Trick or Treat!

"Does this suit make my head look big?"



"Hey, who gave me a Cadbury egg??"

Ticken Yiddo

I discovered over the weekend that the mancub did not yet have a Halloween costume. "But honey!" I cried to poor T-Bone. "He has to have a Halloween costume! All the other little kids at daycare will have one and he'll feel left out!"

So yesterday I definitely had "Acquire a Halloween Costume" on my to-do list. Dr. K has also suggested that we could dress up, which I thought sounded like a fun idea, so I had to find a little something for myself as well. When a patient came in rhapsodizing about how she'd found an adorable lion costume for twelve bucks at the Old Navy across the street, I made a mental note to check it out.

After my shift, I drove across the street (I only drove because I have to cut through that shopping center to get home anyway). I quickly found the Halloween costume section but naturally the pickins' were a little slim. Really the only two costumes I could find in the mancub's size were a pumpkin and a chicken. I thought a pumpkin might be kind of boring but I wasn't sure what the mancub or his father would think of the chicken costume.

After all, what might it mean to a boy's fragile psyche to dress up as a chicken? Might I be condemning him to a lifetime of dead-end jobs?



Then again, I told myself, it could be worse. What if he turned out to be a blood-flinging wack-job?



With a little trepidation, I bought the chicken costume ($11.61!) and headed home.

Yspyg and I took an hour-long nap, I tidied up and then I had a massage client at 7:00 so I began the long task of gathering all my paraphernalia and getting it down to the car. Just as I was downloading directions and about to head out, T-Bone and the mancub arrived home. The mancub made a beeline for me. He crawled up in my lap and started to suck his thumb - he seems to like me okay. I hope I don't screw that up too bad. I asked him about his day and then I said, "I have a special prize for Daddy. It's on top of the television. Why don't you go give it to him?"

He hopped down and ran to the television, where he quickly found a CD box. I had given T-Bone a double CD of Marvin Gaye hits a few holidays ago - T-Bone LOVES Marvin Gaye - and it had been missing for a l o n g time, almost a year. We had both searched everywhere. Well, my attempts to gather massage music had found me with my arm stuffed down behind the CD stand, where I discovered Marvin Gaye wedged like a splinter between two pieces of pressboard. I slowly wriggled the CD out and displayed it for T-Bone to see first thing.

When T-Bone saw his CD, his eyes lit up. "My Marvin Gaye!" he crowed, cradling it. "Oh, my Marvin Gaye!" He did a crazy little wiggle dance and clasped it to his chest.

The mancub laughed. "I have a surprise for you, too," I told him.

"Where?!" asked T-Bone.

"In the bedroom. On the closet door."

They both thundered back to the bedroom. I was nervous. I hoped they wouldn't think it was silly - it was the best I could do.

There was a moment of silence. Then I heard T-Bone say in a strained voice, "What's this? Oh, a . . . chicken." A beat. Then the mancub said excitedly, "Chicken Little!" Well, it sounded more like "Ticken Yiddo!" But you get the idea. I had completely forgotten that the mancub loves Chicken Little. I got up from the couch and peeked around the corner. He was fingering the bright orange felt chicken legs lovingly.

"Ticken Yiddo!" he said reverently.

"That's right!" T-Bone told him. Assuming this had been my grand plan all along, he said, "You're Auntie did so well! Did you tell her thank you?"

The mancub tumbled out of the bedroom. "Auntie, Auntie! Tank you for my Ticken Yiddo!"

"You're so welcome!" I told him, giving him a big hug. I slowly separated myself from my men and headed happily off to my massage.

After all, you could do a lot worse than having a movie star in the family.

Happy Halloween!

Halloween is here! In celebration of this most excellent holiday, I thought I would share this video featuring Koopa, one of my favorite contemporary artists. First here's a sampling of his work:

And here's Koopa!

Runaway

It is still cold. In fact, it is colder today than it was on Friday. Dr. K has left to go buy a space heater, which I imagine will not be used to heat the space behind my desk. Whatever.

Very busy weekend. Lots of mancub madness. Yesterday I ran away from home. Well, not really. T-Bone took the mancub out for some man-time and I used the opportunity to run over to my mom's house where Gypsy and I took a breather from the non-stop commotion caused by constantly having to say, "Stop jumping up and down - people live beneath us. Stop bouncing the ball on the television. Stop throwing the ball as hard as you can against the floor. Stop pulling the dog's legs. Stop chasing the dog. Stop jumping on the couch. Stop jumping on the bed. Stop trying to jump off the balcony. Stop peeing in the bath water. Stop drinking the bath water. Lift the toilet seat. Put the toilet seat down. Wipe. Flush. Wash your hands. (pause for five minutes of running water) Stop washing your hands. It's time to eat, let's sit down. Sit. SIT!"

. . . and on and on and on. I woke up yesterday with a sore throat and I thought I might be getting sick but it was probably just sore from my non-stop yammering. I don't think we're being TOO restrictive. We're not marshalling him around or expecting him to sit there like Little Lord Fauntleroy lisping platitudes. But at the same time, we live in an apartment building. We share our walls and floors with other families, families who have always been very tolerant but might not enjoy the constant pounding on their ceiling at 6:00 AM or shrieking renditions of "The Jungle Book" playbook at top decibel for forty-five minutes, with occasional interjections of cannon fire as the mancub pretends to blow his toys to smithereens. If we lived in a single-family home, we'd let him jump up and down until he collapsed, but until then we have to be a little less understanding of his boyish exuberance, which kind of sucks.

Fortunately, he does take plenty of breaks from the exploding cigar routine. He'll crawl up on the couch beside me and just play with his matchbox car while we chat, or he'll doze. He's pretty good at letting us sleep late, too. He'll lie in bed and just snuggle for a long time before he prods you and tells you, "Get up, lazybones!"

But by Sunday afternoon, I had pretty much had it. I tossed the dog in the car and we headed over to Grandma's house.

We went around to the backyard first and Crazy Aunt Sundance greeted us. The two dogs bounced around for awhile and my mom caught sight of my dog's boobs. Now I may not have mentioned this previously but my dog has huge nipples sprouting from pretty much everywhere a boob can sprout. She has long stretchy black udder-like nipples and weird little pink nipples that look just like human boobs. I mistook one of her littler boobs for a tick and tugged and tugged, even tried to get the vet to "pluck" it. The vet was like, "Uh, this is a nipple."

"But it's in her armpit!" I exclaimed.

"Yeah, well," the vet nodded, surveying my dog's tummy. "She has a lot of boobs."

Anyway, so her doting grandmother told her she needed a bra. Next time she'll probably run a finger down her back to see if she's wearing one. Oy.

Grandma totally corrupted her by feeding her freeze-dried chicken strips and nylabone "chewies" made of compressed something-I-don't-want-to-know-what and an entire can of fancy meaty dog food with her dinner. I wasn't complaining, though, as one of Mom's Toasted Almonds took me to a happy place.

By the time I got home yesterday, the mancub was already in bed. T-Bone was cooking a stew for the next couple of days. I "helped" by chopping carrots while watching the end of "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" and crying at the boy who built a solar heater when he was thirteen so his family wouldn't have to use coal heat anymore and his sister the epileptic wouldn't have asthmatic fits from the smoke and they didn't even have running water and they had tires on the roof to keep the roof from blowing away and . . . Oh no, I'm getting all verklempt! (sob)

Anyway, so we cooked some stew and went blissfully to sleep.

COLD

So Dr. K is in Atlanta right now, which is great except for one little thing . . .

HOW DO YOU TURN THE FREAKING HEAT ON?!

I am cold. I am finding it difficult to do my work because I am cold. I am staring dumbly at the computer screen thinking that even the boring tedious tasks that comprise my work would be more fun than sitting here being cold.

I jogged around the office. I sang some show tunes. I burnt my tongue drinking really hot coffee, which gave me goosebumps, which made me feel . . . you guessed it. Cold.

I called Dr. K and left a message asking if she would be okay with my turning the heat on and if so, does she know how to do it? I tried but the techno-thermostat thingy has blithely ignored all my machinations and stubbornly refuses to turn on.

It's getting cold in here

So cold

So go and blow your nose

I am sniffling so bad, I wanna chop my nose off

Yeah, I know, I need some remedial Hip Hop 101.

Brrr . . . .

Is Gypsy a French Girl?

So I have a page-a-day calendar that features a new photo of a dog every day. Today when I went to change the photo, I was startled to find a familiar face staring back at me.

Looks a lot like my little girl, no?

The notation in the corner said Papillon.

The Papillon, which means butterfly in French, is a toy breed that I don't know very much about. All I really knew was that that they had the huge fringed ears that had given them their name.

So I decided to do a little research. Were Papillons known for their prey drive? Did they like to chase things? Were they known to be social or a little reserved around strangers?

Here is what I learned:

Often called the "Butterfly Dog" because of its fringed ears that resemble a butterfly's outspread wings, the Papillon ("Pappy-Yon") is one of the oldest purebred Toys. It appears in paintings in Italy as far back as the 15th century. In France the court ladies and royal children were frequently painted with a Toy Spaniel pet, as the breed was then known. As the merchant class in the Low Countries (modem Belgium and Holland) became wealthy, the little dwarf spaniel appeared in many family scenes. Gradually painters all over Europe were portraying them. These Toy Spaniels had drooping ears, but otherwise the prettiest of them were unmistakably the same breed we have today. The dropped ear variety is known as the Phalène (which is a French word pronounced "fah-LEN"), named for a moth that droops its wings, to distinguish it from the erect-eared modern variety-the Papillon or Butterfly dog.

With its unusual ears, waving tail plume, and flowing coat, the Papillon is a standout. It possesses what has been termed "sensible glamour" because the owner does not have to become a slave to preserve its beauty. The Papillon has no doggy odor and its silky coat is not prone to matting. However, Papillons love to be clean and bathing is easy; they wash like an orlon sweater! They have no undercoat to shed out twice a year as with most long-haired breeds and the resilient coat texture sheds dirt and dry grass with the touch of a brush. The pet Papillon requires no trimming of the coat, although the bottoms and sides of the feet can be trimmed for a more tidy appearance (this is usually done for the show ring).

The possibilities for color and markings are very nearly unlimited so you will find no two Papillons are exactly alike. For the show ring, they are always parti-color or white with patches of any color(s), with color covering both ears and extending over both eyes. Patches of color on the body may be of any size or shape, and of any color including black, tricolor, red, orange, tan, and sable. A symmetrical white blaze and noseband are preferred on the face but not essential for prize winning.

Their height at the top of the shoulder blade averages 8" to 12" This is the height range allowed in dog show competition (with over 11" as a fault, and over 12" as a disqualification), but smaller and larger individuals do occur infrequently. The Papillon Standard does not mention weight, but they should be height/weight proportional (typically weighing between 3 and 9 pounds). The delicate tinies can serve as exquisite companions for senior citizens, while the oversized ones with larger, stronger bones make delightful additions to active families with well-behaved children.

The Papillon is generally outgoing and friendly, although how extroverted it will be with strangers varies with how it was raised. Both males and females make equally suitable pets, and of course, should always be neutered or spayed if not destined for the dog show ring. Papillons are generally very social with other animals, and make wonderful companions to other dogs--and cats too. A word of warning though--they ignore all size differential and will entice much larger dogs to play, often with disastrous results. Their preference is to be with people, not only to be cuddled in a lap, but to accompany walks, car trips, TV watching etc.

Papillons are active, lively dogs, although generally not nervous or yappy. They might alert you when someone is at the door but should quiet down immediately when that person has been admitted as a friend. Most Papillons retain their puppy playfulness to some degree throughout their lives. They travel well (car-sickness is rare), and enjoy the attention they draw wherever they go. A Papillon can change homes at any age and if suitably placed, will adjust happily.
This is a relatively healthy breed. Although it cannot claim absolutely no genetic problems (no breed and no species of animal is entirely free of harmful genes) but in comparison with many breeds, the Papillon seems to have no serious problems widespread throughout the population. They are seldom finicky eaters but are not prone to obesity. Contrary to popular belief, they should not grow fat or change their personality after being spayed or neutered.

The Papillon is not considered to be a rare breed, although it is far from common. For 1998 it ranked 52nd (among 145 breeds) with 2,914 new registrations with the American Kennel Club. With growing popularity, regrettably, increased numbers are being produced in "puppy mills" for distribution to pet shops. Luckily, it is still mostly bred by knowledgeable fanciers devoted to protecting its interests and producing stock that is sound of mind and body.

The Papillon's popularity also has grown at the dog shows because they are easy for novice exhibitors to groom and handle. They also are known to "show themselves" and will catch the judge's eyes by dancing happily on the lead with ears held erect at attention and tail plume waving. Their "trainability" ranks extraordinarily high, enhanced by a strong desire to please; thus, they are rapidly becoming sought after as obedience competition dogs. In comparison to the more common large breeds found in the obedience trials, the Papillon's small size, lively action, and intense attention to their handler always draw a crowd of spectators to ringside. It is one of five top breeds in obedience competition when all its scores and titles are factored in with its registration figures. It has been discovered that the Papillon has exceptional abilities in tracking (following a human scent) and agility (maneuvering a canine obstacle course).

The breed also is ideal for service as Hearing Ear Dogs for the deaf and hearing impaired and therapy dogs (visiting hospitals and nursing homes). They also do FULL mobility work, and do it as well as the big guys!

It is often said that the Papillon is a big dog in a little dog's body. They can do virtually all that a larger dog can do, but with less effort, upkeep, and space requirements. Truly, their unique beauty goes far beyond their glorious ears!

It all sounds a lot like my baby dog. Maybe I've found her dominant breed!

Drive-By

The weekend approaches. Dinner with my mom on Saturday, Agent Ya-Ya's birthday on Sunday. Good stuff.

Last week the mancub came over. He had a really bad cold, poor little guy. He couldn't sleep Friday or Saturday night because he was coughing so much. Seemed to be feeling better by Monday, though. I caught the cold and have been a little sniffly and coughy, but really nowhere near as sick as I thought I was going to be on Monday. That's when I started getting the aches and slightly sore throat that usually mean a full-blown cold is coming on, but for whatever reason, it hasn't materialized. I am going to chalk it up to chiropractic because that is the only thing I am doing differently, at least the only thing that is good for me. :-)

Dr. K is going to Atlanta next week so I will have the office to myself on Thursday and Friday! Yowsa!

Please send out more positive energy as the hiring manager who will be reviewing T-Bone's resume will be returning from Cameroon tomorrow. All fingers, toes, intestines are crossed!

Yesterday I got off of work around 12:30 and the little dog and I went and sat on a grassy hillock in front of my apartment and just hung out. She's still on restricted movement so we couldn't go for a walk, but she's a young dog and she gets bored being cooped up in the house all day. She sniffed the air and watched the birds and tried to kill a squirrel or two. Bad dog.

While I was sitting there, a car passing on Connectinut screeched to a halt. A dark black man was waving inside. At first I thought he was waving to someone on the sidewalk but when I looked, I saw that there was no one. Then I realized that he was waving at me.

I thought maybe he was some friend of T-Bone's that I met at a party once three years ago and had no recollection of, but he remembered me because I'm so white. Happens a lot. So I strolled down to the sidewalk and peered into the car.

"Do you live around here?" the guy asked. Oh, so maybe he needs directions, I thought.

"Mm-hmm," I answered.

"Oh," he continued, "because I live across here," indicating the apartment complex on the other side of the street, "and I saw you and I thought, 'I've never seen this person here before.'" He flashed a hopeful grin.

I have to admit, I had an uncharitable response to this clumsy line. Part of me was like, (sigh) LOSER! and part of me thought, Why would you have seen me around here before? There are only, oh, a thousand people wandering around this neighborhood. Leave me alone and let me enjoy the day.

But instead I asked him where he was from. When he said, "Sierra Leone," I said, "Oh, my husband's from Cameroon! Okay, have a nice day!" I turned around and walked away. I thought later that that might have been rude but it didn't occur to me at the time. In my mind I was just done with him.

He sat there for a moment before driving away. Weird, right?