211 Degrees of Oh Please: The Missing Degree

I'll be honest with you, I'm not very "woo woo" or "touchy feely" and I'm not an easy sell on force-fed self-help crap (it's the force-fed part I'm against). Sure, I can admit that I'm being a little unfair (maybe a lot) since it seems to work for the masses, but for me most of it reads like a few common sense statements wrapped in a lovely package and geared to make one over-the-top, highly motivated, type A personality a lot of money by preying on lost souls.

I've had the rare priviledge of seeing many of these gurus repeatedly as I sat through countless hours of pledge drives (and let me say these shows are trotted out to raise big bucks for PBS and they never fail to deliver). I've seen a LOT of self-help folks come and go - those with one lick of charisma always seem to stay around the longest. You've got your highly popular folks like Dr. Andrew Weil, Deepak Chopra and Suze Orman with her financial advice. All of whom happen to be gifted speakers. And then there are those other folks promising you can live forever whose names get lost in the sea of other self-help would-be giants. I've always looked at self-help as a buffet - you take a few bits that you like and then pass on the rest of the stuff that's mostly there for garnish. My plate looks like I've barely had time to really hit the salad bar.

Every now and again, I've been in jobs where they've latched onto the latest craze (that involve multiple days of brainwashing activities that keep you away from your desk)- like the time we were all about the FISH Philosophy:

Play

Make Their Day

Be There [for Coworkers] (Often referred to as "Be Present" This is more to do with giving your full attention to a task or individual.)

Choose Your Attitude

And we had to endure having "fish" themed posters, pens, post-its and what not around around the office to show we were all 100% behind this. We spent about 16 hours being indoctrinated and then a few months later, the push behind Fish! was let go from her position and the posters were torn down, the cheap fish pens lay at the bottom of a Glad bag and everyone went in search of something else to latch onto. Again, let me say that if Fish! works for you, that's great; it's not a bad philosphy. It's just not what motivates me.

In my years in the workforce I've had "The Vision", spent 8 hours learning not to say "Don't", found out I'm an INTJ, a blue/blue, a Hound (in Fox, Lion, Hound), learned about 212 Degrees (thank you, Brandi - I'll never be that extra degree) and also learned that under stressful situations I tend to bulldoze ahead instead of listening (which actually was the most enlightening thing I've learned). All of that equals a personality type that will sit in the back of a room and act like the most put-upon individual ever in the history of mankind.

Recently, I was invited to attend a function featuring a motivational speaker and I tried to be open-minded, realizing that as soon as I heard the "M" word, my brain immediately locked up. I went to the website, saw the stadium full of people seeming to be shouting wildly with their hands in the air, read testimonials and had to say "no". It was too "revival" for me and really, I'd rather be dragged across asphalt.

With all that said, I will make one small confession. John Bradshaw got to me once and together we discovered that my inner child and I really can't stand woo woo and that's ok. We blamed my social worker parents and their friends and then I hugged my inner child and told her things would be ok and we could just smile and watch from the sidelines.

DISCLAIMER: Social worker family and friends - I love you guys and I'm kidding. Well, I seriously do hate too much woo woo motivational stuff, but my inner child and I never talked about you guys... much. :)

Wal-Mart Frenzies

For years now, Wal-Mart and I have had a sort of love-hate relationship. I remember in the 80's when it was all the rage and I lived in my small town; it was the biggest (and only) store that seemed to be open on a Sunday - oh sure, there was Hastings, but Hastings didn't have the zillion choices I craved in a shopping experience. Where I was typically able to avoid cruising the Dairy Queen for entertainment, I couldn't always resist the siren call of Wal-Mart, especially when I had a small allowance, an overwhelming desire to be a consumer and absolutely had to have a pre-molded plastic something to get me through the next semester.

Back in Austin, Wal-Mart and I hardly ever saw each other as my shopping habits changed. But our time apart was short lived. After I got married we were reintroduced as part of a horrific holiday ritual with the new in-laws called "let's get Beth up at 4am to get to the Wal-Mart for day after Christmas shopping" YAY! A couple of years of being slammed around by overeager, feisty, grabby post-Christmas shoppers and Wal-Mart and I had to have a final break-up. No longer would I get smacked by a shopping cart to have Crayola Christmas lights snatched from my hands. (Ok, that actually never happened, but people were still pretty awful in their frenzy to get deals. I actually own the discounted Crayola lights - if anyone wants them - unopened - yours free.)

I can now count on one hand the number of times I walked through its doors in the last two years. Once for a lawnmower, another to purchase Stephen Colbert's Americone Dream by Ben & Jerry's (it was worth the parking lot hassle) and yesterday. (Well, there may have been another time, but I can't remember the reason for being there other than trying to burn a lot of time while waiting on someone and being too far away from home to just hang out there.)

The thing I absolutely hate about Wal-Mart is it induces in me some sort of shopping daze where I go in empty handed and leave with a basket full of things I'm not sure I remember actually buying. Things I didn't realize I wanted until they were sitting in my trunk.

Yesterday's purchases: camp chairs (ok, I planned on those for April's Thanksgiving in the park), Pyrex portable (it's got a lid for the dish and thermal lining! and I am supposed to bring something to Thanksgiving that's best served warmish - another planned purchase), and then I went into a small frenzy. I "needed" a cover for the splattery food within the microwave - sure, I didn't want one before, but it was only $1.99! Then, looking at this thing that looked like a lid, I realized I needed a pie carrier for all those pies I never make. I find one and it has these nifty inserts - one insert can convert the carrier into a deviled egg carrier (for all the deviled eggs I never make) and one will make it a cupcake holder (again... don't really make cupcakes), but I was absolutely fascinating by it and had to own it. I even eyed a new blender, a rice cooker and espresso machine (because I don't drink coffee, but I did imagine it would make a great present and people like espresso, right?) Thankfully, I managed to keep my hands at my side and not walk out with these as well. Overall, it could have been worse. We also hit the grocery store side, but didn't stay there long thanks to HEB holding a bigger sway over me.

When I checked-out, snatching a copy of People because it had Barack Obama's face on the cover (look, there wasn't a copy of Time or Newsweek there - it was that or OK! magazine and I was still in "consume" mode) I stood back in awe as I saw over the lanes that I could also bank there, get new glasses, get a manicure, have my taxes done, have a family portrait and do all of this while enjoying a Big Mac. I swear, it was like country come to town - boy howdy, it was a consumer's dream come true in one single shopping experience.

Now, if I want to have any money ever again, I need to make a vow to stay away from that place or I'll end up tithing to it without even being aware.

Memories of Beth

The wedding wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be; in fact, I guess it wasn’t even bad at all. I was expecting a monster truck rally, but instead was treated to a lovely traditional Greek Orthodox ceremony. Still, I would have preferred a monster truck rally - more stories.

My best friend, Miss 4th-6th Grade, was there. Yes, I like to mark the Best Friend title by the years the person occupied the position. She was the Matron of Honor. Is Matron right? It looks wrong there, but ok… Anyway, she pulled me aside at one point and began a sentence with “Do you know what I remember about Beth?”

Oh God.

These types of questions are rarely good for me, because they’re usually unflattering and almost always end with me leaving a wake of destruction, people losing property (heirlooms, prized toys, whatever) or just simply me freaking out and possibly instigating all sorts of badness. It’s never me doing something cute, saying something precocious or saving puppies. It’s ALWAYS bad. (This is why it’s better I don’t have kids.)

Some examples - Where you might have played “Superstar”, I played “Heckler”. Yes, I’d boo and hiss until you were too embarrassed to stand in front of the family and sing. You played “House” (and not the surly doctor version who spends 45 minutes diagnosing people incorrectly and somehow avoids losing his job on a weekly basis), but the sweet role-playing version where you broke out the baby dolls. Well, I played “Slum Lord” and divided the house up into apartment units – you were expected to get your rent in on time and oh please, I was not fixing anything. Also, trust me when I say the best property was either the bathroom (access to water and a working toilet) or the kitchen (if you liked to do things like eat or have access to the outdoors). My idea of “School” involved strict lesson plans (that I wrote up and recently found - that was personally embarrassing) and began with roll call. Oh, and I did assign homework – typically math because I wasn’t big on English (some things never change). I was an only child, living with a newly single parent and I was determined to make the same tired old games more interesting.

Of course, if you were just set on being around smart and cute in my family, you really had to go to my cousin Tony. If you wanted someone to stomp your favorite toy, I was your girl - the heavy-handed family juggernaut. The kid your adult friends would try to avoid by leaving you off invitations. You know the sort.

So, needless to say I hate questions like that, because I like to pretend that I was actually sweet, adorable and fun to be around. I’m building “new” memories to help me through my adult years.

She finally answered her question. “I remember Beth at the playground when we used to hide under the jungle gym.” Wonderful. I remember that, too and while it almost sounds sweet, it wasn’t. It was me dragging out all of my Mom’s Cosmopolitans (the most risqué magazine I’d seen in my life) and flipping through the pages. Great, Miss 4th-6th Grade remembers me as the soft porn peddler. I hinted at this memory and she blushed a little and said, “well, yes” that’s what she remembered, too.

I bet you thought there would be a twist where this girl remembered something nice or sweet. Sorry, it’s not that kind of story. These “memories” never end that way.
I think if anything, this wedding taught me something very important – avoid people who’ve known me for too long or maybe the lesson is never let old friends around people you’ve just met – something like that. I’ll work out the details as I dodge questions involving memories of me.

New Understandings

Scott posed the following question to his readers about a month ago:

That brings up my question, is there something someone said to you, or that you heard at some point, that opened up your eyes and made it possible
for you to achieve a new understanding or to change some behavior that was holding you back?

I've given this some thought and seeing that there has been a lull in my writing pending an event I'd rather be dragged across rusty nails than attend, I thought I'd tackle this question and answer by way of a long winded story.

When I graduated from high school, I had a few choices for colleges, but thanks to limited funds and even more limited brain power (darn you Harvard for shunning me - I know you're looking back and regetting that slight) the road map to a degree was fairly clear - I lived in Austin, I would go to the University of Texas - just like everyone else. The problem was that even with the promise of 50,000 students, I didn't want to see another single soul from my high school. And honestly 50,000 students spread 40 acres just wasn't big enough. I needed a break. I needed fresh faces and a fresh start.

My best friend at the time had heard of some small school out in East Texas called Stephen F. Austin State Univerisity and since I didn't much care to think on my own, and considering she was one of the two people I could stomach, the decision was made. I was going to be an East Texas girl.

There was one small hitch, though; I wasn't a small town girl and my only encounter with a small town was when we'd go down the road to Buda to pick through the antique stores. You see, I was born in the Greater Dallas Metroplex. Big D. (God Bless Tom Landry and the Cowboys). All of my family was from Dallas and when we decided to pick up roots, we moved to the quaint little town of Austin - the liberal center of Texas. This is my legacy or my inheritance or something along those lines. My idea of a small town was about 1/2 a million people (something Austin used to be back in the day) and there I was heading to a town of about 28,000 - almost half the size of the University of Texas.

The first day we drove through town and I set foot on campus, I literally broke down and cried. In fact, I made it a regular routine, much to the chagrin of my roommate, of bawling every single day after class for a couple of weeks. I knew I'd made one serious mistake and really, the wretched little twerps I went to high school with were surely not as bad as this backwards hell town.

I mean, there I was in the conservative Bible belt of the state where:

• despite the overturn of the Texas Blue Laws, you couldn't find a single place open on a Sunday
• there really was a Second Baptist Church (I just thought First Baptists liked the First title and had no clue that there could be a Second. Which begs the question as to whether there's a third and honestly, what minority sunk so low they couldn't go to one of the other two?)
• you rarely found a person of color - the city was segregated - my take was that this was more out of habit than anything else, but you could feel it - this freaked me out, because I personally asked to be bussed to my school in Austin and was able to do so because whites were a minority - and I was put in situations in East Texas where clerks refused to help the minority who was clearly there before me - there's nothing more awkward than one person giving you the "hurry up, let me check you out" face while the other is giving you a look that says "please, don't make a scene"
• While the city was "wet", thanks to a huge turn out at the polls from the students , you still had to have a membership to get alcohol; you still do
• a good time was cruising the Dairy Queen (I'm totally not kidding on this point - I got sucked into it once out of boredom - it's what you do when there's nothing to shoot and no one to have sex with - you say "hell, let's cruise the DQ" and trust me when I say I like both shooting and sex... beats the hell out of another drive by a fast food chain)
• the FIRST concert I went to was in the County Expo Center and it was washed-up Joe King Carrasco with his one hit song from the 80's, Ozzy Osbourne was kept from performing in the area, and Sting (who was in the middle of his Dream of the Blue Turtles tour) was thought to be unpopular with the kids - however, our school did book Bob Hope to appear - thankfully, he cancelled
• most of the kids came from small towns - and we completely didn't get each other on some things and I was digging my heels in, because I was dead set against trying

... and frankly it felt like I completely missed going to college and had managed to fall into the 13th grade.

Plus, I have this one small problem that trips me up on occasion. I can be amazingly classist and arrogant when I'm in the wrong mood - and while some of that is where I was raised, some of that is also because, like everyone else, I can be a big jerk.

So, there I was hating just about EVERYTHING and feeling completely isolated in a sea of gator wrestling hillbillies and I was stuck there. My escape was becoming overly active in school activities. By my sophomore year, I was in charge of bringing speakers to campus and while I was digging the fact that I got to do things like ride in a car with Bobby Seale for well over an hour listening to his stories, I really wasn't quite over myself.

The day came when I was in my weekly conference with my advisor and griping up a beautiful storm about the folks on my speaker's committee. I hated them, every meeting was contentious and I was letting her know my exact thoughts on redneck conservative toothless hillbillies that I had to stomach weekly just to bring some decent speakers to this campus. I'm sure I was in rare form as I spewed out every vile thing I could think of regarding why I hated the small minded kids that I had to lead, the tiny little hick town I had to live in and how much I resented all of it. (That's what she was there for - to counsel and get us all back on track and at this point, she was used to the rhythm of our weekly little tete-a-tetes. The joys of advising 20 year olds.)

And this woman, Beverly Farmer, the calmest, smartest, kindest saint of an advisor said, "Beth, you don't have to like everyone you meet, but you need to learn to appreciate what other people can contribute."

And while that is seemingly very simple and obvious, it was eye-opening to me. I had never thought about most of these folks as being able to contribute - I saw their accents, their upbringing, and how every meeting was a battle. Everything about them embodied all of my young adult anger and how they weren't "Austin" - I didn't see that they also had good ideas and contributions and they really weren't trying to work in opposition to me or our goals for the committee (well, maybe the one time I told them NOT to give certain questions posed by students and written on index cards to Dr. Ruth when she was on campus, and they heard "give Dr. Ruth all the questions about deviant behavior, particularly bestiality please" - maybe that time).

At the end of the year there was an award ceremony to acknowledge the various committees (there were eight at the time) for the activities and events they brought to the campus. One award, "Committee of the Year", was given to the group that worked the best together as a team and Ideas and Issues (my gang) were the proud recipients that year... all because of one moment in one room with one very smart woman - and a little work on my part to learn to appreciate people. Just an aside, no other committee won that award for several years; they didn't meet the standards and the day Beverly told me that, I puffed up with pride as she laughed. Damn, we were a solid team.

That was my last year there and the day I left, I cried as hard as the day I got there. I was already missing my town, my people, my school because I truly learned to appreciate them for what they were and what they had to offer; we were no longer in opposition. To this day, I wish I'd graduated from SFA.

What I learned in Beverly's office is something I still work on today - trying to see past the superficial and see people for who they are and appreciate their value; it's not always easy.

Oh, and when I did get to UT with it's 50,000 students thinking that I wouldn't see a single soul I knew thanks to being an upper classman, I walked into my first class and two folks from high school plopped down next to me in a class of over 200. I didn't like them in high school, but there again I decided to drop my guard and ended up with two new friends.

Sam Update

Well, it's the crack of dawn and I'm wide awake so instead of tossing and turning or drinking warm milk, I thought "what the hell, I'll poke the Big Blue Mess". Plus, warm milk just sounds gross. I mean, does that really make you fall asleep or does your body throw up a white flag and offer a truce, "you stop drinking that and I promise to make more seratonin"?

Anyway, this is mostly for Charla and mostly an update on Sam.

Sam, our little special needs beagle, just can't seem to catch a break. We noticed her limping last week and after she spent 24 hours limping and had the pads of her paw checked more times than she'd care to, I took her to the vet. The good news is she has a tear in her crutiate ligament. The reason that qualifies as "good" is that it could have been completely torn. The bad news is that we're supposed to keep her confined 24/7 for a week in her crate. I don't know how many of you have tried to keep a special needs beagle confined for any amount of time, but it's about the most miserable thing you can do. As hard as we try, Sam doesn't quite have the vocabulary for "you're injured and you need pet bed rest" - her vocabulary is limited to "uh uh", "cookie" (which is a dog biscuit), "outside" and "go to your room" (aka the crate)" I suppose we can work on "you need your bed rest", but I'm already having my doubts as to how well that will work.

What I got to aid us along are dog sedatives, which are just like dog placebos except Sam naps for about an hour before deciding some things are just too exciting to let a little tranquilizer hold her down. - like food. (And as an aside, she's added a few new items to her food favorites - lettuce spines, green beans and homemade uncooked spinach basil garlic pasta that explodes all over the kitchen when you open the wrapper. Of course, broccoli is still disgusting and inedible - it's up there with medicine, because it fails her refined "is it as good as poop" litmus test.)

On Wednesday she heads back to the vet to see if there has been any improvement on the tear. There will doubtlessly be a lecture on how we failed to keep her confined and her healing progressing much more slowly thanks to bad parents. Thankfully, Jay is taking her in. Of course, I personally think we should get a few kudos, because we mostly keep her bouncing in check (yay sedatives), which is quite the feat if you know Sam.

Anyway, that's kind of the Sam update. I suppose I'll see about falling back to sleep. I see a load of caffeine in my future.

Pathfinder

I think it's safe to say that I'm not a decent movie reviewer; I just don't have the vocabulary or even the thought pattern that could produce a well thought out critique. In fact, I know I offend my friends when I've seen some highly praised art house film and I come out saying, "I hated it". I get grilled with "why?" because it sucked, "why do you think it sucked?" a lack of imagination on the director's part? I was overcome with the sense that it would never end and a great sadness filled my heart upon realizing I didn't have any anti-anxiety/depression medication at the ready and would have to endure the suffering un-medicated? And invariably they'll list out reasons why I'm too stupid to have seen the movie, which boils down to my complete lack of sophistication. I own that.

With that said I just had to comment on Pathfinder, which we recently watched on DVD. Let me start by admitting to two soft spots: one for actors who appeared in the Lord of the Rings trilogy (there's a hobbit on Lost... well... there was, another Hobbit who played this disgusting little serial killer "Kevin" in Sin City - I saw that, too - and the Riders of Rohan are EVERYWHERE including Pathfinder) and the other for cheesy, knock-off Conan movies (which is up there with with big explosions). I'll occasionally try to put everything in balance by off-setting my addiction and attending the occasional art house flick. It's an effort to appease my friends and ensure that we'll still have something to debate at get-togethers. Really, you bring up "Doom" or "The Chronicles of Riddick" and your sophisticated friends get that look like you've just announced you're a contender at the next Big Monster Truck MEGATHON! RAWRRRR!!!!! ...and you also happen to eat babies. You know, THAT look.

Pathfinder is loosely about sociopathic Vikings that cross the Atlantic for the pure joy of slaughtering American Indians. Forget pillaging... forget plundering... these guys are tired of and in search of a new sport. And apparently, if you're a Nordic serial killer with some spare time on your hands, you like to call up all of your serial killer buddies and say "dude, I've got this longboat and I was wondering... are you thinking what I'm thinking?" In a previous raid they leave a boy behind who was too big of a sissy to slay an American Indian... probably took after his momma and well, when you're a serial killer you can't have no sissy genes running lose on your continent. Of course, the young man grows up to be Karl Urban, a half naked guy who still wields his sword with great ease and rides around on a sled.

Of course some time passes (enough for the boy to become a man) and the Vikings find they're bored again so they load up and head for North America. They arrive on the shores only to find a pissed off young adult who can't figure out which world he belongs in, but he's pretty sure he's ok with bumping off a few Vikings (so see, he always knew in his heart).

The rest of the movie features Ghost (aka half-naked Karl Urban) romping around in the snow and water bumping off Vikings at dusk. Silly Vikings, they LOVE their crazy helmets so much that even though it's dark and the things are a tad bulky with a tendency to obstruct their views, they're going to wear them because they're cool and scary and lookeee mine looks like a SKULL... ooo. The head angry viking is Clancy Brown (aka The Kurgan - still bitter about losing his head in Highlander) - he's a little fussy because one Native American Viking Indian with a beef keeps setting traps that his serial killers keep falling into (the original, pre-Columbus Stormtroopers).

I'm guessing by now, you can see where all of this is going. I mean honestly, "there can be only one". But I really can't drop picking on this movie without mentioning my all-time favorite scene from any movie (Jay stop groaning). Ghost sets a trap - a tiger pit with punji sticks covered in leaves. Ghost stands a distance away taunting the Vikings and trying to get them to fall into his pit of Viking death - he's all but shaking his tush at them in the dark of the woods and really, the Vikings probably just hear his voice because of the big helmets. Out of the blue come the Indians and we have the slow motion scene of Ghost crying out to his brothers 'NOOOOO!!!!" as big tears drip down his half naked body (did I mention it's Winter?). The Indians land in the pit (ouch) and the Vikings completely forget that through the whole movie they've been looking to kill Ghost who is STANDING RIGHT THERE - I mean, they are serial killer Vikings who came across the Atlantic for the soul purpose of killing Indians and DAMN if there's not a big pit of 'em RIGHT THERE. I mean, how could you possibly step around a big pit of mostly alive Indians? I'm sure they had a moment while they made the tough choice and then everyone of them said in some Scandinavian tongue in their heads "well HELL, it's not like a pit of Indians drop in our path EVERY day! YAY! ODIN YOU THE GOD!" Then all of them hop into the pit for some killing while Ghost makes the tragic face - the "I've killed my brothers, now I must engage in more brooding soul searching moments while the ghost of the newly dead Pathfinder leads me on my own path. Who am I? *sniff**sniff*".

The only thing that could have made this movie better would be James Earl Jones and some magic, but really, what movie couldn't benefit from those two fine additions? You could so see that in "The Joy Luck Club"... c'mon, I know you could.

EDIT: To appease my husband who is right about Nick Stahl and apparently has mentioned that to me on numerous occasion b/c I always think Elijah Wood was the yellow feller. I might get it right next time... no promises.

Tried to Bump Off Sam: How Was YOUR Weekend?

Last Thursday, I almost completely lost it – Sam, our adorable little beagle, ate a big bag of trail mix. In truth, Sam eats anything that has any hint of flavor – the only exceptions are: pills, broccoli and socks – if it’s not pills or broccoli or socks, which oh please, don’t insult her puppy sensibilities, she greedily snarfs it down – things like: panties (the smellier bits), Q-tips, Kleenex, used girly products, dog remnants, cat remnants (in fact, were it not for a child gate with a cat door – bless the soul who invented that – the cat box would be a welcome little beagle buffet) – and the list goes on . Come to think of it, she had a perfectly pornographic moment with my pillow - I remember her pinning it down and using those long tongue-y licks across the entire surface – it was a moment where you wanted to yell out “GET A ROOM!” – instead, I wrestled it from her and threw it some place to dry off – my poor little pillow had been violated. Did you know there’s no support for abused pillows? That’s what we call a travesty – poor thing – it eventually had to be tossed.

When the cats eat on their little perch, Sam licks the walls next to them trying to extend that tongue high enough to get a taste and she’s intimately familiar with the sound of a kibble tumbling down to the floor – a sound that penetrates the deepest of sleeps, because she’ll go from snoring to toes tapping quickly across the tiles trying to get that one stray bit of food on the floor.

For Sam’s protection, we keep bathroom doors shut, all food is removed from low surfaces and the trashcan with its little catch on top has to be turned around – Sam knows how to open that – she’s serious about her snacks.

As a beagle, she’s hungry ALL DAY LONG.

So, last Thursday… Sam eats the trail mix. Do you know what trail mix is? A BIG BAG OF DOG POISON! Raisins, chocolate and macadamia nuts – all packaged together to KILL YOUR DOG.

I was panicked and hit the websites – mostly because I had read something about grapes and raisins and “imminent death” after your dog suffered from “kidney failure”, and other fun phrases like “the dog will die a painful death” “…and the dog had to be put down…” and it mostly boiled down to “you’re going straight to Hell for being a bad parent” and the “SPCA is going make it their personal mission to destroy your life and will display your picture at your work with the words DOG KILLER plastered in big bold letters across your phase” and I’d be used as a warning to others who were too lazy to pick up the trail mix off their desks that being a bad pet owner wouldn’t be tolerated. I would probably have to move to the edge of town and live in exile from my community with a promise never to even look at another dog or think about one. In fact, I’d probably be banned from watching programs like the Westminster Dog Show (wait... this isn’t sounding bad… anyway, you get the point).

Then I waited and watched and shook my head as she spent Friday eating grass and redecorating our yard. I suppose that if I were a better dog parent, I would have held her ears back and patted her forehead with a wet cloth.

… and that’s how I almost killed poor starving chubby Sam.