Gimpy Dozer

Animals have never held a very large portion of my affections in the past.  I liked them enough; the kittens were fun to cuddle with and I always liked hunting for frogs in the rapidly vanishing marsh behind school, but I was never the kid who wanted to be a vet or anything.  I never even really cared if I had a pet or not.  When we first had parakeets, I somehow dredged up enough patience to sit with my finger in the cage until they became acclimated to the foreign object and would hop on it.  They did eventually, but apparently the event was very anticlimactic because I don't remember doing anything else with them after that (except catching them with pillowcases when they escaped from their cages.)

I have Mark Nagy to blame for the change that has happened over the past couple of years regarding my animal affections.  Ever since I have fallen in love, (I know that sounds cheesy, but I couldn't figure out a less hokey way of phrasing it) I have developed an emotionally debilitating affection for animals.  I actually was lying in bed trying to decipher this heart-wrenching feeling, when I realized that this emotion applies to vulnerable things/situations, and a lot of times, animals just have that "deer in the headlights" look that makes me incapable of rational thought.  Actually, that is a highly inaccurate comparison because I have very little compassion for deer.  Sure, they're cute sometimes, but not when they're in your headlights.  At that moment, you are usually yelling, swearing, closing your eyes, slamming on your brakes, and waiting for your heart to resume its normal pace.

Pygmy hedgehogs: an example

Example 2: A hurt little penguin with booties on to help his feet heal.

Anyway, my inspiration for this late-night search for emotional answers is Dozer's little incident tonight.  Dozer is my parents' psycho little dog who has a blue heeler body with little deer-like legs, a stumpy tail, and a terrier face.  Sounds really ugly, but his face makes up for his inadequate proportions and mismatched coloring.  He has this little pointy snout, extremely silky ears, and round velvety brown eyes that are really very intelligent and emotional.  I always have to avoid looking him in the eyes when I go running without him, because those little eyes are very very good at leading me down the worst guilt trips.

That's Dozer, looking ashamed that we tricked him into the photo shoot

Lauren and I had been sitting on the couch watching Eclipse (the third Twilight movie, yes I know, pathetic) when Dozer began his incessant, shrill barking to announce the arrival of a family member.  Thankfully he has a highly annoying bark to make him less attractive or I'd consider liking him more.  It was Derek, who spends quite a bit of time playing with Dozer (or Doze-Job, as Mark affectionately calls him), so Dozer was exceptionally excited to see him.  He knows that he needs to bring a "gift" to people who come in, so he was about to grab his little toy when he gave this odd little yelp, sounding like he was hurt.  Derek kind of jokingly teased Dozer about pulling a muscle or having a Charlie horse when we realized that this might really be the case because he was acting really funny, but he looked so pathetic with his toy still in his mouth and the way he sort of tipped over sideways that we kept teasing him.  It wasn't until he hobbled away (still pretty funny the way he was walking) and clambered up onto his special spot on the couch (rather than his usual spry leap) without looking for attention that we realized that he really must have hurt something.  His embarrassed, sad little face just about killed me.  I actually kissed the dog on the head!!  I think I have lost my mind.  I really have never liked dogs at all, and Dozer's psychotic ways often rub me the wrong ways, but I could not handle how he was so pleased and excited to see Derek, then how he got hurt.

Gaaa, this applies to SO many situations for me; how guys are most attractive when they're willing to let their emotions show, why kids are so precious when they're sleeping, and why I about had to go to rehab when I hit a turtle with my car (turtles are so unassuming).  Just ask Mark about how I feel about the Texas cave salamander. ("look at his little feet!  He's being so careful because he's blind and he doesn't know where he's going.  He is soooo cute!") If I let myself keep going, I'll start talking about how much I hate it when kids bully the sweet little momma's boys, and how I think incorrect spelling of earnest little kids is so stinking precious.  Gage (7-year-old nephew) wrote on his Christmas list that he wants a "sooper heroe soot" and I would never dream of correcting him.  That's what teachers are for.

Gagey: my little buddy

  Even storm troopers have soft spots

To find a way to make this rambling late-night story meaningful, I guess it just comes down to the fact that we need to take the responsibility that God gives us to take care of the vulnerable -- his creation, children, people in need, pathetic animals -- seriously, and that we ought to raise our children and treat our loved ones with the knowledge that we cannot protect them from cruelty or injustice, but that God is with even the smallest organism and that NOTHING can overcome him.  Wow, what an amazing comfort to know that not only is he protecting me with that kind of vigilance, but that he has his hand in the life of even pathetic gimpy Dozer. That knowledge makes me feel a bit of relief.  

Cheap Entertainment: I hope I never get Rich

For starters, that title may be slightly facetious.  There are a lot of times that I wish I had a few more dolla bills, like when I want to go to Ireland or build a bathroom that has an enormous bathtub with a picture window overlooking the mountains and a loverly roaring fireplace nearby.  That'd be nice.  Honestly, though, I can say that growing up in a middle-class family with 8 kids out in the boonies has really given me an appreciation for the creativity that is nurtured out of necessity.  No, we couldn't go buy the latest and greatest go-carts, but who needs that when you have a brother who could build your own out of old snowmobile engines and lawnmower parts?  Besides, then when you ran them into trees or drainage ditches, it really wasn't that big of a deal, and if you sustained any injuries, either one of my RN parents would dig into their contraband of smuggled hospital bandage and ointment rejects, set you on the counter, and piece you up again. 

 My younger brother and sister (Jordan and Lauren) and I were known as the "three little kids."  I am almost four years younger than my brother Alec, so our family sort of started over with me.  People think that middle kids are the tame peacemakers?  Not when there are eight kids.  The birth line-up definitely started over with me, because I was (and still am, to be honest) quite the bossy, managerial, crazy planner, and who was better to test my leadership skills on than my kind, passive, adorable younger siblings?  The three of us were pretty tight, whether it was playing nativity (Jordan and I were Mary and Joseph, and Lauren was always the reject shepherd) or Legos (does anyone have a blue 3??).

Sometimes, though, Jord and I just wanted to do things without the baby tagging along, like fort building.  We had the permission to use any of the scrap lumber by the side of the garage, so we had gathered old pallets, rejected nails, and a couple of hammers to build a tree fort.  Looking back, I am incredibly impressed at my carpentry skills.  That was a wicked sweet fort, and I was something like 10 years old.  To make it more homey, I had taken some old fabric scraps, sewed them together, and we nailed them around the bottom of our fort, which also made it two-story.  Yeah, awesome.

Once our fort was built, we would dress up in our old fashioned clothes and play pioneers.  We got quite the little collection of sap, wheat, and berries (most likely poisonous), which we stored in some old dishes.  The following story is probably unknown by all except Jordan and me, but I figured that enough time has passed that we're automatically forgiven. One day, Kate, the oldest, was in charge of us, and Jordan and I were out in our fort.  We had gathered our sap into mason jar lids to make candles, and had quite the cozy atmosphere going, when we realized that the smoke we were smelling had to be coming from a source other than the candles.  We jumped out of the fort with great haste, with me tripping on my darn too-big skirt and wrenching my ankle in the process, to find our fabric walls on fire.  Somehow, our wheat-gathering basket had caught on fire and subsequently ignited the cloth.  Granted, this was not some raging fire, but it seemed like it 12 years ago.

Folks, this is where it pays to take a minute to gather your wits about you before you make rash decisions.  I grabbed the handle of the flaming basket, held it out from me with one hand, grabbed my skirt with the other and hobbled/ran across our entire backyard to the fire pit, where I tossed the entire thing.  On my way back to the fort I had to stomp on the bits of burning wicker that had dropped during my journey.  Upon coming to the fort, I noticed that the flames had been extinguished and the once burning fabric now was merely dripping and sooty.  Jordan had taken our ice cream pail, gone to the meager creek 5 feet away, and doused the flames with water. 

Needless to say, I felt pretty dumb, but mostly I was relieved that we were not going to be deserving of Smokey the Bear's wrath by burning down our woods.  We stashed our clothes in the playhouse, and if Kate noticed the smokey smell clinging to us, she never said anything.  So I guess the lesson that comes from this is the classic think-before-you-act, but mostly I just hope that I have enough money to have what my family will need, but little enough to encourage wild imaginations.

Title Explanation

When I was creating this blog, the little people inside the computer suggested that I make my URL be something like scissorsplease.blogspot.com.  While this seemed like a logical enough idea, it made it look like this blog was going to be all about making paper snowflakes or something.  While paper cutting is relevant to my title, that's not the focus I was going for. 

I intend for this blog to be lighthearted and amusing, so I decided to put a quote that always makes me chuckle a little bit even when I'm depressed about my fruitless job hunting.  I think that I should give credit to the person from whom I stole the quote for my title, so here we go: 

I had gone to ArtPrize (a wicked sweet art show in Grand Rapids, MI in case you are unaware) with my fiancee's family for an evening of refinement and culture.  However, Mark (my finacee), his dad, and brothers were more interested in seeing if the fisherman on the river was going to catch any salmon, and his mom was busy trying to keep everyone in line.  We had made it to the DeVos Center, where the art was in great abundance and there were no salmon to lure the boys away.  Jeanne, my mother-in-law-to-be, is a very social and curious being and liked to talk to the artists about their works.  This is how this particular conversation went down while we were admiring the big paper thing:

Haughty Paper Artist (a tall 60 something man, slightly stooped (probably from cutting so much paper) with thinning white hair and rectangle glasses perched on his condescending nose, wearing a sweater vest, khakis, and checkered shirt, speaking with the kind of voice you imagine a big-for-his-britches Nobel Prize winner to have): "Do you have a question for the artist?

Jeanne: "Yes, what kind of scissors did you use to make this?"

HPA: (I thought we were going to have to resuscitate the man): "Scissors??  Please.  You do not cut something like this with scissors."

Jeanne: (being very kind and un-offended): "Oh, interesting.  So you use some sort of Exacto knife or something?"

Anyway, the man proceeded to be appalled at our lack of knowledge of cutting big pieces of paper and explained that you had to use specific blades to make the different cuts, blah blah blah.  I don't honestly know what else he said because Mark and I had turned away so that he couldn't see us trying to hold in our snorts of laughter.  

So thank you, Mr. Artprize Enormous Paper Cutout Thing Artist, for providing endless entertainment for my fiancee's family and myself.  Your high-and-mighty snootiness brought great amusement to our "simple country selves" and we will forever be grateful for the ab workout you gave us due to spasms of continuous laughter behind your back.  Because of the calories we burned laughing, we were able to enjoy a lovely, guilt-free dinner at Big Boy afterward.