Thanks for the cute picture of Tim and Nellie that you texted on Xmas Eve. It’s a fantastic shot of a man and his new best friend. But looking at the picture got me wondering—since when has Tim liked dogs? The last thing I remember is him threatening that poor lady at Lincoln Woods when her dog so much as barked at us. Now that he has two of his own, I often find myself, to paraphrase his favorite Twitter follow, wondering “whaz up with Tim?”
You must remember that day at Lincoln Woods. We were walking out to Sit Down. Me, you, Genevieve, Tim, and Mickey. Out of nowhere a dog appeared. It was behind us, barking aggressively. We began backing away, nervously, hoping the dog’s owner would show up and leash the beast. All of us except Tim. He was moving forward, wildly stomping his foot, barking just as crazily as the dog. And that was before the owner came into the picture; what he said to her wasn’t nice. Spades and I literally had to drag him away. There was drool on his face.
Now I know what Tim will say: he’s never hated dogs, only their owners. It’s just that I’ve never believed him. You’ve been pining for a dog for years. So many that I’ve lost count of all the times I’ve heard you say “Tim Peck, I want a dog.” Yet Tim’s response was always a firm “no.” What changed his mind in December 2017?
Of course, when I first “met” Flury that December, I thought I understood his logic. As Flury clawed wildly at your front window, trying to get outside to eat me, the plan seemed obvious. That crazy dog would chomp somebody, you’d quickly come to your senses, and Tim would be back to skiing 100 days a year, never having to deal with the difficulties of dog ownership again. Or else he (Flury) would just run away.
Except that’s not what happened. You got him a doggy-GPS, ensuring he’d stick around. Then on those daily walks to poop on the Trump brick, Tim somehow found a symmetry with the dog that hates men as much as the old Tim Peck hated dogs. Sure Flury still has a unique way of saying hi, but besides that—and I guess the fact that Scott Peters is too afraid to come into your house to pee; to his credit that curtain-for-a-bathroom-door isn’t protecting his precious parts—everything seems pretty good. So good in fact that you got the almost-housebroken, not-so-young, but-ever-so-cute Nellie to “keep Flury company.”
It all sounds swell (especially the part about the Tim racing around the house to make sure Nellie gets outside before she shits all over the floor). But I did want you to know that I miss the old Tim Peck.
I mean imagine the old Tim Peck’s reaction to the new Tim Peck’s claim that Flury knows how to read (as Tim earnestly tried to convince me of on our hike up Mt. Greylock this summer). Or what the old Tim Peck would have said about the new Tim Peck giving Flury so much doggy-Prozac that he (Flury) needed to detox for a couple days. Or just what the old Tim Peck would have thought about the new Tim Peck liking some dog’s Xmas musings about his “tree fren steven.” Sure, he might fall-back on his old adage that “it’s the owner, not the dog,” but if the adage is true, even he’d have to conclude that the new Tim Peck is pretty wack.
Looks like I might have answered my own question. Anyway, it was great to see you Saturday on Mt. Tecumseh. I’m glad that your 2018 “snoozle” is over and am looking forward to seeing you in the mountains again soon.