Friday, February 15, 2008

Let the Pooch soar!

I took Pooch with me to the woods the other day. Pooch likes the woods. It’s very high up on her lists of favourite things, along with tin foil, mice and the colour blue. At one point, she decided to climb onto a pile of wood and soar like an eagle down to the forest floor. As it turns out, Pooch is big on the falling, not so much on the soaring.

After her crash landing, which was promptly followed by the
running around like a maniac, I wasn’t very surprised to discover that she’d
managed to tear parts of a claw off. On our way home, she became increasingly
whiny, so I decided to distract her by slipping on the ice and smashing the back
of my head on the concrete. Then I stumbled around like a drunk. It worked like
a charm. Pooch forgot all about her toe. It was brilliant. Afterwards I felt
pretty damn dizzy, but true genius has always been described as rather dizzying,
so I suppose that was just to be expected.

In further news, my body and my head are having an ongoing debate about olives. The body tries to convince Bergerac (my mind) that olives are good, but Bergerac won’t hear of it. Since Bergerac is the one in charge of the mouth, Body needs to be sneaky in getting its point across. Body has the advantage of controlling the arms and hands, and those are always ready to stick olives into the mouth whenever Bergerac isn’t paying proper attention. Nothing has been settled yet, so I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

Saturday, February 02, 2008

Meet Dr. Smiley!

Years and years ago, I went to see a doctor. I can’t really remember why, just that I wasn’t feeling well and the visit to the local clinic was my mother’s idea.

The doctor was a young woman, very smiley, with big, curly hair. I sat in a blue chair with brown stains, prepared for the usual how-are-we-feeling-today-questions, which seems to be the first thin they teach you in medical school. The question was delivered and I went on to list my symptoms - whatever the were - like a good little patient, while I tried no to wonder whether or not those brown stains were left behind by other good, little patients.

Dr. Giggles smile didn’t fade for a second. Every so often she would nod her head and the curls would hop up and down around her face, trying to poke her eyes out.

“So what do you think is wrong with you?” asked Smiley.

That threw me for a bit of a loop. Granted, I did walk past one of those medical schools places once, but I don’t really think that qualifies me for giving diagnoses. Not even to myself. Had I by accident (or divine intervention) wandered into a psychiatrist’s office?

“Uhm… Aren’t you supposed to figure that out?” I asked.

“Usually patients have a great feel for these things.”

I thought to myself that Dr. Smiley had clearly never met my great aunt, who was convinced she had cancer every time she stubbed her toe, and who eventually died of a stroke (possibly brought on by all the worrying about cancer). Neither had Old Man Henry, who was convinced that his haemorrhoids were caused by alien probes, crossed the threshold into her office. But I didn’t say any of these things.

“Could it be… the flu?” I suggested.

“Sounds okay,” said Giggles, and gave me a prescription for something to bring down my temperature, which she’d never checked.

It’s a good thing I didn’t mention cancer. My great aunt sure would have.

By the way, I won an award, and now I'm going to spread the joy - and the award - to some deserving people. It's that big E up in the corner, there. I'm pointing right at it. I'm supposed to name ten nominees, but it seems most people that I stalk online already have one. Although that doesn't make ME any less special.

And the award goes to.......*drumroll*

Miss Doxie