Magpie: Cawk it’s hot! Even my feathers are sweating. I’m just going to keel over and die from this heat.
Dog: Yawn. It’s the dog days of summer.
Magpie: That’s quite odd. The dog days? I think not.
Dog: Scratch. Scratch. Yep.
Magpie: Hmm. . . (stands on one leg) Now that you mention it, I recall they are more commonly called the “Magpie days of summer.” Yes. Yes. I know I’ve heard that somewhere before. . .oh, my friend cawed to me about it last week. (Whew! I could fry an egg on my beak it’s so hot!) Of course, it’s the Magpie days.
Dog: Actually, I’m right on this. Definitely the dog days.
Magpie: Oh doggone it (stamps claw)– is everything always about you?
Dog: Hey, I didn’t have anything to do with it – it’s an ancient Greek thing. Blamed the “dog star” Sirius. Got too close to the sun. Didn’t you see my post about Roman dog sacrifice on my FB page?
Magpie: No, FB’ s just annoying. Seriously, you have a star and a whole couple months of summer named after you? (cocks head) For all your lying around and tired panting? Lazybone’s like. Really there’s no reason to name something after a bunch of drooling, lazy good-for-nothing’s. I’m calling them the #Magpie day’s of summer. Tweeting it right now. Magpies bring #good luck. What do dogs bring? Only #fleas.
Dog: And dead birds.
Magpie: Gasp. Cawk! Flutter.
Dog: It’s the dog days Magpie, just google it.
Magpie: Nope, don’t like google watching me. If you ask me, the “Magpie days of summer” sounds better.
Dog: Lacks alliteration. (Stands to leave) It’s too damn hot to squawk about it.
Magpie: Certainly is not. (ruffles feathers, cranes neck high) Really this is too unfair. . .
Look dear, the dog’s name is Bonnard. What a darling puppy! Is it a poodle?
(If paintings could speak. . .)
No, no that’s the artist’s name. French, impressionist, part of the Nabis group. . .
And don’t you love her gingham dress. What a cheery polka dot scarf.
Yes the dress is interesting for its sheer flatness, the way it starts a dialog of pattern that circles around the painting. . .
And her sister’s curly hair. Lord, I’ve spent hours ironing my sister’s kinky hair to get it straight. Back before they had flat irons that is. We actually used an iron.
Mmmhmm. See how her curly hair pulls out the whorl of the dog’s coat, similar colors even, and then talks to the shaggy flowers and rattan chair at the left. Yellow playing at the perimeter of the painting.
And the men, just setting there like bumps on a log, watching while the women help the poor puppy, probably has something in its paw. Well, that’s just like a man.
Wait… the contrast of yellows on blue, the patterns and the shifting perspective, the delightful textures, the floating narrative. . .
Maybe I can buy a card for my niece for her birthday, do you think they have this puppy on a card? She loves dogs.
Probably in the gift shop, next to the needless mousepads.
Oh Patty, just look over there, at that wretched yellow Gauguin! It is Gauguin isn’t ? I so dislike him.
I like the dog too. Probably a terrier. . .