Animal behaviorists and other scientific types frequently tell us not to anthropomorphize our animals; they assure us that our pets do not feel human-type emotions. For the most part I agree, but from time to time my dogs exhibit behaviors that I cannot explain any other way. For instance when, in the heat of a southern Virginia summer, I would bring a bucket of ice water outside for the dogs and in the midst of lapping enthusiastically, Maggie would pause, raise her head and gently lick my hand for a few moments before returning to the water bowl, how can one interpret that other than, "Thanks, Mom, this is great!"?
Today was a particularly poignant example, however. Our dogs are crate-trained. If you have or know any dogs who are, you know that they can get quite territorial about their crates. I always compare it to a teen-ager and his or her bedroom. It is THEIR space, inviolate, and they resent any intrusion by anyone. If I should dare to vacuum up the extreme amount of hair that either of our mutts has shed in their little patch of heaven, they insist upon rushing in the moment I am finished, sniffing intently, as if I might have left something behind that might not meet with their approval.
So it was intriguing when, last week, TJ proceeded to lay down in Maggie's crate. Amazing enough not just that he would do it, but that she did not object. I studied this tableau for some time before I realized that her crate was directly in the line of a warm and friendly sunbeam pouring in the sliding doors on a bitterly cold winter day. How sweet of her to give him this little privilege! But the best was yet to come. Today she was comfortably curled up in her crate, enjoying said sunbeam on an even colder day. Poor TJ just couldn't find a place to be comfortable, pacing back and forth across the family room, searching for the perfect place to lie down, until finally Maggie got up, walked out of her crate and over to TJ, nudged his ear gently with her nose and came to lie by the sofa near me, while TJ once again proceeded into her crate to curl up in the sun.
She is far from a perfect dog, but today I feel completely humbled in her presence.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Poor Simple B@$#@&d
One beautiful spring day many years ago, I was driving on the NYS Thruway. I was a Toll Supervisor on the road, driving their car with their radio. Not quite a police radio, but the same sort of effect. I came across a Mercedes broken down by the side of the road and a driver with a completely befuddled look on his face. I radioed in to the dispatcher that roadside assistance was needed. And since I wasn't in a big hurry to get to my next stop, I stayed and chatted with him for a little while as he waited for the tow truck.
Turned out he had just recently relocated from Manhattan to New Jersey. He had met and married a lovely divorced lady with a couple of kids and he just wanted to give them a real suburban Brady Bunch kind of life. Kinda sweet, really. And the disabled Mercedes, which he'd bought used, was his very first car. He'd only had his driver's license for a couple of years. He kept looking at the car and shaking his head. "I don't understand what could have gone wrong" he said, several times. Being the daughter of a mechanic, I tried to be kind and quiet the first couple of times, but finally I couldn't hold back any longer. "When was the last time you checked the oil?" I asked gently. He looked at me, totally perplexed, and repeated as if it was the first time he'd ever heard the word, "Oil?"
It's been over 20 years, and I still feel bad for him. I laugh every time I tell the story, though.
Turned out he had just recently relocated from Manhattan to New Jersey. He had met and married a lovely divorced lady with a couple of kids and he just wanted to give them a real suburban Brady Bunch kind of life. Kinda sweet, really. And the disabled Mercedes, which he'd bought used, was his very first car. He'd only had his driver's license for a couple of years. He kept looking at the car and shaking his head. "I don't understand what could have gone wrong" he said, several times. Being the daughter of a mechanic, I tried to be kind and quiet the first couple of times, but finally I couldn't hold back any longer. "When was the last time you checked the oil?" I asked gently. He looked at me, totally perplexed, and repeated as if it was the first time he'd ever heard the word, "Oil?"
It's been over 20 years, and I still feel bad for him. I laugh every time I tell the story, though.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Turtle Toy
I let our dogs out this morning and left them out for about an hour, pretty much standard procedure. Maggie comes rushing back in, in her usual state of high excitement, with TJ following in a state of much more excitement than usual. Ordinarily, he's more of a plodder, but this morning he's dancing around as much as she is. That's when I noticed that he had something in his mouth, something rather large. When he noticed me looking at it curiously, he proudly dropped it at my feet and rushed off to his breakfast. It took a few seconds to register that what I was looking at was a turtle shell. With blood on it. Just eeewww.
I knew I had to get it out of there before the dogs finished their breakfast, or they were going to put up a bit of resistance to me taking it away. So I grabbed a plastic grocery bag and scooped it up (only touching the thing through the plastic, of course) and took it outside. And in a split second it occurred to me that it might not actually be dead. Perhaps he had done exactly what turtles do to protect themselves and withdrawn into his shell. The blood could very well be TJ's, the result of gnawing on the shell trying to get to the gooey delight inside. Seems like a huge long-shot, but how to know? The thought of a live turtle trapped at the bottom of our garbage can was troubling.
So rather than throwing the "carcass" in the garbage can, I placed the bag on the ground beside the can, turned over on its side. Fast forward a couple of hours, and I go back outside to peek at the back, fully expecting to see a very dead turtle in a plastic bag next to the can. And I find.... nothing. No bag, no turtle. It took a few moments of poking around for me to find the plastic bag, now empty, halfway down the driveway. At first I'm feeling all clever and noble, thinking the turtle walked out of the bag and down the driveway, dragging the bag behind it. Still a possibility. But then I got to wondering if perhaps another neighborhood dog wandered into the yard and fished a nice little treasure out of the bag. So now I'm bummed out, but maybe without reason. I mean, there are not a lot of dogs wandering loose in our neighborhood; it's an upscale area where everyone's very big on fences and leash laws. So I'm going to choose to believe that there's one really lucky turtle out there. I'm going to choose to feel clever and noble, and grateful that the turtle was smart enough to take advantage of a second chance. Nobody gets to feel that way often enough, right?
I knew I had to get it out of there before the dogs finished their breakfast, or they were going to put up a bit of resistance to me taking it away. So I grabbed a plastic grocery bag and scooped it up (only touching the thing through the plastic, of course) and took it outside. And in a split second it occurred to me that it might not actually be dead. Perhaps he had done exactly what turtles do to protect themselves and withdrawn into his shell. The blood could very well be TJ's, the result of gnawing on the shell trying to get to the gooey delight inside. Seems like a huge long-shot, but how to know? The thought of a live turtle trapped at the bottom of our garbage can was troubling.
So rather than throwing the "carcass" in the garbage can, I placed the bag on the ground beside the can, turned over on its side. Fast forward a couple of hours, and I go back outside to peek at the back, fully expecting to see a very dead turtle in a plastic bag next to the can. And I find.... nothing. No bag, no turtle. It took a few moments of poking around for me to find the plastic bag, now empty, halfway down the driveway. At first I'm feeling all clever and noble, thinking the turtle walked out of the bag and down the driveway, dragging the bag behind it. Still a possibility. But then I got to wondering if perhaps another neighborhood dog wandered into the yard and fished a nice little treasure out of the bag. So now I'm bummed out, but maybe without reason. I mean, there are not a lot of dogs wandering loose in our neighborhood; it's an upscale area where everyone's very big on fences and leash laws. So I'm going to choose to believe that there's one really lucky turtle out there. I'm going to choose to feel clever and noble, and grateful that the turtle was smart enough to take advantage of a second chance. Nobody gets to feel that way often enough, right?
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Got Wood?
I know that sounds dirty. But I'm actually going to talk about wood, or at least comparisons to wood. And a 25-year marriage.
Once upon a time, many years ago, I was dating 2 guys simultaneously. Both great guys in their own ways, both smart, funny and interesting. This was before anyone had heard of AIDS, so I was sleeping with both of them. Pete was a lot more volatile, and so was I. So there were regular blow-ups, huge fights, followed by extraordinary make-up sex. Big Guy was a lot more solid, calmer, patient as a saint, with a great job and a real future. And although they weren't acquainted, they knew about each other. I couldn't decide which one of them to stick it out with. I was just waiting for one of them to ask me to stop seeing the other, but neither of them ever did. I finally had to make a decision.
Ever have a fireplace? People who don't have one don't usually know about the differences between different kinds of wood. Pine, for instance, catches fire fairly easily and burns very hot. It sparks and pops and crackles, and the flames turn all sorts of beautiful colors. As these things go, pine can be a very exciting fire to sit by. But it burns really fast, and then it goes out just as quickly as it started. Oak on the other hand, takes a lot more work to get burning. It builds up to a pretty good heat, but it takes quite a while to get there. You don't get the theatrics you get with pine, no popping or crackling, not very colorful. But once you've gotten it started, it burns fore-freakin'-EVER. Hours and hours. Not terribly exciting, but you'll stay warm, hot even, all night long.
I was explaining that to a friend who had lived his whole life in apartments when I realized I was dating Pine and Oak. The next weekend, I told Pine that he would always have a place in my heart (and he does), but not a place in my future. And 9 months after that, I married Oak. It hasn't always been easy. I'll admit there were times when I wanted to quit, but he wouldn't let me. But he's surprised me with plenty of unexpected excitement along the way. We'll be celebrating our 25th anniversary this fall. And he still keeps me warm. That's one long-burning fire. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Once upon a time, many years ago, I was dating 2 guys simultaneously. Both great guys in their own ways, both smart, funny and interesting. This was before anyone had heard of AIDS, so I was sleeping with both of them. Pete was a lot more volatile, and so was I. So there were regular blow-ups, huge fights, followed by extraordinary make-up sex. Big Guy was a lot more solid, calmer, patient as a saint, with a great job and a real future. And although they weren't acquainted, they knew about each other. I couldn't decide which one of them to stick it out with. I was just waiting for one of them to ask me to stop seeing the other, but neither of them ever did. I finally had to make a decision.
Ever have a fireplace? People who don't have one don't usually know about the differences between different kinds of wood. Pine, for instance, catches fire fairly easily and burns very hot. It sparks and pops and crackles, and the flames turn all sorts of beautiful colors. As these things go, pine can be a very exciting fire to sit by. But it burns really fast, and then it goes out just as quickly as it started. Oak on the other hand, takes a lot more work to get burning. It builds up to a pretty good heat, but it takes quite a while to get there. You don't get the theatrics you get with pine, no popping or crackling, not very colorful. But once you've gotten it started, it burns fore-freakin'-EVER. Hours and hours. Not terribly exciting, but you'll stay warm, hot even, all night long.
I was explaining that to a friend who had lived his whole life in apartments when I realized I was dating Pine and Oak. The next weekend, I told Pine that he would always have a place in my heart (and he does), but not a place in my future. And 9 months after that, I married Oak. It hasn't always been easy. I'll admit there were times when I wanted to quit, but he wouldn't let me. But he's surprised me with plenty of unexpected excitement along the way. We'll be celebrating our 25th anniversary this fall. And he still keeps me warm. That's one long-burning fire. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Is it just me?
Is anybody else out there wondering if Lady Gaga is actually a guy in drag?
Seriously, look at her. She's not masculine looking or anything, but if you stare at her and try to imagine her as a guy, it works. Easily. For a long time I was completely convinced, because the outrageous costumes seemed custom designed to hide an adam's apple, but I've seen her a bit recently dressed in relatively (more or less) "normal" clothing in which there did not seem to be the tell-tale bump. But I'm still suspicious.
Seriously, look at her. She's not masculine looking or anything, but if you stare at her and try to imagine her as a guy, it works. Easily. For a long time I was completely convinced, because the outrageous costumes seemed custom designed to hide an adam's apple, but I've seen her a bit recently dressed in relatively (more or less) "normal" clothing in which there did not seem to be the tell-tale bump. But I'm still suspicious.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
WTF Hollywood?
Are we raising kids so stupid that they can't memorize lines anymore? Or is it that today's kids are so obsessed with becoming famous that becoming actors and actresses is too much work for them? Or is there an exchange program going on that is unknown to those of us not in the business? Are British, Scottish and Australian television populated with talented Americans doing nearly flawless accents of their adopted countries?
I realize that most people are blissfully unaware of this trend, and maybe it's just that I don't necessarily watch the most popular shows on TV. But I watch good shows which are generally at least moderately popular. Seriously, go to IMDB and check the cast of your favorite hour drama, see if you can find one that doesn't have an undercover Brit, Aussie, New Zealander or Scot.
We are all aware of Hugh Laurie as House. But how about the recently cancelled Law & Order? Linus Roache as ADA Michael Cutter. Grey's Anatomy? Kevin McKidd as Dr. Owen Hunt. True Blood - Anna Paquin as Sooky Stackhouse, Stephen Moyer as Bill Compton, Sam Trammell as Sam Merlotte, and Alexander Skarsgard as Eric Northam (okay, so he's Swedish). Chuck - Yvonne Strahovski as Sarah Walker. The Good Wife - Alan Cumming as Eli Gold. The Mentalist - Simon Baker as Patrick Jane. FlashForward - Joseph Fiennes as Mark Benford and Sonya Walger as Dr. Olivia Benford. And those are just shows I watch. I didn't bother to look into shows of which I am not a viewer. Oh, and I didn't even count the portrayals where the Brits are actually playing Brits, just the ones where they're playing Yanks. And I'm not even getting into the movies. But let us acknowledge that Charlize Theron, Colin Firth, Naomi Watts, and Kate Beckinsale are not Americans.
So, what's the deal? Is there some amazing shortage of American actors out there? Are all those stories we've heard about starving artists who can't find work just fables? Because it seems Hollywood is being forced to import immigrants (and if they make any shows in Arizona, are they checking the green cards and work visas on these people?) to do jobs that Americans are seemingly unwilling to take. Or maybe these foreign actors are so grateful to escape the oppressively liberal regimes of England, Scotland, Australia, New Zealand that they're willing to work for wages that our American actors would be unwilling to accept?
I realize that most people are blissfully unaware of this trend, and maybe it's just that I don't necessarily watch the most popular shows on TV. But I watch good shows which are generally at least moderately popular. Seriously, go to IMDB and check the cast of your favorite hour drama, see if you can find one that doesn't have an undercover Brit, Aussie, New Zealander or Scot.
We are all aware of Hugh Laurie as House. But how about the recently cancelled Law & Order? Linus Roache as ADA Michael Cutter. Grey's Anatomy? Kevin McKidd as Dr. Owen Hunt. True Blood - Anna Paquin as Sooky Stackhouse, Stephen Moyer as Bill Compton, Sam Trammell as Sam Merlotte, and Alexander Skarsgard as Eric Northam (okay, so he's Swedish). Chuck - Yvonne Strahovski as Sarah Walker. The Good Wife - Alan Cumming as Eli Gold. The Mentalist - Simon Baker as Patrick Jane. FlashForward - Joseph Fiennes as Mark Benford and Sonya Walger as Dr. Olivia Benford. And those are just shows I watch. I didn't bother to look into shows of which I am not a viewer. Oh, and I didn't even count the portrayals where the Brits are actually playing Brits, just the ones where they're playing Yanks. And I'm not even getting into the movies. But let us acknowledge that Charlize Theron, Colin Firth, Naomi Watts, and Kate Beckinsale are not Americans.
So, what's the deal? Is there some amazing shortage of American actors out there? Are all those stories we've heard about starving artists who can't find work just fables? Because it seems Hollywood is being forced to import immigrants (and if they make any shows in Arizona, are they checking the green cards and work visas on these people?) to do jobs that Americans are seemingly unwilling to take. Or maybe these foreign actors are so grateful to escape the oppressively liberal regimes of England, Scotland, Australia, New Zealand that they're willing to work for wages that our American actors would be unwilling to accept?
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Taking My Time
I tried blogging once, a few years ago. I didn't think anyone would be very interested in what I have to say (and I still doubt it). As a result, I wasn't very interested in saying very much. Did you know that if you don't post anything to a blog for several months, it gets shut down? Yeah, me neither. And Blogger won't let me have my own name back. I had that name for years online, dammit! But Socialized Hermit fits me pretty well, too.
I'm not anti-social or anything. I'm just not terribly social. I have friends. But I don't make new ones very easily. I've been abused too many times to start trusting people with my feelings. I've never felt I was really an "insider" in any group (with the notable exception of my marriage - admittedly a small group but I'm definitely a member). I've spent my whole life feeling like I was on the outside of everything peering in. I don't even fit into my own family.
I'm currently not working, and as a result, I can go days at a stretch without leaving my house, so I do some pretty strange combinations with food as I strive to avoid a trip to the grocery store. But I'm presently looking for a job, hence the "socialized" part of my handle. I've spent 6 years engaging in relatively infrequent human contact, but as I hurl myself back into the working world, I'm actually going to have to interact with real live people, and I'm sure I'll have more observations to make in the future than I did the last time I tried blogging.
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