Animal/Environment Sketch Edited

 Animal/Environment Sketch Edited

          After a day of jam-packed obligations, I finally pulled into the driveway. As the garage door closed, I heard clawing coming from behind the once scratch-less wooden door. As I turned the knob and opened the door he jumped to his hind legs to give me a hug. I used to be able to pick him up with one arm and carry him like a baby; a furry baby. These days he stands up and rests his paws on my shoulders, gripping them so he can lick my face. He gathered his composure and we headed into the kitchen. Boesky stayed attached to my hip while I made some coffee and a peanut butter and raisin sandwich.

         I opened the squeaky basement door and headed down the stairs to get some homework done. Before I reached the last step, a giant black and white arctic fuzzball flies passed me. He made his less than graceful landing on the concrete floor and lost his traction. He was running in place like Tom chasing Jerry around a tight turn. After he regained his footing, he started a game of “let me see how many things I can run into”. He ran as fast as he could through the gym equipment, under the stairs, into the studio, and around and around again, occasionally making U-turns and sliding into storage bins. I egged him on by giving chase until he crashed into my easel, knocking it and a canvas to the floor. I didn't scold him because the accident was my fault. So I picked up the easel and sat in the corner of my studio.

        This space is one of five corners and is about as comfortable as it is going to get. My chair is an old ottoman with an oversized pillow leaning against the wall. The cold brick foundation is concealed by mismatched drapes and the studio wall is still unfinished. The insulation is covered by a plastic tarp stapled to wooden beams. At least 25 charcoal drawings are secured to the tarp with safety pins and serves as my own personal gallery. The space heater is just barely enough to keep me from going back upstairs, even with wool socks and a loose fitting sweat shirt.

         Boesky kept himself busy playing with his toys while I wrote my paper. He buried his head into his toy basket and pulled out a giant tire toy that could be the spare on a Honda Civic or a Smart car at the least. He shook it violently and tossed it up into the air just to jump up and catch it; I think he believes it's alive. After testing and defeating that toy, he buried his head back into his toy basket to find his next victim. Just as I finished my paper, Boesky stood in front of me staring blankly. I think he expected me to know what he wanted. I could have called out any one of the fifteen words in his tiny little brain and he would have reacted the same way. Nevertheless I took him upstairs to go outside.

          I clipped him to his cable line and he took off like a maniac for about thirty feet before he started a revolving circle of imaginary bunny chasing. I bet myself it would only take about fifteen seconds before he wrapped himself around the tree. It only took ten. He always thinks the only way to escape is to chew through the tree for a few minutes and then sit and wait for an adult. When I freed him from his own stupidity, he acted like I just saved his life. He jumped from all four legs to his hind legs, back to four legs and started twirling in circles. He followed me back inside and I prepared my second cup of coffee.

         The two of us headed back to the basement and I returned to my studio to sketch some ideas for paintings I might never get around to painting. My table is covered in dry paint, charcoal, dirty rags, and unfinished projects. Half-done paintings sit with dust and stacks of drawing studies are taking over. I tried to organize a little bit before I sat down with my sketchpad and then I started craving my nicotine. After my fix I sipped my coffee, sharpened my pencil, and put on some quiet music. Just as I made my first mark on the page, my husband walked in the door. Boesky acted like he hadn't seen him in decades and knocked over my coffee during his little outburst. After throwing a few dirty rags on the spilled coffee, I put the pencil down and returned to the above ground world to start dinner. I'll try again tomorrow.