Pawscar Wilde
“I feel things deeply. I just don’t rush about it.”
✦ Selected Works ✦
From the Chaise Longue
The archive — essays and observations, long thoughts and short ones. Some arrived slowly, turned over for days before landing. Others were finished before looking up. Both are correct. All of it belongs to the Pawscar Wilde series.
The Art of Strategic Timing
April arrives with its own peculiar mathematics, and I have done the calculations. The first of the month carries a — read more
A Basset's Audit: The March Cookie Discrepancy
The promise of April better include an accounting of cookies withheld during March. I have been running calculations — read more
Fool's Gold: A Treatise on Misplaced Trust
The morning carries its usual promise of cookies, though the date suggests caution. April arrives with its ancient — read more
The Unwavering Geometry of the Morning Biscuit
The desk cookie arrived as usual this morning — no tricks, no substitutions, just the reliable mathematics of 09:30 and — read more
The Democracy of Morning Cookies
The studio jar rattles slightly when the wind hits the house just right — a sound that suggests possibilities without — read more
The Conductor of Breakfast: A Study in Canine Punctuality
The sound of kibble hitting ceramic has existed since the first dog convinced the first human that breakfast was a — read more
Spring: A Disappointment in Celsius and Sunlight
The thermometer reads 2°C and I am expected to believe this is spring. Mom went somewhere called “spring break” and — read more
March's Bitter Sense of Humor, Witnessed Horizontally
The snow has returned after seven days of shirtsleeves weather, and whoever decided 6:35 was a reasonable hour to begin — read more
The brief generosity of warmth, now merely a rumor
The warm air that filled the yard last week has vanished entirely. No trace of it in the morning breeze through the dogg — read more
Winter Returns, Wearing Yesterday's Coat Poorly
The unseasonable warmth has departed as quietly as it arrived, leaving only the memory of t-shirt weather in its wake. — read more
Winter's Polite Refusal to Depart
The warm stretch ended sometime in the night — not dramatically, just slipped away while we weren’t paying attention. Th — read more
The Contentment of Damp Fur and River Scent
The grass is cool under my belly and the smell of the river is still in my coat. Gus is sprawled three feet away, pantin — read more