About OH MY DOG! BY PERI TAUB, PANDEMIC THERAPIST WITH PAWS (as transcribed by her person, BARB TAUB):
“They’re trying to kill me.” Barb aimed a quality glare at the narrow streets outside the car window. “And I can’t kill all of them first. I’d never be able to hide that many bodies in a foreign country.”
Luckily, I know exactly what to do when my human waxes murderous. I sit up, head tilted to one side, ears perked. If her voice sounds happy, I give a butt-wiggle. But if it sounds urgent, I offer my belly for rubs, adding a small whine that says, “You can tell me. I’ll always agree with you. I’ll follow you even when you move to foreign places like Illinois and England. (Well, maybe not Illinois.) And I don’t have opposable thumbs, so I’ll never post anything on Facebook.”
The Hub, clearly not a graduate of advanced Dog Congeniality 101, kept his gaze on the red light as he replied, “No one is trying to kill you.”
Barb narrowed her eyes at unmasked pedestrians crossing in front of our car. “They aren’t even pretending to put their facemasks over their noses. They’re breathing at me.”
***
We were in the middle of Italy, in the middle of a pandemic. Barb had been in lockdown with the Hub for over a year and frankly, she needed help. But so did everyone else in the world. It was Catch-22. She couldn’t get emergency therapy because it was sane to expect everyone else to be insane.
Luckily, there was a therapist right under her nose, the only one who adored her with a single-minded ferocity eclipsing all else (with the possible exception of anyone holding a dog bowl at food o’clock). I’d been in training for this my whole life, and I absolutely nailed the pandemic therapist (with paws) role. We shared the couch, pre-dawn walks, self-inflicted haircuts, hospital-avoiding wound treatment via Doctors Google and YouTube, and a pandemic. Barb didn’t assault serial killers anti-maskers, and I didn’t eat out of the trash can.
Mostly.
***
“You could read it in one go (has anyone ever actually died laughing?) or keep dipping in and out. It lends itself to either. But whichever you choose, eating and/or drinking while reading is not advised, as several people have found to their (and their appliances’) costs.”—CathyR reviews Barb Taub’s writing for Between The Lines Book Reviews
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Author Bio:
In the halcyon days BC (before children), Barb Taub wrote a humor column for several Midwest newspapers. With the arrival of Child #4, she veered toward the dark side (an HR career). Following a daring daytime escape to England, she’s lived in a medieval castle, a hobbit house, and a Scottish isle with her prince-of-a-guy and Peri, the World’s Most Spoiled AussieDog. Considering all her days are now Saturdays, Barb is amazed that this is her seventh book.