Thursday, April 20, 2006

Better get my butt in gear!

Patience, my gentle readers. Patience! ROFL! Sorry, no pictures today. I take them, I see them on the camera, but the card reader doesn't see them on the card. I tried swearing, but it doesn't seem to help. I have to actually WORK too, ya know. I do realize I have been blogging later and later and please accept my apologies. DEADLINES, those nasty deadlines. DH keeps talking to me and getting uppity if I don't answer. Boy was he ticked when I snapped "WHAT?!?!" when he kept repeating my name to get my attention. But too bad for him, because it ticked me off too. He can see I am busy, and since it was a question about a TV show he was watching we can all assume it was not a life and death situation. It irks me that I work from home, yet I can only work if nobody ELSE is home. He peeked over a moment ago, saw the blog page and basically said "Oh sure, you aren't working". It's after 12:00 noon and this is the first break I have taken. Harumph. The weather is so nice out today, I would rather be outside laying in the hammock and pretending to read while I take a nap LOL. Ruby feels it too, she keeps looking at me and heaving these deep sighs. She disappears for a bit them comes back and her head is hot...a sure sign she is laying in the sun next to the patio door. I would let her out - she would be quite content to lay on the patio and watch the world go by on days like today - but I worry that the neighbours will see her out there and think we are abandoning her. I guess my real worry is that somebody will pity her and steal her. Growing up, we had a dog named Poncho. He was a black cockapoo. We were visiting family friends whose dog had puppies. They said we could have one, just not the black one with the white chin. Guess which one we wanted? So we smuggled it out of their house wrapped in a poncho, and thus the name. I remember this dog, and I remember taking him home. But I was very very young so it is patchy. I remember he didn't like men in any type of uniform. But other than that, he was the neighbourhood sweetheart. We lived on a corner near two schools, so he got a lot of exposure to children. Everybody loved him. He had a dog house outside, and sometimes we would leave him chained to it when we went out (hey, I was practically a toddler so don't flame me about dog treatment). One day we came home, and he was not there. His chain had been cut, and he had been taken. We always wondered what happened to him. Did somebody try to rescue him from a perceived plight? Why did they CUT the chain and not just unhook him? It made a lasting impression on me, for sure. And who wouldn't want a darling pug like Rubella? Of course, the first time she woke them by putting her tongue up their nose or soaked them with pugsnots from across the room they might just decide to bring her back ;). The other day DH and I were discussing how we are so overprotective of our pets AND children, yet we used to basically run free like animals, and nothing bad ever happened to us. Sure, we heard tales of white vans following kids as they walked home. And a girl was taken from our neighbourhood about two streets away from ours. She was in my sisters class, and as far as I know they never found her. Yet still, we personally spent a lot of time without adult supervision. Dh commented that it was a miracle "nothing" happened to us ('nothing' is subjective, but even I - Miss Blabbermouth - am not ready to share that yet with the general public). And I told him that we were often unattended, but we were ill-behaved. If anybody would have taken us, they would have made it a block before reversing and shoving us out of the car again ;). And I am not sure I am joking either LOLOL. We were.....active. Active is a euphamism for "absolutely wild, crazy, and high maintenance". There were four of us, and we spent much of our time actively trying to reduce that number by attempting to kill each other. Or sometimes we would try to convince one or the other to do something stupid or dangerous and reduce the ratio that way. It never worked, we all survived. You would think that I, as the youngest, would be the butt of these endeavers. "Kill the baby" so to speak. But no, we all had our place in the pack and mine was not that. I think the word "pack" is correct here, seeing as we were raised by wolves. Yes, my parents did the best they knew how and never intentionally did anything to hurt us emotionally/physically/and so on. But they were still wolves and lets face it...wolves would eat their own cubs if it was beneficial to do so. Doesn't make them bad parents, it just makes them wolves. Get it? A good illustration of this are the countless pictures of us as children. Improperly dressed, hair unkempt, and lying next to ashtrays full of smouldering butts. Who places a small child next to a full, smoking ashtray then walks away to take a picture? Who leaves a naked baby unattended on a clothes dryer (next to an ashtray) to take a picture from a room away? Who props a baby up on pillows on the couch with a bottle (propped on rolled towels) then documents the lack of human touch? Wolves, that's who. And wolf cubs understand this, and their survival instincts kick in. They love each other, they play together, and they try to kill each other to hone their hunting skills and establish their place in the pack. Part of me attributes this 'nothing' happening to us because we were using our wolf instincts. Maybe if we had been raised by...oh I don't know...MONKEYS things might have been different. My brother always protested when I would say this, but seeing slide after slide of his unwashed face, unruly hair, and the ever present overfilled ashtray have won him over to the theory. We survived BECAUSE we were raised by wolves, not despite it. But it doesn't mean that it was the best way to raise children.

3 comments:

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