The inspiration from this post comes from my the eighth grade friends I hung out with pretty much all day today. We had a cast party for our recent production of the Music Man, so I went over to the church we were holding it at immediately after school with three 8th grade girls. After we hung around there for a while, we went to Buffalo Wild Wings where our theatre department was holding a fundraiser. So here's why I think it's more fun to hang out with them than any of the other 9th graders in the cast: They. Have. More. Fun.
Instead of clumping about in little secluded groups and talking about stuff that nobody else really knows about, the 8th graders jump around and dance and joke inappropriately and all sorts of other immature things. I don't know why they appeal to me so much more, but it's probably because I joined theatre when I was in 8th grade and may just be used to the immature fun we have. Heck, we hung out on a playground talking about Glee for like half an hour. At BDubbs, this one kid found out that I hate the word moist and took one of the moist towelettes and waved it in my face yelling "MOIST MOIST MOIST MOIST MOIST!!!" The same kid was my out-of-the-loop buddy, because we were sitting at the end of the table and had no idea what anyone was talking about most of the time. When we got to the actual party, we hung around and tested our strength and played with hula hoops and such. We drank slushies out of jars and put duct tape over each other's mouths when nobody would shut up while we were watching the recording of the show. Tag was played, pictures making fun of Barbie people were taken, and a mini-rave was had. Overall, it was a successful night and I desperately need to go to bed. Bottom line: Immarurity makes everything fun. You're not cool if you're not enjoying yourself.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
I'm just in a literary mood.
I just finished reading The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls. All of you get off your butts THIS INSTANT, go to a library or a bookstore, and get a copy. You may not realize how lucky you are until you read this book. I'll try not to put any spoilers in here, but it's hard to spoil a memoir anyway. But if you really want to read and find things out for yourself, I suggest you stop reading right about now.
Jeannette Walls escaped her life very narrowly. Her father was a drunk, her mother was a self-proclaimed excitement addict, and she had several abusive family members growing up. She never really got to pinpoint an exact place to call her childhood home, though there are about three places where most of the story happens. In Battle Mountain, her father explores the idea of mining gold and building a Glass Castle for his family once he strikes it rich. Her grandmother left her mother a house in Phoenix that was the first real home they ever really owned. After her father progressively sank lower into his drunkenness, the family decided to move to Welch, West Virginia to live near her father's parents. Her grandmother, who demanded to be called Erma, was abusive to the children and banished them to the basement after getting in a fight with Jeannette's older sister. The family moved to a tiny shack in a sketchy neighborhood and just barely made it by, with their father often out for days on end and their mother refusing to be tied down in a job. Jeannette and her older sister Lori begin dreaming of life in New York. Eventually, they both make it there, closely followed by their younger brother Brian and younger sister Maureen. Both parents also end up in New York in an attempt to keep the family together, though they're usually at each other's throats. Jeannette manages to finish college and find work at a magazine and is happily married by the end of the book. What strikes me about this book is the conditions she often had to live in. She tells of her house in Welch as overcrowded and dangerous, with no electricity or heat. After a big rain, the house grew mold, part of the ceiling fell out, and the front stairs rotted through completely. What little food they had just went rancid most of the time, as they didn't have a fridge, and there's a story involving a canned ham and some maggots that makes my skin crawl. Her family ate what they could and went hungry most of the time.
Jeannette Walls is officially my hero. Seriously, go read this book.
Jeannette Walls escaped her life very narrowly. Her father was a drunk, her mother was a self-proclaimed excitement addict, and she had several abusive family members growing up. She never really got to pinpoint an exact place to call her childhood home, though there are about three places where most of the story happens. In Battle Mountain, her father explores the idea of mining gold and building a Glass Castle for his family once he strikes it rich. Her grandmother left her mother a house in Phoenix that was the first real home they ever really owned. After her father progressively sank lower into his drunkenness, the family decided to move to Welch, West Virginia to live near her father's parents. Her grandmother, who demanded to be called Erma, was abusive to the children and banished them to the basement after getting in a fight with Jeannette's older sister. The family moved to a tiny shack in a sketchy neighborhood and just barely made it by, with their father often out for days on end and their mother refusing to be tied down in a job. Jeannette and her older sister Lori begin dreaming of life in New York. Eventually, they both make it there, closely followed by their younger brother Brian and younger sister Maureen. Both parents also end up in New York in an attempt to keep the family together, though they're usually at each other's throats. Jeannette manages to finish college and find work at a magazine and is happily married by the end of the book. What strikes me about this book is the conditions she often had to live in. She tells of her house in Welch as overcrowded and dangerous, with no electricity or heat. After a big rain, the house grew mold, part of the ceiling fell out, and the front stairs rotted through completely. What little food they had just went rancid most of the time, as they didn't have a fridge, and there's a story involving a canned ham and some maggots that makes my skin crawl. Her family ate what they could and went hungry most of the time.
Jeannette Walls is officially my hero. Seriously, go read this book.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Bender Shorts
I was up until three in the morning because The Big Man* decided it needed to be 83 degrees in the midwest yesterday. So there I was, spending a perfectly excellent day concluding my spring break, when my brain refused to shut off. I'd even done chemistry** before bed, which is a surefire way to get me to sleep. I'd read more than enough of my book report book for English, listened to a section of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire on CD (for the eleventh time), and was imagining a lovely night's rest to prepare me for the 6:30 a.m. kick-off to my Monday. But. I. Couldn't. SLEEP. Why? WHYYYY???!?!? I really don't know. Let's just say that this was around 10:30/11ish, and you read in the first line that I was up til 3. For at least four and a half hours, I tried everything to get myself to fall asleep. I ate some pomegranate Greek yogurt. I read a significant amount of my book. I surfed the internet. Then, it hit me. Of course I couldn't fall asleep; my house is ancient and my bedroom is on the second floor where we have no air conditioning. The weather had been straight 50's and low 60's for the past couple of weeks, so it wasn't even close to fan season. And there I was, sweltering away in the unseasonal heat. I bared down to my Bender Shorts*** and a t-shirt, pulled my hair back from my neck, climbed into bed with my book, and eventually fell asleep. The sound of "Hey Alli" by Runner Runner woke me up three hours later, and it seemed awfully surreal to me at first. It was like my brain was sitting up in my head, squinting and straining and going all like "What is this music? What the heck is going on right now? Is that...supposed to be like...waking me up, or something?"
There ya have it, folks. I almost seriously believed for a while that I was going to end up pulling an all nighter. I don't even remember what it was that finally knocked me out.
I took a page outta HayleyG's book and decided to try out some asterisks. I've got some splainin' to do:
*--God. Or the big weather machine in the sky. Whichever you prefer to believe in. Maybe Global Warming.
**--Ironically enough, I'm avoiding that now.
***--See previous post for explanation on Bender Shorts. But seriously, they're about the tiniest shorts ever, and made of this thin cotton stuff, and they werejust barely cool enough.
Tah tah for now.
There ya have it, folks. I almost seriously believed for a while that I was going to end up pulling an all nighter. I don't even remember what it was that finally knocked me out.
I took a page outta HayleyG's book and decided to try out some asterisks. I've got some splainin' to do:
*--God. Or the big weather machine in the sky. Whichever you prefer to believe in. Maybe Global Warming.
**--Ironically enough, I'm avoiding that now.
***--See previous post for explanation on Bender Shorts. But seriously, they're about the tiniest shorts ever, and made of this thin cotton stuff, and they werejust barely cool enough.
Tah tah for now.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, FIFTEEN!
Guess how old I am now?
That's right folks, I'm halfway to thirty! I woke up at 8:15 yesterday morning, which is an unGodly hour for a teenager on spring break, to a stack of presents wrapped in monkey paper. Which is just wrapping paper with monkies on it, in case you thought it was something way more awesome. So, I opened up my presents from my (mom) parents.
1. A "Would you rather?" card game for my impending sleepover.
2. A betta fish tank!
3. A fish net that my mom explained was for "when you need to get dead Pedro out".
4. Roman columns for my fish tank.
5. A book detailing all the details of owning a betta
6. A book published by Us Weekly about Taylor Swift, in the middle of which were two tickets to see her in
concert.
Yeah mom.
After the initial excitement had worn off, my mom and I set off to buy a surplus of cheesy, salty foods and sugary drinks for my party and a fish to go in my tank. I'd spent way too much of my morning reading up on betta care and was mostly paranoid that I'd kill my fish in several ways. We got to Petco and I spent about five seconds scanning the first shelf of bettas in cups that I saw and selected a dark blue fish with teal fins. His name is Pedro. After the Petco man reassured me of most of my fears and my mom made several jokes about getting a fish filet from McDonald's, Pedro survived the terrifyingly bumpy ride home and is now residing quite nicely in my kitchen, which is currently the warmest room in the house.
Leading up to 3:30 when my friends were due so we could catch a 5:00 movie that was about 45 minutes away, my vacuum kind of exploded and smoke started rolling out of it. It made my stairwell smell like burning rubber for about three hours. After that issue was dealt with, my friends started arriving. The first three were all there on the dot. We hung out for a while, growing steadily more concerned about my last two amigas. I'd planned on leaving for the movie by four at the latest, hopefully giving them plenty of time to be late. Unfortunately, these last two friends did not show up together, as I had presumed, with one showing up at about 4 and the last one showing up at 4:15. We decided to go to the movie at 6:15 instead, and sat around for a while.
What movie? Born to be Wild. With baby orangutans and elephants and Morgan Freeman. In Imax 3D. It was thoroughly awesome. When we got home from the movie, we ate a substantial amount of pizza and I opened my presents.
1. A tiny stuffed giraffe.
2. An awesome ring I had almost gotten for myself.
3. A small red carving of a heart.
4. A loverly bracelet from Australia.
5. A puppy-sized elephant.
6. Tuna salad with crackers and a fork.
7. Maxi pads.
8. A magnet that reads "Rock Star Mom"
9. A pin that reads "Mother hen"
10. A package of rainbow colored razors.
11. Tiny Forks.
12. An elephant charm.
13. Another puppy-sized elephant.
14. Happy Birthday sunglasses.
15. A Ducky magnet.
16. A pin that reads "Mama Bear"
17. A glowstick fairy wand.
18. An orange plastic martini glass.
19. Hand decorated shorts with "I <3 Bender" on the butt and every quote by John Bender from the Breakfast Club.
20. Mint colored OPI nail polish.
21. A bass-singing Sing-A-Ma-Jig.
If you are completely confused, it's all good. I'd be concerned if you weren't. We proceeded to eat cake, watch Tangled, play Blurt, Black Magic, Mafia, Signs, Pterydactyl, the hand tapping game, and a very brief spurt of the Statue Game. We talked, sang acapella renditions of Sadie Hawkins Dance and Pink Tux, bitched at each other a little, and finally dropped of to sleep, the last of us at 5 in the morning. I was out at 4:30 or so, just barely able to tune out the last giggles of the two remaining friends that were awake.
This morning, we woke up around ten, dined on chocolate chip pancakes and bacon, and said our goodbyes. It kind of sucks that the next time I will see these people will be at school on Monday. Poo.
So here I sit, fifteen at last, with a "choppy" new haircut, dreading the nest of gifts and sleeping bags and clothes I still have to pick up. Technically, it's only my stuff, but I still don't want to pick it up.
Yep. Happy Birthday to me. I realize how lengthy this post is, but I've been kind of lax with blogging for a while now. And it's BEDA, which somehow makes it worse.
That's right folks, I'm halfway to thirty! I woke up at 8:15 yesterday morning, which is an unGodly hour for a teenager on spring break, to a stack of presents wrapped in monkey paper. Which is just wrapping paper with monkies on it, in case you thought it was something way more awesome. So, I opened up my presents from my (mom) parents.
1. A "Would you rather?" card game for my impending sleepover.
2. A betta fish tank!
3. A fish net that my mom explained was for "when you need to get dead Pedro out".
4. Roman columns for my fish tank.
5. A book detailing all the details of owning a betta
6. A book published by Us Weekly about Taylor Swift, in the middle of which were two tickets to see her in
concert.
Yeah mom.
After the initial excitement had worn off, my mom and I set off to buy a surplus of cheesy, salty foods and sugary drinks for my party and a fish to go in my tank. I'd spent way too much of my morning reading up on betta care and was mostly paranoid that I'd kill my fish in several ways. We got to Petco and I spent about five seconds scanning the first shelf of bettas in cups that I saw and selected a dark blue fish with teal fins. His name is Pedro. After the Petco man reassured me of most of my fears and my mom made several jokes about getting a fish filet from McDonald's, Pedro survived the terrifyingly bumpy ride home and is now residing quite nicely in my kitchen, which is currently the warmest room in the house.
Leading up to 3:30 when my friends were due so we could catch a 5:00 movie that was about 45 minutes away, my vacuum kind of exploded and smoke started rolling out of it. It made my stairwell smell like burning rubber for about three hours. After that issue was dealt with, my friends started arriving. The first three were all there on the dot. We hung out for a while, growing steadily more concerned about my last two amigas. I'd planned on leaving for the movie by four at the latest, hopefully giving them plenty of time to be late. Unfortunately, these last two friends did not show up together, as I had presumed, with one showing up at about 4 and the last one showing up at 4:15. We decided to go to the movie at 6:15 instead, and sat around for a while.
What movie? Born to be Wild. With baby orangutans and elephants and Morgan Freeman. In Imax 3D. It was thoroughly awesome. When we got home from the movie, we ate a substantial amount of pizza and I opened my presents.
1. A tiny stuffed giraffe.
2. An awesome ring I had almost gotten for myself.
3. A small red carving of a heart.
4. A loverly bracelet from Australia.
5. A puppy-sized elephant.
6. Tuna salad with crackers and a fork.
7. Maxi pads.
8. A magnet that reads "Rock Star Mom"
9. A pin that reads "Mother hen"
10. A package of rainbow colored razors.
11. Tiny Forks.
12. An elephant charm.
13. Another puppy-sized elephant.
14. Happy Birthday sunglasses.
15. A Ducky magnet.
16. A pin that reads "Mama Bear"
17. A glowstick fairy wand.
18. An orange plastic martini glass.
19. Hand decorated shorts with "I <3 Bender" on the butt and every quote by John Bender from the Breakfast Club.
20. Mint colored OPI nail polish.
21. A bass-singing Sing-A-Ma-Jig.
If you are completely confused, it's all good. I'd be concerned if you weren't. We proceeded to eat cake, watch Tangled, play Blurt, Black Magic, Mafia, Signs, Pterydactyl, the hand tapping game, and a very brief spurt of the Statue Game. We talked, sang acapella renditions of Sadie Hawkins Dance and Pink Tux, bitched at each other a little, and finally dropped of to sleep, the last of us at 5 in the morning. I was out at 4:30 or so, just barely able to tune out the last giggles of the two remaining friends that were awake.
This morning, we woke up around ten, dined on chocolate chip pancakes and bacon, and said our goodbyes. It kind of sucks that the next time I will see these people will be at school on Monday. Poo.
So here I sit, fifteen at last, with a "choppy" new haircut, dreading the nest of gifts and sleeping bags and clothes I still have to pick up. Technically, it's only my stuff, but I still don't want to pick it up.
Yep. Happy Birthday to me. I realize how lengthy this post is, but I've been kind of lax with blogging for a while now. And it's BEDA, which somehow makes it worse.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
FRUSTRATIONS.
GAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!
Sorry. Had to let that one out. This will most likely be a rant-y post, soo...yeah. If I get long winded, feel free to just skip it out. And I've officially failed at BEDAing, so I guess I'll try again next year.
So why am I frustrated? It's the internet. And partially my friends, but mostly the internet. I don't really blame my friends for my frustrations, cuz it's not their fault for wanting to be informed. I'd do the same thing. It's probably not even the internet's fault either. It might just be a combination of low blood sugar and sitting in a bumpy truck for about three hours. So anyway, I'll stop rambling about who's fault it is and tell the story.
I've been gone for a few days (hence the failed BEDA), so when I got back about an hour ago, I figured I'd check my Facebook for messages and stuff. I'm planning a birthday party, and it's a Facebook event and stuff, so I was checking up on my guest list and stuff like that when I see like four posts asking me if it's a sleepover or if they should bring money and stuff like that. And I seriously do not blame them, because that's all stuff I'd want to know too, but the way it was set up on facebook made me feel like I was being attacked by posts. And I put up in the description that it was a sleepover, so I was like "C'mon people!" so yeah. But in the time it's taken me to type this post, most of it has already been resolved. Sooooooo...simmer down now. Okay. Alright. All good.
I'm gonna go eat some food now. Kay...bye.
Sorry. Had to let that one out. This will most likely be a rant-y post, soo...yeah. If I get long winded, feel free to just skip it out. And I've officially failed at BEDAing, so I guess I'll try again next year.
So why am I frustrated? It's the internet. And partially my friends, but mostly the internet. I don't really blame my friends for my frustrations, cuz it's not their fault for wanting to be informed. I'd do the same thing. It's probably not even the internet's fault either. It might just be a combination of low blood sugar and sitting in a bumpy truck for about three hours. So anyway, I'll stop rambling about who's fault it is and tell the story.
I've been gone for a few days (hence the failed BEDA), so when I got back about an hour ago, I figured I'd check my Facebook for messages and stuff. I'm planning a birthday party, and it's a Facebook event and stuff, so I was checking up on my guest list and stuff like that when I see like four posts asking me if it's a sleepover or if they should bring money and stuff like that. And I seriously do not blame them, because that's all stuff I'd want to know too, but the way it was set up on facebook made me feel like I was being attacked by posts. And I put up in the description that it was a sleepover, so I was like "C'mon people!" so yeah. But in the time it's taken me to type this post, most of it has already been resolved. Sooooooo...simmer down now. Okay. Alright. All good.
I'm gonna go eat some food now. Kay...bye.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
It's Blue Shirt Day
Heh? Blue shirts?
Autism Awareness, people.
Not many people really know what autism is. Truth be told, I'm not totally sure myself. Nobody actually knows what causes it, but it's basically a developmental disorder that effects social interaction, communication, and behavior. I'm sure everyone knows someone with autism, or with some form of it, like Asperger syndrome. You might not even know. Plenty of people live with it very successfully.
When I was about ten years old, I was in my backyard with my dad helping him brew beer. All of a sudden this kid came running down our driveway in a pair of swim trunks, no shirt, no shoes, and what looked like a dog tag hanging around his neck. He looked distressed and like he'd been running for a while. For a split second I thought it was my brother, who'd been at a friend's house, but I knew it couldn't be the second he started climbing our chain-link fence. We weren't allowed to climb the fence. This boy looked a little bit younger than I was and didn't say a word when my dad called out to him. "Hey there, buddy!" No response. I just stared in awe, expecting him to say something. He opened our screen door and headed into the house. I exchanged a look with my dad, and then a teenager with shaggy hair came jogging into our driveway. "Have you seen a little boy around here?" My dad told him he'd gone inside. The teenager, who was on a cell phone with the little boy's mom, struggled with our gate latch for a minute and then went into the house after him. Dad told me to go inside and make sure my mom wasn't in the shower or something, so I did. Mom told me she thought the kid was looking for a dog or something and had gone upstairs. Soon after, he was wrangled and his mom was there. His name was Vincent, and he was autistic. Vincent lived a few blocks away from us and apparently loved our house. The teenager had been babysitting him when he escaped and ran all the way to our house. He used to draw pictures of it because he loved it so much. There's so much about that day that was somewhat shocking to me. My dad named the beer he'd been making after Vincent.
--Something to chew on: I talked about my dog in the previous post. The excitable, 10 going on 2 black labrador. He was outside that day, and instead of flipping out over our new guest, he sat uncharacteristically calmly on the sidewalk and watched. Trippy.--
I'm continually fascinated with autism. I don't know why. I just kind of am. Anyway, It's ten o' clock already, but put on some blue pajamas for the last two hours of Autism Awareness Day.
Autism Awareness, people.
Not many people really know what autism is. Truth be told, I'm not totally sure myself. Nobody actually knows what causes it, but it's basically a developmental disorder that effects social interaction, communication, and behavior. I'm sure everyone knows someone with autism, or with some form of it, like Asperger syndrome. You might not even know. Plenty of people live with it very successfully.
When I was about ten years old, I was in my backyard with my dad helping him brew beer. All of a sudden this kid came running down our driveway in a pair of swim trunks, no shirt, no shoes, and what looked like a dog tag hanging around his neck. He looked distressed and like he'd been running for a while. For a split second I thought it was my brother, who'd been at a friend's house, but I knew it couldn't be the second he started climbing our chain-link fence. We weren't allowed to climb the fence. This boy looked a little bit younger than I was and didn't say a word when my dad called out to him. "Hey there, buddy!" No response. I just stared in awe, expecting him to say something. He opened our screen door and headed into the house. I exchanged a look with my dad, and then a teenager with shaggy hair came jogging into our driveway. "Have you seen a little boy around here?" My dad told him he'd gone inside. The teenager, who was on a cell phone with the little boy's mom, struggled with our gate latch for a minute and then went into the house after him. Dad told me to go inside and make sure my mom wasn't in the shower or something, so I did. Mom told me she thought the kid was looking for a dog or something and had gone upstairs. Soon after, he was wrangled and his mom was there. His name was Vincent, and he was autistic. Vincent lived a few blocks away from us and apparently loved our house. The teenager had been babysitting him when he escaped and ran all the way to our house. He used to draw pictures of it because he loved it so much. There's so much about that day that was somewhat shocking to me. My dad named the beer he'd been making after Vincent.
--Something to chew on: I talked about my dog in the previous post. The excitable, 10 going on 2 black labrador. He was outside that day, and instead of flipping out over our new guest, he sat uncharacteristically calmly on the sidewalk and watched. Trippy.--
I'm continually fascinated with autism. I don't know why. I just kind of am. Anyway, It's ten o' clock already, but put on some blue pajamas for the last two hours of Autism Awareness Day.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Barking at my Dog
I decided yesterday whilst sitting and being incredibly lazy in my bedroom that I would take my dog for a walk. I was feeling sort of guilty over everything I'd eaten that day, which is kind of ridiculous, seeing as teenagers are supposed to be able to eat whatever the heck they want. But when you eat a lunch composed mainly of curly fries, Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper, and oatmeal cookies and then get home and eat girl scout cookies, M&Ms, and some baked Doritos, you're bound to feel like a lazy slob who really needs some excersise. So I put on a hoodie and my jean jacket (which I got for $12 at Kohls, possibly my best purchase of all time), grabbed my labrador and my camera, and headed out the door. My original plan had been to cross the street and the following train tracks to the little creek that's back there. However, I saw some lady on the path and decided to go the other direction, as it's yet to be determined if that little creek area is private property or not. So I started on my usual dog-walking route, down by my old elementary school that is now a tech school for 8th and 9th graders. When I passed that, with the usual sentimental sigh, I decided to walk through the neighborhood of pretty houses. I couldn't tell if they were rich houses, necessarily, but they're pretty: all sprawling lawns and gardens and brick and big picture windows and bright trim. I kept pausing to take out my camera and snap pictures and it occurred to me that while my original intent was to find a peaceful place of nature and I'd had to go the other way, I'd found it anyway. This residential neighborhood was just as peaceful and full of beauty as the creek. As a matter of fact, the very same creek ran through this neighborhood. My dog seemed perfectly content to be outside and exploring the sounds and smells of the new spring. Eventually, we looped back around and crossed the train tracks. I had to hold my breath as we basically crossed someone else's lawn, all the while dreaming up excuses of why I was on their property should anyone come and yell at me. Finally, the hill that led down to the creek appeared and I let my dog off the leash.
--A word about my dog. He's a dork. Dorky the Dog. His name's Fergus, and he turned 10 on St. Patrick's day. He refuses to believe he's 10, because he still acts like he's 3. Currently, he's kinda chilling out on my feet, but when he's not sprawling on the couch or eating, he's running around the house, chewing on his headless giraffe (that's a different story). So he's young at heart. And questionably intelligent. But he's the most loyal, adorable, goofy dog anyone could ever want.--
He was confused at my leash taking off at first and sort of hung out by my side, looking at me like "Wait, I can...I can run around? Really? You sure? Well...ok!" and then took off. It was amusing to watch him hate on the tiny bridge that I crossed. He splashed down into the creek and appeared to be very confused and anxious as to getting out, as both sides of exit were steep. Finally, he took an impressive leap onto the shore and seemed to be very proud of himself for doing so. He was wagging his tail, all excited. We moved on down the path to the part of the creek with the small waterfall, and Fergus plunged right into the water up to his stomach. The water was shlooping around him, and I plopped down on the concrete shore and took pictures of him shaking off droplets of water. When he emerged from the water, he was so excited that he took off galloping down the path, which was highly amusing and made for some good pictures. He came trotting around my legs, panting and wagging his tail so hard I was afraid it would fall off. I took off running, and he followed me, matching his stride to mine. We got back to the bridge, and he impressed me again by crossing on a ledge of a piece of concrete. I told him he was surprisingly agile for such an old man, and he panted in my face. Then, the leash had to go back on. We ran up the hill and back to the path, waited to cross the busy street, and headed down the home stretch of sidewalk.
It occurs to me that I never explained my title. As I said, Fergus is very excitable. This made for some tough leashing on my part, always having to yell at him to "HEEL!". So by barking at him, I don't mean like "woof woof", but rather a sharp command sort of bark. Also, this post is sort of giving him a shout-out. Not like he'll read it. He is a dog, after all.
--A word about my dog. He's a dork. Dorky the Dog. His name's Fergus, and he turned 10 on St. Patrick's day. He refuses to believe he's 10, because he still acts like he's 3. Currently, he's kinda chilling out on my feet, but when he's not sprawling on the couch or eating, he's running around the house, chewing on his headless giraffe (that's a different story). So he's young at heart. And questionably intelligent. But he's the most loyal, adorable, goofy dog anyone could ever want.--
He was confused at my leash taking off at first and sort of hung out by my side, looking at me like "Wait, I can...I can run around? Really? You sure? Well...ok!" and then took off. It was amusing to watch him hate on the tiny bridge that I crossed. He splashed down into the creek and appeared to be very confused and anxious as to getting out, as both sides of exit were steep. Finally, he took an impressive leap onto the shore and seemed to be very proud of himself for doing so. He was wagging his tail, all excited. We moved on down the path to the part of the creek with the small waterfall, and Fergus plunged right into the water up to his stomach. The water was shlooping around him, and I plopped down on the concrete shore and took pictures of him shaking off droplets of water. When he emerged from the water, he was so excited that he took off galloping down the path, which was highly amusing and made for some good pictures. He came trotting around my legs, panting and wagging his tail so hard I was afraid it would fall off. I took off running, and he followed me, matching his stride to mine. We got back to the bridge, and he impressed me again by crossing on a ledge of a piece of concrete. I told him he was surprisingly agile for such an old man, and he panted in my face. Then, the leash had to go back on. We ran up the hill and back to the path, waited to cross the busy street, and headed down the home stretch of sidewalk.
It occurs to me that I never explained my title. As I said, Fergus is very excitable. This made for some tough leashing on my part, always having to yell at him to "HEEL!". So by barking at him, I don't mean like "woof woof", but rather a sharp command sort of bark. Also, this post is sort of giving him a shout-out. Not like he'll read it. He is a dog, after all.
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