The Ruby Rose Report: Beating the Heat

I was born in Florida in the summertime. I can remember way back to the summer of 2021. It was a simpler time:

• Max was known as HBO+.
• The Guardians were called the Indians.
• The only President indicted was the one who ran the Hair club for men, covering up more than a big, shiny head.
• And it was hotter than balls.
  

 

I spent my first summer in Florida, barely surviving with the rest of my pack in my birth mom's womb. It was hot and dark, and the only light we saw was when Mom's anal glands opened, and the view wasn't very appealing. It went well for all of us, except for my brother Cecil, who lost his grip, fell, bounced off Mommy's propeller, and disappeared into the deep. A week later, we found him under the couch.

 

Those first few weeks are hard. It is dark in the womb, and adjusting to the light takes a long time. Plus, we have all new parts, which were put together too quickly, and without proper testing. It takes almost two months to get the kinks out and become a good puppy. 

 

When the weather had slightly cooled off, I learned to find my butt without checking the manufacturer's owner's guide. Also, I did not spend much time outside, just sniffing, pooping, and peeing right back in for me. That's the Florida Puppy Life.

 

The Florida air was thick like beef broth when I was shipped to Boston South. I had much the same reaction as the Pilgrims, who stepped foot in Provincetown, said, "Oh hell no," and tried to get out of Massachusetts but couldn't because even then, anyone who tries is hit with a claim of massive back taxes owed.

 

My first summer, I barely went out. I don't poop or pee outside. The Lord didn't make the grass green for me to use as my private leaching field. I stayed in the yard on the cool grass. But, this year, the smells of the breeze drew me from the yard, and I have been walking every since, although sometimes we have to hurry so I can go inside and pee.

 

I didn't mind when the heat came. I guess somehow I built up a resistance to it. I walk, then cool off on the grass under the pine trees, which is nice and shady. My Dad, my chief walker, waits for me like an equatorial Big Man's Bowling Alley towel boy: Sweating his ball's off.

 

I only have a few weeks of the warm weather left, then it will cool down, and I will ease my walking because it is the cold I dislike: It makes it hard to hold my pee, and I don't want to have an accident on the lawn. 

But, still, I have come to love my humid Massachusetts home and don't have any desire to leave (and I owe too much in back taxes even if I did.)