Archive | June, 2009

The Birds and the Butterflies and Twitter Morons

19 Jun

Wow, when I offered to answer the Internet’s problems Monday, some of you had some great questions.  Some of you should probably seek professional help. And some of you? Both “A” and “B” are correct.

First, I want to be clear that despite my comments on our dogs, I am not ACTUALLY an expert on animal sex habits. Although when my daughter was in kindergarten, the school district in its infinite wisdom decided that spring mating season would be the absolute best time to schedule a field trip to the zoo.

And so, I spent the entire zoo trip saying things like this to six-year-olds:

“Oh dear, the monkeys are wrestling! Let’s go see the kangaroos!”

“Huh, the kangaroos are playing leapfrog in slow motion! Let’s go see the hippos!”

And then, when we got to the hippos, they were doing this:

hippos

Thirty seconds after this picture was taken, it became a hippo porn movie. And so we decided it was time for a picnic lunch at the playground.

However, although no one asked about the mating habits of hippos, my sweet fellow blogger Bridget did want to know about bird sex. She asked, “Do birds get stuck while they’re flying? Do they sit down? How’s that work?”

Well Bridget, it depends on the species. In the case of storks, they don’t actually have sex. Humans bring them babies. It’s only fair.

Other species of birds, as I learned on BackyardNature.net, mate on the ground with male climbing on the female, and flapping his wings to keep from slipping off.  Either that or he’s really proud of himself. Interestingly, there are a couple of species exceptions to this. Swifts and swallows, which are in the bird mile-high club,  mate in midair.

Yes. Swifts and swallows. That’s what I said.

Go look at Bridget’s sweet angel face on her website, and remember — SHE IS THE ONE WHO ASKED ABOUT BIRD SEX.

Rene also had a nature question, although hers was G-rated. She wanted to know: “Where do butterflies go when it rains?”

Rene, that depends. Do you need to know this for small children? Small children that have been driving you crazy all day with whining and fighting and incessant questions?

If so, take them for a walk after it has rained. Point out the puddles on the street with shimmering colors reflected on them from the oil on the street. Say “Kids, isn’t that pretty? Like little rainbows on the puddles?”

And when they see the rainbows and comment on how pretty they are, drop your voice real low and whisper “those are melted baby butterflies who didn’t listen to their mommies.”

You’re welcome. Of course, if you are wondering for well-behaved children, the real answer is here: KidsButterfly.org.

Finally, Aunt Becky from Mommy Wants Vodka wanted to know something not at all related to the animal kingdom *or* sex, thank goodness.

She asked “Riddle me this: why do people on Twitter follow me only to unfollow me when I follow them back? QUESTION FOR THE AGES.”

Well, Riddler Aunt Becky, that is a tricky question. If you know the person, and you like them, you may want to give them the benefit of a doubt that perhaps Twitter is acting up and randomly unfollowed you on their behalf, and send them a friendly tweet like “Can you DM me the link to that genital wart treatment plan that worked for you? I would DM you but you’re not following me, silly!”

Or, if the person is one of the Twitter marketing “geniuses,” you can safely just assume they’re a douchebag and block them.

Then, there is a third possibility, one I hestitate to even mention because I would never react that way. But the person who unfollowed you *could*just be jealous of your excellent blogging skills and bitter that you are kicking their ass in the Funniest Blog Contest.

I hope the answers were helpful, Bridget, Rene and Aunt Becky. If I didn’t answer your question this time around either I will get to it soon, or I don’t have any idea.

Also, one more another loving reminder:
2009 BlogLuxe Awards
 You can vote every day. Come on, they will be narrowing it down to finalists soon.

Saying Goodbye

17 Jun

Even when we know it’s coming, death catches us unprepared.

Quince

Quince had been doing pretty well, all things considered. A little slower in the step, to be sure. But still,  jumping up on the bed to greet us in the mornings. Standing sentinel at the door in case he was needed for a trip to Sonic.

Then one night, he kept coughing while trying to eat, and walked away from a full bowl. For a corgi, that’s serious.

We switched to soft food, but the cancer had spread, keeping him from controlling his jaw. He bit his tongue, and it lolled out like a prize fighter who had been one too many rounds. Still, he would bob his head up and down with that tongue out, trying to offer broken kisses as best he could.

We knew, hearts broken, that it was time to let go. I made a final vet appointment, and the night before, as he shuddered to breathe, my daughter and I sat with him until early in the morning, both crying and petting him. And she, in the wisdom only a child can have, prayed, “God, it’s OK. I just don’t want him to hurt anymore.”

She told Quince, too.

“You can go. We’ll miss you so much, but it’s OK for you to go.”

Between sobs, we talked about whether or not there would be dogs in heaven, and I told her “yes, I thought so.”

And, as I often am for so many reasons, I was grateful that I have spent a decade of Sunday mornings listening to Max Lucado preach. Because Max believes there will be pets in heaven, too. And although it is hardly the most pressing theological issue of our time, early Monday morning as I cried with my girl, it was the most important one in the room.

Quince settled in and slept that morning, and eventually, so did we.

When it came time for his appointment later that day, my husband  and I met at the vet’s office, barely holding back tears until we got to the exam room.

Our vet, Dr. Kyle Crowley, was gentle and reassuring.  He joined us in petting our brave little general, and told us what we needed to hear, that this excruciating choice was the bravest and kindest we had. That cancer was killing him, we were sparing him pain. We stroked Quince gently while Dr. Crowley gave him those final shots, and we told him what a good dog he was over and over until we knew his heart was not beating.

And then, I told him a few more times. Because he was such a good dog.

We stayed for a while, and then, the vet came back in and told us to take all the time we needed. We gathered up his collar and leash and turned to go. But Dr. Crowley stayed, and he kept petting Quince so that we would not have to walk out of the room and leave him alone.

I will tell him, when I trust my tears to let me talk, how that small kindness was a balm to my bruised heart. That sometimes the simplest moments of compassion mean more than we can imagine.

But because I can write and cry at the same time, I will tell you the same now. Your comments and emails have been a reminder of all that is sweet in this world, a reminder that has made the bitterness of loss easier to swallow. Thank you for that.

Sybil, Party of 3, Your Table is Now Available

17 Jun

Hi, I have a bad case of blogging multiple personality disorder this week. And bonus: if you would like to hear the other voices in my head, I will tell you where they are talking.

First, I am being rational and sensible and posting pictures of Baby Ruth’s in the pool at the San Antonio Express-News’ online site: MySA.com. I am exploring the phenomena of cowardly morons who make up fake names and act like idiots in the comment section.

Come, read and discuss the decline of society with me. Or make up a fake name and act like an idiot in the comment section. Either way, I’m cool with that. Just click here and comment.

Also today, I am guest posting for The Atomic Mom. Katherine  is young and hip and adorable, and you should read her blog all the time. But especially today. Because I am sharing an important life lesson about what you should and shouldn’t lick. Also, I have an  anecdote that may simultaneously reveal why newspapers are in so much trouble right now, and why I fear for the future of the teaching profession. Yes! All that in one story.

Go on, you know you’re curious now. Leave a comment so Katherine doesn’t think I’m a loser. Thank you. Again, click right here.

Thank you. I love you. 

Now, go away.

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