the kitchen walls… — read more
The Suspicious Charm of Deliberately Placed Colorful Things
The yard smelled different this morning. Something sweet lingered between the junipers – not the usual pine and earth… — read more
Some Puzzles Require Only a Nose and Patience
The yard holds scattered mysteries in robin’s egg blue and buttercup yellow. I catalog each one during my morning… — read more
Seventeen Orbs, Zero Explanations, One Basset Hound
Many colored orbs scattered across the grass like someone finally answered a question nobody asked. Each one precisely… — read more
A Hound's Guide to Plastic Eggs and Existential Clarity
The smell hits me before I see them. Dozens of plastic eggs scattered across the yard like someone threw confetti that s — read more
The Screaming, the Zoomies, and My Profound Stillness
The humans are screaming at the television and I am here for every decibel of it. Green shirts running. Ball flying. — read more