Oliphant Parts

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Did I really wear that much denim on a regular basis? It would seem so.

And on a completely different note, the snows came. Then the rains came, and the snow was gone. For a few sunny days, it was Spring again, and my bushes budded. And now it is snowing again. You’d think that plants would have developed some sort of innate understanding of seasons rather than getting their hopes up and putting forth all of their energies for a false spring. You’d be wrong. With luck, they’ll survive the winter, because it’s not bloody likely that I will get around to replanting for at least another five years.

Snow is good. It buries the dog turds in the back yard, freezing them solid, making them much easier to pick up come spring, false or otherwise. Unfortunately, fresh turds appear regularly, blossoming across the pure white field, surrounded in a hazy outline of yellow and waiting expectantly to crunch underfoot. Happy am I, wearing boots in this weather. Fresh feces and bare feet builds ill will towards the turd makers. With another few inches of snowfall, there is more reason to wait until spring to clean, as the turd-blossoms disappear, a few more indeterminate shapes giving form to our yard. By spring, perhaps we’ll have an even yard rather than the slope of present. It is good to have something to look forward to.

The zoo has expanded. After five years of indecisiveness, Jennie finally bought a horse. He’s a Polish Arab, sweet tempered and not all that bad for a horse. Officially, he is Fire Summer Rain, but I call him either Alpo or Krokette (which my Dutch friend Maike assures me is commonly made with horse meat). So, a horse is a large addition to a household, you say? Why yes it is. And how do you celebrate such an addition? By agreeing to adopt a puppy, of course! And here he is . . .

Hiro (yes, the previous and hopefully future owners are big Heroes fans) was 11 weeks old yesterday. He is a yellow lab and hails from Humboldt County, California. And no, just because he is from Humboldt does NOT mean he is a stoner, dammit! Unfortunately, he has the usual puppy traits, which is to say he is constantly pooping and peeing and whining. Admittedly, this can be a bit unnerving if you aren’t a dog-person and have had no puppy experience. We expect he will soon learn that it is better to drop a steaming load of puppy goo-ness outside rather than inside, and the whining has all but ceased in the 12 hours we’ve had him. He will be a real dog in no time! After that, I am not sure whether we are keeping him or whether his previous owners will be ready for him. Okay, time to go find out why he is being so quiet.

It’s good to have goals. My daughter plans on being a veterinarian (as long as she never has to put an animal down) and a horse trainer. Oh, and a teacher, a horseback riding instructor and occasionally the President of the United States. My son is more focused: He wants to be a veterinarian and have sixty kids, which he will raise here at my house once he takes it over from me so that he can raise horses. With all those kids and horses, I’m going to suggest he get a spread with a bit more than 5 acres. To that end, it’s time to give him the talk about finding a woman with huge tracts of land. My favorite professed goal, though? The boy-child’s classmate who has decided to be a tattoo artist when he grows up. Now there’s a kid who is focused. He’s seven and already working on his designs. I envy that kid. I wish I knew what I want to be when I grow up.

For other children, Marco-Polo and other games involve quickly determining who is "it" and then playing.  For my children, these are games of shouting "1!-2!-3!-4!-Not it!" and then arguing constantly over who was last.  This continues for thirty to forty minutes, or until everyone involved in the game has hurt feelings and nobody is speaking.  Kids are great.

 "I really would like to outfit them with shock collars."   This is my wife, having just called the kids to dinner seven times.  They feel, apparently, that if they dive underwater when being spoken to, that they do not need to listen.  I think the shock collars would be a bit drastic.  We should fill the pool with dirt and create another garden.  Then ground the kids until they are 23.

We have been discussing having more children, so figuring out a parenting style that works, injuring neither us nor the kids, would be good.  At present, our parenting style is great from the kids’ perspective, but leaves us fuming and at risk of strokes.  More children?  No!– we are not planning on getting knocked up, but rather trying our hands at foster care.  Surely, getting kids who are grateful to have a stable home life is how you end up with well-behaved children, right?  Or do we still need to figure out this whole parenting thing?