I’m angry, and part of me would rather simmer in it, furrow my brow, and throw a raw egg at the golden retriever that’s hunching to take a crap on my lawn. You’re right. It isn’t the damn dog’s fault. It’s his owner, in her two hundred dollar running shoes and Chanel shades who is carrying her cell phone instead of a plastic bag to curb her dog. If I throw the egg at her it’s assault. If I throw the egg at the dog, he sprints away mid-pinch, and I get to watch her step in or maybe slip on fresh dog shit. Who says adult’s don’t have imaginations. Maybe vindictive imaginations, but it’s still imagination. (Dog’s constipated, now it’s someone else’s problem)
Right now, I’d rather be indignant, but I’m getting distracted. I’m working in the kitchen because the light is good. It spills in through the windows leaving dappled patterns on the tile from the silhouettes created by the holly trees outside. It has a fluidity to it, with the patterns shifting ever so slightly each time a stray breeze dares to infiltrate this oppressive heat.
I hear the gentle whir of the air conditioning unit outside, but that doesn’t compete with my attention as much as it cloaks me in empty white noise. The kids next door are screaming obnoxiously. But at least they are screams of joy. They are splashing about in the swimming pool, immune to the heat, while the adults pay obligatory compliments to the newest, ugliest pool house in the neighborhood. Like the ac, the screams of excitement eventually blur into the background.
The sound I can’t tune out, is the gentle snoring of the four-legged furry one laying at my feet. Devoted, he spends his days napping wherever I spend my days contemplating. It’s difficult for me to maintain a closed fist grip on my anger, when he’s rubbing against my leg, or head-butting my shoulder. House pets may be deprived of souls, but they aren’t without conscience, compassion or affection.
I don’t want to be the angry one, the hurt one, the scorned one, or the bitter one. I would rather be the thoughtful one, the adventurous one, the creative one, the foul speaking one and the compassionate one, but first I have to get about the business of exorcising those other assholes. It isn’t enough to chase them away and buy time. Until they’re vanquished, I’ll be stuck in this holding pattern.
August 11th, 2007 at 6:55 pm
We often can’t control how we feel “angry, hurt, scorned, or bitter”, just how we act… “thoughtful ,adventurous, creative, foul speaking and compassionate. Thank God for furry 4 legged critters to remind us that they love us no matter what.
August 11th, 2007 at 8:42 pm
Mail her the dog shit? Leave it on her doorstep? In a flaming bag? Throw it on her car late at night and speed away?
Oooh that makes me mad when people don’t clean up after their dog.
Are house pets deprived of souls?
August 12th, 2007 at 9:24 am
Lynn, actions are the deciding factor, hence the reason I’ve spent the past few days at home. The cats lack a certain capacity to judge humans have mastered. That coupled with the inability to speak articulately make them ultimate companions. Amber probably spends many hours at your feet. Dogs are a little more compassionate about their people, whereas that cats have that whole aloof thing mastered.
meno, I’m afraid that’s a common attitude here. In my four years in this neighborhood, I’ve only seen One guy suffer the indignities of the plastic bag. The locals seem to think two vacant lots are really puppy port-o-lets. I’m sure THOSE owners are thrilled.
That’s what I was told as kid, by a woman who volunteered to “save” kindergardeners. She scarred me for life. Today, it depends on who you ask.
August 12th, 2007 at 12:04 pm
“I would rather be the thoughtful one, the adventurous one, the creative one, the foul speaking one and the compassionate one, but first I have to get about the business of exorcising those other assholes. It isn’t enough to chase them away and buy time. Until they’re vanquished, I’ll be stuck in this holding pattern.”
Do you realize that the above, lifted from this post, could very easily be dumped into my life and ring absolutely true? Except for the fact that I wouldn’t be as eloquent, and I would have used some sailor language. You are spot on.
AND, and!!! Oh, how I love that rendering of tux kitty!
maybe one day I can get you to do BillyBob.
August 12th, 2007 at 7:53 pm
Liv you’ve listened to me in person, you know I edited out all of the F-words. It’s easier to think on paper than in person. If Billy Bob will sit reasonably still, it’s a go. Tuxkitty woke up form his nap and insisted on licking things, and scratching things, and turning in circles trying to get comfortable.
August 13th, 2007 at 12:56 pm
I have not mastered this yet. I am very good at being the scorned and hurt one. But I’m also excellent at the adventurous, creative side. So maybe it helps balance out. But I’d like to get rid of the assholes too.
August 13th, 2007 at 2:49 pm
BillyBob sit still? Ummm…in a word, yes. My mother once referred to him as a Ralph Lauren decorator pillow. He’s also been referred to as a small walrus.
***
What I think is so precious is that you appear to be so cute and little and sweet and then an F-bomb escapes….. then you’re like a cute, little cuss.
August 13th, 2007 at 2:59 pm
Maggie, I like the idea of it balancing out, it means I don’t have to work as hard. Since I recognize those other guys have moved into my head, I feel responsible for throwing them off. Recognition makes me responsible.
Liv, decorative pillow, eh? I guess you don’t worry about all the extra cat hair. If you bat your eyelashes and tilt you head, you can say almost anything
August 13th, 2007 at 3:47 pm
My solution to the neighbor & the dog? Walk out with a plastic bag in hand and say sweetly “Oh, did you need a plastic bag for that? I have an extra.” And hand it to her. Repeat as necessary - tap her on the shoulder, act sugary sweet every time. Then go back home and roar with laughter. It works, I’ve tried it.
And oh, thank goodness for sweet furry pets that rub the anger and the tiredness away.
August 13th, 2007 at 9:29 pm
I hate it when I become an asshole because everyone else is an asshole. Or…is everyone else an asshole because of me? Hmmmmm….
In any case, I’m glad I’m not alone. Love the sleeping kitty, by the way.
August 14th, 2007 at 8:29 am
Meno makes me laugh.
And thank god for pets - they don’t care, they just want to love on you and be loved.
The drawering - is it pastel? - is fab.
August 14th, 2007 at 8:44 pm
Wayfarer, in reality, your approach is the best, my approach is mostly a fantasy to bring a smile to my face, not that I wouldn’t seriously consider chasing owner and dog down the street with a garden hose
Pets are the best companions. I think they have a better understanding of loyalty than many humans.
sari, it’s as elusive as searching for the meaning of life. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? And thank you.
QT, If my life were a sitcom, it would have played out exactly as meno described it. Pets also want to be fed, or so says the plump tuxedo cat who is rubbing against my leg. The drawing is conte crayon. It’s a little waxier than pastel.
And thank you.
August 15th, 2007 at 8:36 pm
*snort* Wayfarer’s a genius.
Pet souls. That’s going to keep me up tonight. O and I were actually just discussing that a few evenings ago.
August 16th, 2007 at 2:07 pm
Nancy,Wayfarer’s maturity level exceeds mine by leaps and bounds. The first time I heard the bit about souls I was about seven. It kept me awake until my twenties. Now, I just wonder if we ever REALLY know anything.
August 16th, 2007 at 11:50 pm
meno made me laugh out loud. the vitrol!
and wayfara had the best thought. so ditto.
August 19th, 2007 at 6:18 pm
jen, yep meno’s solution is my fantasy, and wayfarer’s will be my reality, should I catch the culprit in the future.
August 21st, 2007 at 2:13 pm
Love your drawing! I am a watercolor artist and do a lot of pet portraits.
August 22nd, 2007 at 6:42 pm
judy, thanks for visiting. I’m a fine artist by education, but something of a philanderer of media. Your watercolors are very nice. You have an eye for composition, and a command of the media. I’ve always struggled not to overwork them.