Yep, that's what I've got right now at 12:30 pm--no, I guess it's am really. I can't even talk about it till later, but suffice it to say that this is big...really, really big.
A quick follow up from my last post. When Anne came home from school on Thursday, just three days after my "Mr. Crabs isn't doing so hot" post, I wasn't home yet. I called her to tell her I would not be long and to go ahead and do her normal after school routine...check on pet(s), check backpack, wash hands, get snack, start on homework, etc. No problem. So when I arrive I have her take a quick break to "visit with mom" a bit. She comes up to me and ..., well it went something like this:
Me: Hey you! Give me a hug! How was your day?
AMB: Good.
Me: Much homework?
AMB: Just math and I've already done it.
Me: Good for you! Have you had a snack?
AMB: Yes.
Me: Did you let Opal out?
AMB: Yes.
Me: Check her water?
AMB: Yes.
Me: Mr. Crabs?
AMB: (without a hint of hesitation) Dead.
Me: Excuse me?
AMB: Dead.
Yes, that's all she said, and emphatically so. About the time I replied with the "excuse me?", I could tell it was going to be impossible to refrain from the hysterical laugh that was building up within me. By her second reply of simply and matter-of-factly, "dead", my premonition came true and I burst out with the most insane laughter all the while thinking, "this could be a real life altering blow to everything she believes about her mother, but I CANNOT HELP IT"!! Thank God, she immediately began laughing right along with me too. I felt a little guilty for not exhibiting a better example of bereavement, but was glad that she had enough sense to not be terribly torn up about our now deceased crustacean friend, Mr. Crabs, may he rest in peace.
Oh, by the way, apparently it really doesn't bother her at all since he is in fact, still dead as a doornail in the borrowed box in her room. Just haven't quite had time to get around to that, but please note that, unlike other creatures, fiddler crabs lose their earthy smell once they die. So a positive was realized regarding the crustacean world after all--yay!
Had my first dog training session with AMB and Opal today. Steve had taken her last week because I wasn't feeling great, and far less great enough to deal with dog(s). The Dog Whisperer (Steve) returned last week with glowing reports of Opal's high intellect and obedient and eager-to-please nature, so my expectations were high today. Today was the "real dog" class though. Steve had gone to a make-up class with only 3 or 4 other dogs in it, half of which were young puppies. Today was our regular class with dogs 10 months and older.
Dogs and People are a funny mix.
Suffice it to say that I've never thought of myself much as a dog person, people person yes, dog person so-so, and cats are out of the question. But over the years and the dogs who have tried desperately to make their way in our family, I think I have come to appreciate a good dog. Hence my irritation today.
Today's lesson was "off" and "down". Didn't spend much time on "off", because basically you whack them on the nose with a soft rolled up towel when they jump up on you and who wants a room full of people trying to instigate their dog to jump on them only to have all those people whacking their dogs. So most of the lesson was spent with "down". First thing is you don't get to say the word "down", which even after asking why not and getting a perfectly sensible answer, I still thought it odd. Nevertheless watching the teacher of the class work with the dogs, she clearly knew something about all this and she's funny. So, although I was still a bit perplexed I did as told...or so I thought.
After being taught the lesson and what to do and having her use a couple of the dogs in class ("teacher's pet" Opal as reported last week, being one of them) as examples, it was then our turn to practice the commands with our dogs ourselves. There are all kinds of dogs in this class, big dogs, little dogs, black and white dogs, blue dogs, green dogs...I digress. Like the dogs, there are also all kinds of people there, old people, young people, smart people, dumb people. When one signs up for "training" for one's dog, doesn't one expect to actually do that "training"? Well, we had the pleasure of sitting next to Mr. & Mrs. We Love Our Little Worthless Furball who, because they couldn't get Little Worthless Furball to mind them decided it would be more fun to see if they could walk him (or her, who knows) back and forth trying to "socialize" Little Worthless Furball and maybe, just maybe Little Worthless Furball would quit snarling at every dog that came up to it.
So here you are with your dog and it's like having a child who hasn't had their Ritalin meds for days--the dog is flipping all around, looking around, up, down, left, right at every unfamiliar noise it hears and up comes Little Worthless Furball with his/her "daddy". So what does your normal I'm-trying-to-be-attentive-and-learn-what-you-want-me-to-for-this-teeny-tiny-treat-you-are-taunting-me-with dog do but get distracted by LWF, begins sniffing LWF only to be snarled and snapped at by LWF.
Well, you'd better not do that a. to Opal, and b. to any dog that has been around the Biddick house for long. We may let you snarl or snap once, but that's it. Do it the second time and our tail stops wagging, we get in "pounce and kill" position, and you will likely pay for your error if you don't back away pretty darned quick. So, when Opal began the "I don't THINK so Little Worthless Furball" stance, I calmly said to "daddy" in front of "mommy", "I don't think she's liking your dog too much right now".
OH MY GAWD! At that moment, I realized I had become one of "them"! One of those people who are as protective and bleeding hearted about their dogs as they are their kids. Although it WAS the truth, and "mommy" told "daddy" that maybe he ought to back LWF out of our training space, I still, at that moment, had gone to the dark side.
Worse part was, about that time the training teacher came by, "let's see what you can do with her"! Oh yay. Minutes earlier I felt like Opal had lost about as much interest in the stupid treats as I had in working this hard to get her to lay on the ground. I think that was fairly evident when the teacher said to me at one point, "don't KICK her to get her to move". Had I kicked her? I hadn't even realized I KICKED her! Did anyone actually hear the teacher say that to me? Did Anne think I'd kicked Opal? Nope, Anne was sitting slunked in the chair asking if she could go look out in the store (knowing full well it was a ploy to go look at Webkinz merchandise). Ok, I'll TRY not to kick the dog. This was after the trainer told me I was doing everything wrong--too much name calling (not what you are thinking, just me saying "Opal" too much), not holding the stupid treat right, not moving with the dog. I was a failure--a dog training failure. But we were still better than Little Worthless Hairball and his/her people. Training lady took over again with Opal, realized our distraction and cut me some slack. I was then instructed to try the manuever again and did so under the ever-critiquing eyes of Ms. Training Teacher, finding her less humorous than I had earlier. Opal cooperated helping to keep me from looking like a total moron. I quickly told Anne she had better practice with Opal too and was glad to see she was even worse than me.
While sitting down waiting to be dismissed, I begin to watch "Dixie", the other "teacher's pet" smart dog in the class. Dixie was two dogs to our left and is a Golden Poodle that looks like a giant sandy brown curly haired stuffed teddy bear you'd win on tv. Dixie and Opal had met out in the hallway before class. Dixie is perfect, nice, well-behaved, good-mannered, polite, friendly and cute. Opal ended up snapping at Dixie for those traits I am sure. Jealously runs rampant in the Biddick house. Dixie's parents are perfect too and they smile a lot at Dixie's quick mastering of the hand signal signifying Dixie to her perfect "down" position. I could not believe it. Dixie was already just laying "down" without even nashing her parent's nails trying to get the treat, without her parents breaking their backs bending ever-so-slowly over to the floor to get her to lay down...Dixie already knew when her parents moved their arm from up to down by their leg, Dixie knew to lay down.
Opal and I will be spending a lot of time together this week. Dixie will NOT have one up on Opal. Opal has come from nothing. Dixie has come from a long line of fine pedigree. Opal came begging to us. Dixie was "chosen". But Opal's got stamina, she's hearty, she's seen bad stuff and lived to tell about it. So we're gonna show up NEXT week with something to show Miss Dixie...and we're not sitting by that Little Worthless Hairball distraction either.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Mr. Crabs Isn't Going to Make It Much Longer
This is what I have to tell my 10-yr old today. I was commissioned this morning to change Mr. Crabs water (which I did, nearly forgetting Mr. Crabs is a salt-water lover which entails adding a dechlorination solution and salt crystals) and "maybe try and clean out his sand". Well the latter was much more difficult than anticipated and after observing Mr. Crabs behavior, I came to the "mom conclusion" that mixing the sand up thereby burying the icky stuff to the bottom, would be sufficient for what I think will be Mr. Crabs last few days of living on this earth.
Now, I know that many a parent has performed these same duties for their young sons and daughters. And I know that many a child has beemed with joy as mine did lugging their crab, their frog, their tadpole home from their loving teacher's left-over science project. Here's what I don't know...is this some kind of conspiracy? Is it a conspiracy to keep the crustacean accessories industry afloat? I think so!
As I understand it, the teacher orders these short-lived creatures for her classroom to observe in as close to a "natural habitat" as can be created in a flourescent lit, formica cladden science lab full of 9 and 10 year olds. Then those creatures arrive, most are alive, however some have not traveled as well and are "discarded". Of course the kids know the exact count of DOA's and have also attentively observed the "poor little frog" or "poor little crabs" peril upon arrival.
Now, here's the problem. We all know that these creatures do not live long under any circumstance, far less under the care of a 4th grader...or her busy mother...or brother...or pet dog. I mean, would someone please stand up and tell me, give me the evidence that they have, know of or can prove a crab or frog or tadpole that has lived post-elementary science lab past the age of 26 days or so? There is a prize for any one who can prove that to me.
So, here's where the conspiracy comes in. There must be some agreement that the teacher must make with the company providing these creatures that says all remaining living creatures must be lugged home in a stinky, sticky, noise filled busload of children, then dragged down a few blocks to a home of a caring child who foresees her crab living beyond the day she will leave for college. When the teacher accepts this aggreement, the company then mails said science experiments to teacher. At some point the pet stores and crustacean lobbyists across the country come in to play. They must pay the companies that supply these creatures to the teachers. They must pay them a percentage for every agreement these companies can get the teacher to make. Because before your caring, creature-loving child is allowed to bring this still-living (lucky) creature home, you TOO have to sign saying that it is ok and that you will provide the very lucky creature with the proper environment...herein lies the conspiracy.
So, you get the child running in the door with a clear plastic cup commonly used for rainbow sherbet punch at a wedding reception. Instead the cup contains a little sand and, in our case, two crabs...fiddler crabs so they say. My daughter is immediately needing an aquarium, salt water, dechlorination drops, fish food, or even better crustacean food and washed grass from outside (I immediately draw the line at washing grass from outside seeing as our own clothing is still piled up in various stages of dirty, washed not dried, dried not folded and buried throughout the house). Did that form I signed yesterday mention all this? Surely they can make it one day without their special needs...we'll go tomorrow.
Tomorrow comes and little fiddler crab has already perished. Time is running out. The 10 year old suggest an early morning run to the local pet store BEFORE school to assure remaining crabs life. Fortunately I can vouch that said pet store is not even open then and we will just have to wait till she returns from school. When she gets home, she hits the door yelling out if "Mr. Crabs" is still alive, I reply in the affirmative. She then begins a multi-tasking venture the likes of which I have never seen her do before. She leaps upstairs runs into the shower and does all after-school chores faster than she's ever done all year. This is big---really big.
We are off to the pet store. Yes, this IS a conspiracy. One teeny tiny fiddler crab. About the size of the tip of my thumb. Does this creature need a $24.99 tank to "have room to run around in"? I think not. We finally find something around the $15 mark. But then there's food, and salt and sand. Can't we just use dirt from outside? What about table salt, I'm sure that's ok. Must Mr. Crab dine on dried miniature shrimp? I would like shrimp tonight too. Ok, we're in negotiating phase now. I'll buy these "necessities" (who came up with glow-in-the-dark sand? Secretly, I find it a pretty cool idea!), but Mr. Crabs is residing in a tupperware dish until we see if he will acclamate to our efforts in making him part of the family.
That evening after purchasing the "necessities" for Mr. Crabs, I find out from another mom that just last year, she too purchased same "necessities" and was able to get all of 12 days use out of them. She still had all the supplies complete with the air vented, color topped plastic aquarium giving your special fiddler crab that extra running room they yearn for...sucker! She tells me to return everything we've bought (fortunately we'd yet to make it home with the supplies at that point) and she would let us borrow everything she had--yay!! Bet the aquarium, fish food, special salt companies didn't plan on THAT now did they!
Well, Mr. Crabs has been set up now for 5 or 6 days. My daughters room smells like the building at the zoo where they keep the alligators...all from this one little crustacean and his (?) dried mini-shrimp food, I'm sure. But after completely my requested tasks today, I noticed Mr. Crabs isn't quite as lively as in days past. The big pincher isn't flailing about, he's not crabbing around with quite the same pep in his step and I really think he's starting to change color a little. So this is the part where we learn (and have the privilege of teaching) all about the circle of life, God's plan and conspiratorial agreements made between public education, science experiment providers and crab food companies...wonder how THAT conversation is going to go?!
Now, I know that many a parent has performed these same duties for their young sons and daughters. And I know that many a child has beemed with joy as mine did lugging their crab, their frog, their tadpole home from their loving teacher's left-over science project. Here's what I don't know...is this some kind of conspiracy? Is it a conspiracy to keep the crustacean accessories industry afloat? I think so!
As I understand it, the teacher orders these short-lived creatures for her classroom to observe in as close to a "natural habitat" as can be created in a flourescent lit, formica cladden science lab full of 9 and 10 year olds. Then those creatures arrive, most are alive, however some have not traveled as well and are "discarded". Of course the kids know the exact count of DOA's and have also attentively observed the "poor little frog" or "poor little crabs" peril upon arrival.
Now, here's the problem. We all know that these creatures do not live long under any circumstance, far less under the care of a 4th grader...or her busy mother...or brother...or pet dog. I mean, would someone please stand up and tell me, give me the evidence that they have, know of or can prove a crab or frog or tadpole that has lived post-elementary science lab past the age of 26 days or so? There is a prize for any one who can prove that to me.
So, here's where the conspiracy comes in. There must be some agreement that the teacher must make with the company providing these creatures that says all remaining living creatures must be lugged home in a stinky, sticky, noise filled busload of children, then dragged down a few blocks to a home of a caring child who foresees her crab living beyond the day she will leave for college. When the teacher accepts this aggreement, the company then mails said science experiments to teacher. At some point the pet stores and crustacean lobbyists across the country come in to play. They must pay the companies that supply these creatures to the teachers. They must pay them a percentage for every agreement these companies can get the teacher to make. Because before your caring, creature-loving child is allowed to bring this still-living (lucky) creature home, you TOO have to sign saying that it is ok and that you will provide the very lucky creature with the proper environment...herein lies the conspiracy.
So, you get the child running in the door with a clear plastic cup commonly used for rainbow sherbet punch at a wedding reception. Instead the cup contains a little sand and, in our case, two crabs...fiddler crabs so they say. My daughter is immediately needing an aquarium, salt water, dechlorination drops, fish food, or even better crustacean food and washed grass from outside (I immediately draw the line at washing grass from outside seeing as our own clothing is still piled up in various stages of dirty, washed not dried, dried not folded and buried throughout the house). Did that form I signed yesterday mention all this? Surely they can make it one day without their special needs...we'll go tomorrow.
Tomorrow comes and little fiddler crab has already perished. Time is running out. The 10 year old suggest an early morning run to the local pet store BEFORE school to assure remaining crabs life. Fortunately I can vouch that said pet store is not even open then and we will just have to wait till she returns from school. When she gets home, she hits the door yelling out if "Mr. Crabs" is still alive, I reply in the affirmative. She then begins a multi-tasking venture the likes of which I have never seen her do before. She leaps upstairs runs into the shower and does all after-school chores faster than she's ever done all year. This is big---really big.
We are off to the pet store. Yes, this IS a conspiracy. One teeny tiny fiddler crab. About the size of the tip of my thumb. Does this creature need a $24.99 tank to "have room to run around in"? I think not. We finally find something around the $15 mark. But then there's food, and salt and sand. Can't we just use dirt from outside? What about table salt, I'm sure that's ok. Must Mr. Crab dine on dried miniature shrimp? I would like shrimp tonight too. Ok, we're in negotiating phase now. I'll buy these "necessities" (who came up with glow-in-the-dark sand? Secretly, I find it a pretty cool idea!), but Mr. Crabs is residing in a tupperware dish until we see if he will acclamate to our efforts in making him part of the family.
That evening after purchasing the "necessities" for Mr. Crabs, I find out from another mom that just last year, she too purchased same "necessities" and was able to get all of 12 days use out of them. She still had all the supplies complete with the air vented, color topped plastic aquarium giving your special fiddler crab that extra running room they yearn for...sucker! She tells me to return everything we've bought (fortunately we'd yet to make it home with the supplies at that point) and she would let us borrow everything she had--yay!! Bet the aquarium, fish food, special salt companies didn't plan on THAT now did they!
Well, Mr. Crabs has been set up now for 5 or 6 days. My daughters room smells like the building at the zoo where they keep the alligators...all from this one little crustacean and his (?) dried mini-shrimp food, I'm sure. But after completely my requested tasks today, I noticed Mr. Crabs isn't quite as lively as in days past. The big pincher isn't flailing about, he's not crabbing around with quite the same pep in his step and I really think he's starting to change color a little. So this is the part where we learn (and have the privilege of teaching) all about the circle of life, God's plan and conspiratorial agreements made between public education, science experiment providers and crab food companies...wonder how THAT conversation is going to go?!
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