A Puggle's Perspective

Puggle log: day 539 – the winter of my discontent has, thus far, not been made lighter. The very small one has become larger than me and now throws dangerous objects at me…I believe this to be on purpose.

 It started so many months ago. The man and the fat one left in the middle of the night, I was all alone. Thankfully Papa Don rescued me from my solitude and I lived two glorious weeks as his companion. When I was returned, the fat one was moderately less fat. The man was grumpy. And they had brought that tiny creature into our house. It has mostly destroyed my life. For many weeks it emitted a terrible screeching noise. This prompted the most terrifying sound from the moderately less fat one’s mouth hole. A horrible shushing sound. The only way to escape it was to creep slowly backwards out of the room. I took refuge for many nights in my room. I had hoped the man and I would move into a downtown loft but, no.

The tiny creature, I have come to understand, is one of them. It now sits in a chair and shares its food with me several times a day. For this, I will silently endure the throwing of very dangerous objects I referenced earlier. It moves around now, delicately, on two legs. It smells constantly of milk and fish crackers. And poop. Delicious.

The man and the other one don’t take me out to eat dead worms as much as they used to. They tell me to be quiet and go to bed and not knock over the very small one or hump his toys – even in good fun. Preposterous! I am waiting patiently for life to return to its former glory. Until then, I will continue to drag my bum across their carpet and lick my paws for hours in the middle of the night.

 

Thinking About: Guilt

I love my in-laws. I’m fortunate that Kris’ parents are kind people who love their sons and the women who married them. Judy told me one time after reading my blog that I could write for Chatelaine and, while I don’t read Chatelaine and only really know it as a reference in a K.D. Lang song, it was sweet of her to say. She requested a web log entry about guilt. So here it goes.

Women have a sixth sense. I’m not talking paranormal ESP or whatever (though I totally believe in that). I mean that in addition to sight, smell, taste, touch and hearing, we also have guilt. It is an “ability” that generally revolves around our families. For example, ten years ago when my grandma was in the final weeks of her life in City Hospital, I didn’t help her out of her chair and into bed because I was afraid she would fall. I called for a nurse and it took like an hour for someone to come help me put her in bed. She was in pain and wanted to lay down and I blew it. She’s been gone a decade and I still hold on to that moment, feeling like a shit for not just doing it. Especially because I know my sister would have done it in an instant.

I feel guilty for asking Kris to move across the country twice. I feel guilty for feeling so much rage towards Max when he was newborn and wouldn’t stop crying. I feel guilty that I haven’t been able to stop him from falling in the tub FIVE times. I feel guilty that he eats processed food sometimes and that he goes to daycare for nine hours a day while I work. Then I feel guilty for not being at work when he has a fever of 40 degrees. I imagine that this will just continue to accumulate over the years as I hone my “ability” until I either reach an age where I can’t remember how do it, or I die.

The unfortunate thing about this kind of guilt (not applicable to criminal guilt, obviously) is that it serves us no purpose whatsoever except to make us feel rotten. I’m trying to get rid of it but it keeps hanging in there. For the most part, I’m a good person who makes relatively informed choices. Intellectually, I know this. Emotionally, I sometimes don’t feel it. Some days I succeed at being a good parent, sister, daughter and wife. Some days I fail miserably. The point is, when we die and whatever happens thereafter, it really won’t matter how many hotdogs we fed our kids or how many times we didn’t answer the phone. We’ll be too busy haunting the crap out the ones we left behind. Well I will be. If you just want to go float around in space, that’s fine too.

Thinking About: Skateboards

The other day, while Kris ran into Midtown to buy some G.I. Joe DVDs, Max and I sat in the car and waited. We parked on Pacific Avenue right beside the YMCA. In the 10 minutes we were parked I watched in amusement as three teenaged boys of varying sizes attempted what I can only assume were ollies on their well-used and stickered skateboards. They looked like they were having a good time and I admired their commitment to practicing this move over and over, despite being quite bad at it. Then, more teenaged boys arrived with their skateboards…and then some more. The little group grew to a whole nest of sweaty pimples in a matter of minutes. I found it fascinating to watch them roll up and down the sidewalk, cheering each other on in that blasé teenage way. I think what I liked most about their unintended show was how much exercise they seemed to be getting. I don’t know why the police and city officials give these boys such a hard time. They weren’t harassing anyone or stealing anything. They were getting some cardio. They should have been wearing helmets, but, other than that, it was a pretty inoffensive workout.  

Thinking About: Bossiness

Sometimes I get bossed around – my boss obviously does this (mostly in a fatherly way). Kris bosses me into doing things I don’t want to do, like eating breakfast and putting my clothes away. Max and Griff are bosses in their own right, non-verbally forcing me to scratch, feed, reach items, read the same book 2,000 times etc. I accept all of these happily, for the most part. I don’t care for people that try to boss everyone else about what that should or shouldn’t post photos of on their social media pages though. I don’t give a shit that you don’t give a shit about how cute my kid looks. I don’t post pictures of my kid or my dog hoping that I’ll convince some childless or dogless person of the merits of procreation and animal companionship. I post them because I like them and some of the people that I know also like them. If you are offended by instagram, don’t look at it. It’s really really simple to avoid. I have a deathly allergy to Advil. Like I literally will die if I ingest it and don’t seek treatment immediately. But I don’t go around knocking Advil and telling people they’re dumb for taking it because, hey, some people like the anti-inflammatory qualities of ibuprofen and, really, it’s pretty easy for me to avoid. The internet has allowed basically anyone that is fortunate enough to have computer or mobile device to create a public archive of their life. I think that’s cool. I like less judging and more accepting (or ignoring). And my dog is the best and my kid is the smartest.