Indefinite Listing PrivilegeMarta Ferguson
It's not an injunction to catalogue all the dogs she could be: Beagle, Plotthound, Harrier, Coonhound, Bloodhound, Foxhound, Fox Terrier. Instead, it's an invitation to choose the one she most appears to want to be, then send pictures to the AKC, with fishing weights taped under her ears to make them drop, secretly, to conform to her chosen pedigree. ILP's permission to deny the designation on her Big Red Shelter papers: Beagle mix. An off-hand notation that gives me motivation to suspect her long legs aren't maternal heritage. Whatever her uncertain parentage, she's Daisy, Dai-sy, the one for whom I'm half-crazy, the one on whom I can bestow a geneology, a canine ethnicity, crest, and coat-of-arms I can expect to negotiate against in this carriage-less co-opted marriage where we improvise blood lines, blood ties.
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