He ate a slice of Wonder bread. . . .

January 17, 2012




Tikka's passing has really thrown me for a loop.


Still.


Walking by her picture on our family wall of shame causes immediate tears. 


Her collar remains in my coat pocket. 


And will continue to stay there until I am ready to put it somewhere else. 


More realistically, I am now engaged in a clearly futile attempt to "catch up" on all the reading I was supposed to have done over the holidays. 


The last several days have seen me hunched over journal articles, books, in an effort to be as prepared for my classes as possible. 


Especially my once-a-week-three-hour-seminar-class, Ethnography and Crime.


A fourth year course, this seminar is an opportunity to examine how ethnography takes us to places theoretically and empirically that are virtually unattainable using more traditional, objective research methods.


Which is a fancy shmancy way of saying it's a shit load of reading and because there are only 9 people in the course not being prepared would be painfully obvious.


So there has been less writing more reading and note taking over the past several days.


As I attempt to recapture time.


Imagine the possibilities if I was successful in THAT endeavour.






Dibley has to be declawed.


This was not an easy decision to come to.


I know what declawing means.


I do.


But, this weekend saw the second Dibley-scratched-Reilley infection.


Em mentions that Reilley has bump at the top of his tail, would I look at it.


And in the process of looking at it, the cut-caused-by-Dibs drained.


All over my hand.


The stench. . .imagine 1000 dogs farting at the same time and times it by a million.


I have a strong stomach.


I really don't have much of a choice living here.


But the putrid, fetid stench from the drainage almost made me sick.


Not to mention Reilley wasn't very happy either.


Which leaves us with the unwilling recognition that our Dibs is a bully.


Most probably a survival strategy, as he is deaf and managed to live outside, alone for several months.


Now however, he is not alone.


Or outside.


And survival constitutes walking downstairs to eat.


So his aggressive, bullying tactics need to come to an end.


Or at the very least level the playing field.


Goblet, another target of Dibs machinations, and Reilley are both declawed.


An unfortunate event that occurred before we fully understood the meaning of "declawed."


Reilley is also 18.


At the very least, he deserves to live out his golden years without fearing imminent attack by the schoolyard bully.


It's either declaw Dibs or find a home for him where he is the only cat.


And none of us want that.


Bully or not, we are rather attached to the little demon.


Sort of how we feel about Mer. 






A priest is taking my Introduction to Research Methods class.


Some people find this rather amusing.


I don't see why.


Although it will mean my discussion of red wine and Wonder bread as means of understanding the theoretical foundations of symbolic interactionism make take on new meaning this term.


And I won't be performing any more in-class baptisms. 






Title Lyric: Samson by Regina Spektor