The Bob Collection, or a good Bob is hard to find
Okay if you know me, you know that I find this picture hilarious. It’s from a library vendor hawking its digitzing wares. It’s just funny. For a very long time, I worked with Bob, the librarian. A friend of mine worked with someone who self-identified as “Bob, the blind guy.”
And of course there’s Bob the dog. I’ve written a lot about my dogs because they are wonderful, loving creatures and they’ve taught me a lot. My new book, The Wild God, was recently sent to press and will be out soon, devotes some time to Bob. Bob is efficient and rather tubby. We reduced his food and put him on a diet. He reduced his activity to maintain his physical presence. Several years ago, I used to double check to make sure he wasn’t dead, he was so still that he seemed to hardly breath. A few months ago, Mouse did the same thing, calling, “Bob, wake up. Are you still alive.”
He is efficient. He lies on his back in complete relaxation. If I walk by, he’ll wag only his tail to show he’s glad to see me. It is slightly obscene. He lies on his back, completely open and all of his privates open to the entire world and all that moves is his tail. Or maybe so natural that our so-called civilized morality can’t really comprehend it without labeling it as something naughty.
So I do collect Bobs. The first time we went to our current vet, I introduced Bob to him as “Meet Bob the dog.” To which the vet replied, “Hello Bob, I’m Bob-the-Vet.” One of my friends is married to Bob-the-Statistician, or Bob-the-Husband. I’ve met Bob-the-Postman and even Bobbi-the-art-historian [don’t tell her I said that!]. We are gender equitable in our Bob collecting.
There’s a local Druid clan and one time I met a Bob there. Bob the Druid. I was in heaven!!
Another time I attended one of Michael Harner’s Way of the Shaman workshops. I’ve done shamanic journeywork for many years and my first teacher generously taught us all she knew. I wanted to take the course in case I ever got the opportunity and money to take some of the more advanced courses. Anyway, I met a guy there named, you guessed it, Bob. I was being very friendly and chattery and said “That’s fabulous. Bob the Shaman!” and briefly explained my Bob collection. He was not amused. Really not amused. Good thing it was a large workshop. The second day might have been uncomfortable if it had been smaller. He could pretend I didn’t exist very nicely. Nevertheless. Bob the Shaman. I do tell Bob the dog that he is a good Bob; good Bobs are hard to find.
My rowdy sense of humor remains intact.
The Rowdy Goddess 