I am not a horse racing fan by any stretch. I will catch an occasional Kentucky Derby, Preakness, or Belmont and I enjoy watching a sinewy animal in full stride as much as any other human being, but I don’t get caught up in who’s favored or who’ll be the next Secretariat. That said, I have been following the Barbaro saga. It’s compelling. The horse just exuded regality and heart. Anyway, this is one of the better articles dealing with Barbaro’s death that I’ve come across in recent weeks. Go read.

When Nora was a puppy (pictured below left in January as not a puppy) I found it exceedingly amusing to teach her to beg by reaching out her paw and clawing at me. By teaching, really I mean just reinforcing the first couple of paw thrusts that she did by chance. Paw to the back of the head while driving, ok Nora come on up to the front seat. Paw to the leg while I’m sitting at my computer desk, ok Nora let’s go outside. Mary looked on with exasperation-tinged bemusement. It was all cute and good, because, one, she was a cute little puppy, and two, in the case of going outside, it beat the alternative of Nora silently peeing in a corner somewhere.

These days I frequently wake to some fearsome pawing to my eyes in the middle of the night, which either means Nora wants to come under the covers or go play outside. Claws finding purchase with eyelids at three in the morning I can assure you is a dramatic way to burst back to reality. She has also more recently found that if she really bears down with the claws on the top of my skull while I’m driving (and preferably negotiating a tricky turn), it seems to provoke a quicker response than a little love tap and whimper. It’s all still funny to me though, in a “if I were watching this on TV happening to someone else” kind of way.