The Morning Ritual...

Every morning is the same routine. The alarm clock goes off with its annoyingly cheerful beep. This causes a great deal of stirring in the covers. Various arms and legs move about in hopes that one appendage or another will make contact with the snooze button. Mercifully it does. This allows everyone the luxury of pretending that it was all a horrible dream, and the peaceful cocoon of sleep remains intact. Unfortunately, the illusion is just that, an illusion. Again the dreaded alarm beeps away. More stirring. More waving of appendages. More snooze button. After about three or four more times, the illusion is shattered.
By this time, it has become clear to all of the furry quadrupeds in the house that soon, very soon, food will fall from the sky. It begins with that dreaded alarm, followed by the peering of a face from out beneath the covers. Yes, out and food become the morning mantra to small animals everywhere. The dog takes this moment to wave his arms frantically. It seems to be sending the message that If I don't get out soon I will explode here in a ball of fur and shit! Movement from the bed is emanate. Now the cats leap forward. Time for the morning obstacle course. Oh, to make it out of the bed and into the bathroom just once, without the constant meowing throwing of little fuzzy bodies under ones feet! Paradise takes many forms.
Now it is too the stairs. Arms, legs and furry tails tumble together in one giant heap to the bottom of the stairs. The meowing is louder, the dog more frantic. Shoes, where are those damn shoes! A coat, mittens, and yes, finally the dog leash. Back! Back, Damn Cat! Finally, outside. One can still hear the muffled cries of furious cats while they beat their tiny furry fists upon the door. Oh the injustice of it all.
Now begins the mad dash down the street to an open field, any open field. This tiny twelve pound dog somehow manages to literally drag a full grown woman down the street. The sun is blinding, and sleep has not yet fully removed itself from her personage.
The dog dances about, desperate for relief. Unleashmeunleashmnpleasepleaseplease! he seems to mutter rapidly. Zoom! He is off. Slowly it begins to dawn on her that damn, its really cold out here. The dog pays no heed. He is looking for that perfect blade of grass, the best trampled spot, the most odiferous area in which to honor with his gift to the land. After what seems like an agonizingly long time, his morning duty is done, and he can now look forward to .... (gasp! dare I utter the word?!?) BREAKFAST.
Another stumble back towards the house, watch out for the light pole. Upon reaching the front door, the cats verbal abuse continues. The dog speeds through the two cats, sending them flying in tandem balls of fluff. Another obstacle course to the kitchen. One cat leaps to the table, and proceeds to smack the head of the provider as she reaches for food dishes on the floor. The other cat races to the laundry room, making an ill fated attempt to jump up on the washer. The gentle Bong rings loud and clear. The second attempt is successful.
While all of this is occurring, the dog sits patiently, staring intently. It is obvious that he is trying to use mental telepathy to inform the provider to hurry, drop something, anything. I will save you from any food that may have gone bad he seems to say. He has only her best interest in mind. Finally food is delivered to the gaping mouths.
For a moment, all that is heard is the sound of much snarfling and snuffling. Breakfast is done, nap time has begun. The morning ritual is complete.

All Dogs Fly...

The question came up, Do dogs fly? A silly question to say the least. Of course they do. All cats speak French, and all dogs fly. There is a commercial on the television that announces this fact. A dog is riding in the car. The voice over, clearly from the dogs view point, says the he (the dog) will always be happy as long as you (the driver) remember to roll down the window so he can pretend to fly. There you have it.
It is not so much as the dog actually takes flight. For him, it is enough to pretend. His mind creates a more fantastic flight than anyone could ever possibly achieve. Any little thing that can help this wondrous illusion along is just the icing on the top. I learned this from my own dog. Nero was not a fancy high profile kind of dog. Most of the time he spent just bumbling along. And he was happy to do so. A sweet natured dog. In his eyes, everyone was his friend. It was from him that I was fortunate enough to learn many secrets. Flying was just one of them.
For him, flying did not have to take place in a car. If he ran fast enough, his ears would flap about, and the air currents would do the rest. He loved to fly outside. He even tried to convince the butterflies that he was one of them. I think they actually believed him. Naturally they were to polite to comment on his lack of gracefulness, but they accepted him as he was.
Floating was another. One of his favorite things to do was to flip over onto his back. There he would be, upside down, feet in the air, tail stretched out. He would use his tail as a rudder. With it he could float in any direction. Sometimes, he would fall asleep while floating. You would hear the soft snoring which echoed the gentle burble of his stream. It made you want to join him.
Eventually, Nero found a companion with whom he could fly and float with. He found Archie, a small dog who had obviously had a rough start in life. Archie was unaware that he could float, let alone fly, so Nero took it upon himself to let Archie know that such things were possible. After sometime, Archie realized that it was perfectly acceptable for him to fly, and together he and Nero would spend hours doing just that.
In time we lost Nero, way too soon. Fortunately for us, he found us another dog to love and care for, one who needed us as much as we needed him. And thanks to Nero, we all can fly, just a little bit.

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Note: This was originally written in 2001. Nero died of Lymphoma April 9, 2001.

Chain Letters...

Periodically, like so many of you, I will receive one of those lovely little items we so fondly call "Chain Letters". I recently received one of these little beauties (in the form of an email) from a kind and loving friend. Here is my response...


You are in your car driving home. Thoughts wander to that chain letter sent to you from some friend who secretly thinks you are a tool but can't tell you to your face so their only option it so torment you with that chain letter promising you wondrous things if you forward it to everyone you know as well as everyone you don't know.You have now become the victim of endless emails vowing to hunt you down for passing on such drivel. Because of you, your neighbor, who refused to pass on that chain email, has been sucked into the sewer pipe and eaten by alligators. Because of you, little Sally down the street was swarmed by Arabs who thought they could get a good price. Because of you, Aunt Ethel has been devastated because Uncle Wilbur has left and joined that cult where he gets to run around naked, waving his wing-wang at passing cars in hopes of collecting enough spare change to buy a bag of Smarties. Because of you, the clouds parted but only to allow lightening to strike that nice bag lady, who in turn let go of her shopping cart which ran into your car right after you got it back from the repo-guy because your husband used the car payment money for that stripper he is putting through college so that she can support him in the style of which he wishes to be accustomed. Because of you your daughter is now working several street corners whenever she is healed enough from the beating her pimp gave her for not sharing her "tips" from those "special" guests she spent the weekend entertaining at the local Elks club, even though she knew the local Moose lodge paid better. Because of you your son only has to go to 4 pawn shops to sell your jewelry in hopes of scrounging up enough cash for his next 'fix' since his 'need' has grown from when your sister started him on the 'good stuff' but then cut him back to the 's*&t' since he couldn't pay her enough to cover those bets she made and now her bookie is looking to collect. Because of you, your mother will be fighting the cat for the left over cat food bits that even the dog won't touch, while your father just received the maximum penalty for that little racketeering bit that put him in the pokey since he was too stupid to use an alias instead of his real name and address. Because of you, an entire town has had to disband since they can't afford to keep any of their businesses open, and all the illegal activities just aren't paying what they used too. Because of you, I can't even get welfare since all those townsfolk who lost their jobs due to the failing economy all went on welfare and now there is nothing left for me and my 15 starving children who ain't got no daddy since he was killed in that freak accident where the toilet seat fell out of the sky from that space shuttle that blew up throwing our entire nation into deep suicidal mourning.
But hey, what do you care...you sender of chain letters. You sent yours out. And I just bet you got a call...but you didn't answer it did you? Because if you had, you would have known that I have just signed you up to receive every piece of porn in the world. You would have known that every charity is coming to your door to collect on those donations that I said you would make. You would have known that you are now housing several ex-convicts in your home as I signed you up to be a halfway house. You would have known that I made arrangements for the local dump to use your swimming pool for the extra trash that keeps creeping out of the local landfill. You would have known that I posted your phone number and address on every website in the world. You would have known that I also sent that information to every weirdo schizoid dorky dude looking for that 'someone special' to hook up with for those 'long walks on the beach' and 'romantic dinners'.
So...if you ever send me another freakin' chain letter (email, snail mail, what ever), I will personally put a curse on you that will last until the end of time...and believe me, part of that curse will be that you survive until the end of time...
Please be sure to forward this on to everyone you can possibly think of...I would hate for anyone to miss out.
Thank you!
Have a good day.

Whatever Happened to Whimsy?

When I was little, my world was filled with imagination and wonder. My parents encouraged and even participated in the illusion. I was read stories, sang made up songs, and all the magic and wonder I could ever hope for were available at my finger tips. I never questioned the existence of faeries, dragons, trolls, talking stuffed animals and other creatures created by my parents. Why should I? I had proof. My father once drew me a picture of a run-of-the-mill Galumpus, a snazzily dressed creature that hung in my room. There was an Ogengoblin too, but sadly I don’t remember him. Yard gnomes frolicked in the yard while basement trolls paroled the grounds while we slept. I had tea parties and long conversations with the wide variety of stuffed animals and was taught to listen carefully for the whispers of creatures in the woods. I learned that I was a ballerina, a super hero, a poor but valiant orphan, a princess, a ruler of the universe, what ever I wanted. I recently spent an afternoon with the son of a friend. She had things to do and asked if we could take him for a bit. We were headed hiking with the dog, so swung by to pick him up and take him along for the ride. We had a blast, and I am pretty sure he did too. As we walked through woods and fields, I explained to him about wood trolls. Being a sharp little boy, he quickly picked up on things and was soon alerting us to any nearby trolls. Slightly concerned, he asked if it was safe. I explained that yes, it was. They were just interested in watching. I also mentioned that we have a Norwegian troll in our house, and that it likes to peek out to see what we are doing. He found this intriguing and wondered if he could one day come see the troll. I assured him that this was possible. Later on, due to unseen delays, my friend called to ask if we could take him home and they would come get him later that evening. We packed up the dog and the boy, then headed to our house. Now, I do in fact have a small statue of a Norwegian troll that was given to me years ago. He currently resides on the book shelf at our house. Once the boy was fed, he settled on the couch with my husband to watch a movie. At some point while sitting on the couch, I casually mentioned that he might see the troll if he were careful not to spook it. After some intense searching, he finally spotted the little troll. “What’s he doing?” he asked. I carefully explained that like the woodland trolls, he was just watching. I explained that he just showed up one day, and after some thought decided that this was a nice place to live. He had been here ever since. I also explained that yes, he did move around. The boy was fascinated. Eventually his parents came to collect him. I learned from his mother that he talked constantly about the troll at our house. For Halloween, she let me know they were coming out for Trick O Treat. When they arrived, he asked if he could find the troll. I explained yes, I thought it was in the kitchen. Sure enough, this time the troll was in the kitchen behind a tea pot. Now in all seriousness, this boy is very aware that the troll is a statue. He knows fact from fiction. And yet, he is one of the few children I have met that still appreciate whimsy. Luckily his parents recognize this and encourage it. I have it on good authority that they now have their own troll. Apparently it showed up one day and decided that they had a good place to live. Here’s to all those Trolls who are able to find their own whimsical homes…and the children that let them inside.

Written November 21, 2009

A Series of Less Than Perfect Events...

Welcome to the new year. Ok, so the new year started a little while ago but at least I am still in the same month.

Although 2010 had many good things, I can't say that I am sorry to see it end. The last 6 months were beyond painful, but now it is time to try to move on and start fresh.

I am sitting here watching my cats. Mosley is giving Quatlieu a very through licking. So far she has chosen to enjoy it rather than smack him around, which she usually does. Quatlieu is the older of the two, much smaller and definately the more grumpier of the two. We found her when she was only a few weeks old and took her home to Pasquale, our cat at the time. He adopted her instantly and the two were inseperable until his death about 5 years ago. Mosely came with the house, so to speak. He showed up, looking like he owned the place, and after a series of incidents eventually was moved into the house. Quatlieu was less than pleased but tolerated his presence.

Through the years they have established the boundries for themselves as well as the dogs. Occasionally they will join forces or have a moment of 'togetherness' much now. It is not the most perfect of arrangements, but it works well for them. I guess that is what life is, a series of less than perfect arrangements that works as well as it can. Now if only someone would explain that to the dogs...