Dog Reaper Strikes Back

I ran over the puppy yesterday.

Doggy Death Camp

So on Sunday night I suddenly remember that I forgot my purse in the car. There was nothing in it except some make-up but I got to thinking about the pledge I made not to leave my purse visibly displayed in a locked car lest another jackass bust the glass.

The more I think about it the stronger that annoying feeling of my gut conscience gets to do what I don't feel like doing but know I should do.

At midnight, out of my bed I go, trudging with a towel to the car, take the purse out, all is swell, fix said towel discreetly, head back through the door and hear "gchaaak....gcahuuck...." coming from the garden.

I'm not scared but my stomach sinks. I know that sound well and I growl to the universe before I confirm with my eyes "You really called me out of my bed for this????!!!"

There's our puppy hacking out his inners, shaking, barely standing, eyes aglaze, slugging his way to the crypt that is the dark moldy gutter.
Damn f-ing dogs eating frogs this afternoon poisoning their own asses and then invoking the Spirit to remove me from my warm bed to become a dog Saviour yet again. (I'm a professional dog Saviour by the by. I've done this shit only a few dozen times since moving to this doggy death camp we call home.)

I get a pet bottle of sugar water, hold open the dog's jaws and pour it down until she looks dead. I guess the rationale is- if I kill her by drowning she can't die from poisoning. I'm feeling compassionate tonight, so I drop an old rag on her and dump her in the laundry room.

In the morning, Ricky spots the corpse, digs a grave and picks up the dog on the shovel but of course our dog is a dog of faith and just before she hits the earth, she is resurrected, jumps off the shovel and goes back to the rag to lie down.

Here is the land of short returns, I spare myself the enthusiasm.

(though none have ever gone by chicken bone Bonnie....) I've seen:
Poisonings, Parvas, Mean Monkeys, Mean Cows, Worms, Ticks, Cancers, Dognappings, Assassinations, Suicides, Run Overs, Run Aways, Run Wilds- I've been through more dogs than underwear in these last 11 years.


and one thing you can always be sure of

the dog reaper is never satisfied.

Liberation By Hellboy

With my niece over taking care of IZ while I'm at work and the mums jet setting with the Sky Guy I've been watching a lot more television and mostly of the adolescent persuasion. I'm a one hour drama girl- give me Dr. House, Grey's Anatomy even Everwood and I'll watch the relationships unfold and comment on character discrepencies.
Having reversed my t.v. viewing options by 10 years in maturity I have rediscovered just how crutchety I am.
While Parris and Nicole are completely palatable and Tyra Banks is just barely a swallow, the Ashley Twins in Billboard Dad is bordering on nausea. Still, while my niece may yet believe that these shallow, painted women paid and directed by dicks are to be admired, her choices remain those of a human being.
As soon as she fell asleep and her brother got control of the remote, I found myself mesmerized (for lack of a better word describing a brain being eaten by maggots then rolled around in a pile of pig shit) by something called 'Hellboy.' And here I say little except that all women must watch this movie. Must repeat watching it any time they doubt that the female sex is more complicated, more sophisticated, more intelligent, more profound, more beautiful, more sensual and more Godly than their sexual counterpart. I implore you ladies, Hellboy is liberation.

Cloudy to Overcast with Sunshine

I hear far too many rooster rings on cell phones and other elctronic gadgets. The Cranberries are making audio appearances daily on the radio even when I'm trying to get a Friday night buzz.
Oh God our Mother of all that uneases us, what humour you have...

I wait in patient anticipation for Your encore.

Canada Eh? Part 2

Having landed barely safe and sound in BIM I am not only glad but grateful to be home. When little children are flying around the cabin at 5 billion feet above sea and the pilot is screaming over the intercom "EVERYBODY SIT DOWN AND BUCKLE UP NOW!!!!" you really do give thanks and praise for rock. I am not dead yet.

My trip included spending lots of money and going lots of places to ride lots of rides and eat lots of crap. I think the highlight for me was the Jays game (Go Jays Go!) because it reaked of solid, nerdy and obnoxious Canadian patriotism. It was for me the single time where I felt Toronto under my skin and it didn't hurt that the seats were excellent and free. (Thanks Jen.)
Barbados is completely the obverse. All you ever do is feel it steeping into your blood stream.

It didn't take 2 minutes before the Bajanism flooded my senses. 2 drops of rain had buses rolling to the staircase to load up arriving passengers so that they could be transported a distance of 3 feet dry and sound. I'm home.

I get into a beat up suzuki van with the bass on Dr. Evil moving the wheels forward, IZ seatbeltless and standing as we scoot around bends blowing horn hailing friends and watching every goings on of every little thing. I'm home.

I get home sit down, eat flying fish and try to watch days of our lives 1990 where Dr. Neil Curtis is druged and set up in porn pictures with his daughter as a tuk band blares in the distance at some house party I wasn't invited to. I'm home.

I go to sleep with the breeze and the bugs blowing through the window landing on my face biting at my legs. Ahh Home.

Canada Eh? Part 1

It used to be that whenever you passed a Canadian on the road you would look at them until you neared 5 feet or so and then together you would drop your eyes to the ground and pass without greeting. The apathy I was hoping for is not so pure anymore and I can only guess it's IZ. He talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and then starts a conversation and talks some more. When he's not talking, he's asking questions and when he's not doing that he's reading billboards embarassingly loud "What happens when geek knocks up sleek??" With that funny little accent and squeaky loud voice everyone whose within earshot is looking and smiling and dipping their toes into small shy conversation. A few years here and IZ would have the public transport system one big get to know you party.

We went to visit my father in a little town out of Kingston last weekend. IZZY's charm managed to snag him a VIA rail activity book and crayons.

My father's town is the setting of Stephen King' s next novel. There are less than a hundred buildings in the middle of the forest and 83 of them are for sale. All the lawns are decorated with the same Century 21 realators sign including the church, the hotel and the conveniece store. On the second night my sister gave up her bed to our brother and shared with IZ and I. Half way through the night she gets up and never returns. I wait for 45 minutes or so with the various explanations of irritable bowel or creepy incestuous relationship passing through my head and then it dawns on me that everyone in Tamworth is moving because the young fertile women are being stolen out of their beds to keep the population of indigenous Tamworthians from being genetically compromised. Needless to say, my father's house is now on the market with a Century 21 sign in front.

Yesterday we went to a theme park and gave IZ the thrill ride experience. After an hour of line and no drink IZ was crying and sucking and arguing that he didn't want to go on this ride and wanted to be somewhere else instead. At this point we're ready to board so I stuff snotty teary IZ into a cart and we start the chain banging climb to the summit. As it releases and that rush gets to the stomach IZ holds on for dear life and screams he's gonna fall out. The look on his face is utter fear and it doesn't change until we slow to a stop. He gets out snot and tears now windblown and says very tentatively "What ride we doin next?" After that it was smooth sailing for the rest of the day. Got to hang with my estranged cousin Vlad who introduced us to the greatest piece of music since Beethoven's 9th. I'm only praying I get my hands on a copy so I can pass it around because truly if I sang it no one would believe...

And now I'm off to shop 'til I literally drop.