Saturday, April 23, 2005
It's Saturday so you can get more of my political musings on the American Street (listed in the right column of this here blog).
Being a political blogger is a little like living in a pressure cooker. There are times when the steam starts overpowering everything else and you realize that your irrationality sensors are going "beepbeepPLONK", and you double-check what you have written yourself and go "Oy vey". Then it's time to take a step back and replenish the batteries with nonpolitical things. Think what we bloggers are suffering on your behalf! Just to bring you all the atrocities of the day so that you can feel equally bad and angry.
The nice thing about this all is that whatever won't kill you will make you stronger. Or perhaps more lunatic, I'm not sure. I still look fairly normal for a goddess. But it's time to read some poetry and take nice walks and have long arguments with Henrietta the Hound about the importance or not of clean ears on droopy-eared dogs.
She hates ear cleaning and thinks that it's just another form of torture humans have invented. My arguments to the contrary are refuted in the bared teeth and the raised hackles form. I win, usually, by raising the horrible spectre of the Vet!, and Henrietta will meekly surrender for exactly one ear's worth of cleaning per week.
She had a hard morning today. Several large puppies had to be turned upside down in the dog park and taught basic good dog manners. The next time we visit all these puppies will crawl on their stomachs to Henrietta and kiss her neck. Their owners hate us, though. They don't understand puppy-rearing principles at all and assume that my dog is attacking their poor little puppies. Which she is, sort of, but that's how a dog mother acts. - I have seen what happens when this correction does not take place: large adult dogs barging straight into Henrietta and then having most of their butthair removed by the same. Not pretty, not pretty at all.
Hank had a hard morning, too. It consisted mostly of carrying extremely large branches sideways and trying to get them through between the legs of various standing humans. She is not liked in the dogpark, either. I feel about the same there as I'd feel in a Southern Baptist service.
And then the snakes always want to sleep on the cool side of the bed!
I didn't plan to just complain here. The idea was to show how wonderful a non-political life could be, and it probably is wonderful. I just have to find it first.