My family and I went for a two-night stay over in Calgary to visit my brother, and have some relaxing time in the hotel. The visit with my brother was fun - the first time I got to see him in over a month. We went shopping, picked up some KFC, went down by the river and enjoyed a windy but pleasant lunch, then drove back to the hotel for some swimming. The visit was nice. The hotel stay? Not entirely. First, we had to downsize our room because the one we booked had no fridge to put our Easter leftovers in, nor a microwave to heat them up. Then, my mother nearly broke her foot on a loose step in the hot-tub, and walked around with a painful, swollen foot the entire trip. Finally, when we got to check out, not only has management provided no concession for my mother’s injury - or even the hint of a sincere apology - they’ve denied us the medical rate for our room, and charged us for two nights of having a dog in our room. We didn’t bring my dog.
We should have, though. This is where my story really begins.
We were gone for two days, arranging for our neighbor to feed, water, and otherwise take care of my dog while we’re away. She’s done it before, we trust her. Copper likes her. All good, right? Wrong.
Apparently we’ve gone away to Calgary too much lately, and I’ve been staying in Red Deer too much lately, and my dog is just downright pissed off at us.
He ate: 1 loaf of bread, 1 bag of Lays Original chips, an entire box of unopened Pot of Gold chocolates that my mother got for Easter, an undeterrmined amount of Instant Coffee, an undetermined amount of Jelly Beans that were hidden in the eggs the kids didn’t find at Easter, and my brother’s Sea Monkeys & their food.
He tore up: garbage, papers in my room, coasters, the lid to the cookie jar that the Instant Coffee was in, and one of my Western Pizza cups that I collect. He also knocked over various items from the counter, and one of our upstairs bookcases.
Yeah … he’s in the proverbial doghouse.
It’s not like it’s a secret that my dog is a garbage-guts, though. When we first got him, he ate everything. I do not exaggerate. He ate anything that was left out on the counter: meat, butter, bread, candy, chocolate … whatever there was. He would take scraps of plastic, paper, and garbage outside and chew it up in the yard. He made off with my Resident Evil movie, and chewed up the case. He’s the first dog that actually enabled me to say honestly that, “my dog ate my homework”. He’s eaten our satellite remote, my hair dye, a few unfortunate stuffed animals - the only thing that has ever made him sick is Chinese food. That was a decidedly NOT FUN experience, one that was never repeated. He’s eaten chocolate, candy, and other table scraps, and it’s never made him sick. But, he’s never eaten and ENTIRE box of chocolates, and he’s never eaten chocolate that wasn’t given to him by one of us.
He is lucky to be alive. And not just because he chewed up part of my cup collection … though, if it were one of my Coca Cola cups, it might be a different story. J
Honestly, though, I love my dog. I love him more than anything, and I freely admit this. I am sure that it bothers several family members, but it is the truth. I love animals more than humans, and I always will. I love Copper, I want him to live for many, many years.
My first dog, George, died when he was eight, on August 22, from cancer. My mom left home claiming to be taking him for an appointment, and came home without him. I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye. My second dog, Sylvia, died when she was three, on March 18. She woke up paralyzed on the lower part of her body, from a calcified disc in her back. I had to make the choice to not let her suffer any longer. My mom’s dog, Jack, died when he was sixteen. He had a heart murmur, cataracts, arthritis, and finally died in my arms from a stroke at 5:30 in the morning on November 30.
Copper’s birthday is in July. He will be seven years old. He’s already beaten the 3-year mark, I want him to beat the 8-year mark. I’d love him to beat the 16-year mark. More than that, I want him to be healthy. I want him to live a long, full life, with as little pain as possible. He will be my last dog for a very long time. I don’t want him to suffer through old age, like Jack did, but I want him to live a long, long life.
My dog is a medical marvel. He’s eaten chocolate, which is supposed to be like poison for dogs. He’s eaten a full bottle of hair dye, and the conditioner that came along with it, which should have killed him. He’s eaten paper, plastic, garbage, cardboard, and various human foods. He’s eaten the equivalent of 12-14 days worth of dog food in one sitting when he snuck into the room where we kept his food. He is not a fat dog, nor do we force this food on him - he gets into it all by himself. As of yet, he has survived.
Does that mean I’ll let the box of chocolates, Instant Coffee, or Sea Monkeys sit on the counter when we go out anymore? Nope.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Sunday, April 17, 2011
End of Year 2
Another year gone. When I started this whole college thing, I wasn’t too excited about it. Because, really, my options were: get a job, or go to school. Because I hated my last job, I opted for higher education. My thinking: part time school, a couple classes a week, how bad could it be?
My answer: it was pretty okay. Deferring my practicum the first semester wasn’t exactly my brightest choice, but if I hadn’t, then I wouldn't have gotten the chance to do a practicum at Tiny Treasures in the spring. That was fun. that was the semester that I finally started to love school again.
Don’t get my wrong, I’m not one of those people who hates school, doesn’t see the point in it, and never did well in school. I used to love school. When I was a kid, I was almost always the first one to catch on to reading, writing, and math. I loved it - I would always win when we played “Around the World Math” in grade 3. I wrote my first story in grade 1, and absolutely fell in love with writing. Then we moved, and my marks dropped from almost-honor-roll, down to 30s. Innisfail was not a happy place for me. Four months later, we moved again, and they went back up to 60s and 70s. That was okay for me. I didn’t put a whole lot of effort into school after that - maybe because I was resigned to having to pack up and move again at the drop of a hat, maybe because from my last experience, the teachers weren’t too interested in teaching. I mean, my high school math teacher - while entertaining in her own right - cared more about shopping online for shoes and vintage Fraggles than actually teaching me the specifics of domain and range. I stopped putting an effort into math, and the other courses that weren’t as fun, and put all my energy into the classes that I did love: English, Psychology, Social, and Band. Those were my best classes in high school. My English teacher was and still is my favorite teacher. Psychology was easily my best class, even though my teacher didn’t have a clue. Social was fun, because I love learning about history, and in Band, I got to jam out with my friends.
Then we graduated, and went our separate ways, and life just sort of went on. I got heavy into writing, and quit my less-than-stellar job because I was getting sick too much. After far too much time spent vegging on the couch, watching TV and reading/writing fanfics, it was finally time to make that life-altering choice: job, or school.
School it was. That was only one half of the choice, though. Okay, going to school - but what will I take in school. My first choice was Psychology. I want a degree in Criminal Psychology. The catch? I need Pure Math 30, because there’s a statistics course in the degree course. Of course there is. Remember that impressive math teacher I had in school? Sigh … okay, Psychology was out for a while. Next, was Social Work. Well, I’d had way too much experience with the inner working of social services and foster care, so I wasn’t too eager to become one of “them”.
After some more perusing of the available courses at RDC, I came across Early Learning and Child Care. It wasn’t what I’d imagined myself doing, but I thought I’d give it a try. It was only a two-year course, so I thought I’d give it a try. End result: I’m now a Level 2 Child Care Provider, and I’m loving every minute of it.
Tomorrow I’ll write my last 2 exams of the semester, and so will end my second year of college. I’m finished with my third practicum, and have already made plans to go back and volunteer once my exams are over.
This has been a busy year for me. When I wasn’t in school, I was in practicum, and when I wasn’t in practicum, I was finishing assignments and preparing activities for practicum. I’ve missed over half of my shows this year, my puppy has spent more time with my mother than he has with me, my hours of sleep have been next to non-existent, and it’s a debate every morning whether I really want to put the effort in shaving my legs, or just throw on pants instead of shorts. I chopped off all my hair because I was sick of the winter frizz-ball it becomes, and have fallen madly in love with our foster children. I got to reconnect with my friends from high school, dealt with my youngest brother’s issues and saying goodbye to him, spend oodles of time with my brother, sister-in-law, and niece, and finished writing my first novel. I’ve bounced back and forth from Red Deer, to Sylvan, to Edmonton, and back, spending maybe 1/3 of the time in my own bed.
So, 2 exams tomorrow and then I’m officially done for the year. What am I going to do? SLEEP! SLEEP! And then? … SLEEP! Spend time with my dog, have movie/TV show marathons with my sister-in-law, hang out with my niece, and … oh, yeah: SLEEP!
My answer: it was pretty okay. Deferring my practicum the first semester wasn’t exactly my brightest choice, but if I hadn’t, then I wouldn't have gotten the chance to do a practicum at Tiny Treasures in the spring. That was fun. that was the semester that I finally started to love school again.
Don’t get my wrong, I’m not one of those people who hates school, doesn’t see the point in it, and never did well in school. I used to love school. When I was a kid, I was almost always the first one to catch on to reading, writing, and math. I loved it - I would always win when we played “Around the World Math” in grade 3. I wrote my first story in grade 1, and absolutely fell in love with writing. Then we moved, and my marks dropped from almost-honor-roll, down to 30s. Innisfail was not a happy place for me. Four months later, we moved again, and they went back up to 60s and 70s. That was okay for me. I didn’t put a whole lot of effort into school after that - maybe because I was resigned to having to pack up and move again at the drop of a hat, maybe because from my last experience, the teachers weren’t too interested in teaching. I mean, my high school math teacher - while entertaining in her own right - cared more about shopping online for shoes and vintage Fraggles than actually teaching me the specifics of domain and range. I stopped putting an effort into math, and the other courses that weren’t as fun, and put all my energy into the classes that I did love: English, Psychology, Social, and Band. Those were my best classes in high school. My English teacher was and still is my favorite teacher. Psychology was easily my best class, even though my teacher didn’t have a clue. Social was fun, because I love learning about history, and in Band, I got to jam out with my friends.
Then we graduated, and went our separate ways, and life just sort of went on. I got heavy into writing, and quit my less-than-stellar job because I was getting sick too much. After far too much time spent vegging on the couch, watching TV and reading/writing fanfics, it was finally time to make that life-altering choice: job, or school.
School it was. That was only one half of the choice, though. Okay, going to school - but what will I take in school. My first choice was Psychology. I want a degree in Criminal Psychology. The catch? I need Pure Math 30, because there’s a statistics course in the degree course. Of course there is. Remember that impressive math teacher I had in school? Sigh … okay, Psychology was out for a while. Next, was Social Work. Well, I’d had way too much experience with the inner working of social services and foster care, so I wasn’t too eager to become one of “them”.
After some more perusing of the available courses at RDC, I came across Early Learning and Child Care. It wasn’t what I’d imagined myself doing, but I thought I’d give it a try. It was only a two-year course, so I thought I’d give it a try. End result: I’m now a Level 2 Child Care Provider, and I’m loving every minute of it.
Tomorrow I’ll write my last 2 exams of the semester, and so will end my second year of college. I’m finished with my third practicum, and have already made plans to go back and volunteer once my exams are over.
This has been a busy year for me. When I wasn’t in school, I was in practicum, and when I wasn’t in practicum, I was finishing assignments and preparing activities for practicum. I’ve missed over half of my shows this year, my puppy has spent more time with my mother than he has with me, my hours of sleep have been next to non-existent, and it’s a debate every morning whether I really want to put the effort in shaving my legs, or just throw on pants instead of shorts. I chopped off all my hair because I was sick of the winter frizz-ball it becomes, and have fallen madly in love with our foster children. I got to reconnect with my friends from high school, dealt with my youngest brother’s issues and saying goodbye to him, spend oodles of time with my brother, sister-in-law, and niece, and finished writing my first novel. I’ve bounced back and forth from Red Deer, to Sylvan, to Edmonton, and back, spending maybe 1/3 of the time in my own bed.
So, 2 exams tomorrow and then I’m officially done for the year. What am I going to do? SLEEP! SLEEP! And then? … SLEEP! Spend time with my dog, have movie/TV show marathons with my sister-in-law, hang out with my niece, and … oh, yeah: SLEEP!
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Thankful For My Childhood Experiences
To everyone who gets pissed at their parents when they discover that the "Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy," and "Santa" aren't "real", I have this to say to you:
They've bought at least one extra present for each one of you at every Christmas, often more expensive and extravagant than the ones they took credit for. They filled your stockings with treats and toys, trying hard not to make any noise so that the magic of Christmas wouldn't be ruined for you. They've rearranged their schedules to buy your "Santa" presents when you wouldn't be there to see it, and then went to extreme measures to hide them so the surprise wouldn't be ruined. They helped you write letters to "Santa", and helped you read the reply that you got, cuddling you in their arms while you smiled with glee. They let you wake them up extra early to see what “Santa” brought everyone. They lied and hid and did whatever they could so that you could stay an innocent kid for just a little while longer.
They helped you seal up your teeth in little white envelopes, or small tooth containers, so that you could place them under your bed for the tooth fairy to come. They’ve dug into their own wallets for every single tooth that you lost, giving you money and letting a small, tutu-toting fairy take credit for it. They’ve undergone the chilling fear of trading that tooth for money, hoping that you wouldn’t wake up and catch them.
They bought chocolate, candy, toy bunnies, and other Easter presents, stayed up late to make sure that you were asleep before laying them out for you, and then let you wake them up early so they could see what the “Easter Bunny” brought everyone.
Quit bitching about your parents trying to let you enjoy your childhood - be thankful that they went to the lengths that they did for your enjoyment.
“Santa”, the “Easter Bunny”, and the “Tooth Fairly” ARE REAL. They are the mother and/or father who thanklessly did all of the above, and did everything that s/he could to keep the credit off of her/him.
They've bought at least one extra present for each one of you at every Christmas, often more expensive and extravagant than the ones they took credit for. They filled your stockings with treats and toys, trying hard not to make any noise so that the magic of Christmas wouldn't be ruined for you. They've rearranged their schedules to buy your "Santa" presents when you wouldn't be there to see it, and then went to extreme measures to hide them so the surprise wouldn't be ruined. They helped you write letters to "Santa", and helped you read the reply that you got, cuddling you in their arms while you smiled with glee. They let you wake them up extra early to see what “Santa” brought everyone. They lied and hid and did whatever they could so that you could stay an innocent kid for just a little while longer.
They helped you seal up your teeth in little white envelopes, or small tooth containers, so that you could place them under your bed for the tooth fairy to come. They’ve dug into their own wallets for every single tooth that you lost, giving you money and letting a small, tutu-toting fairy take credit for it. They’ve undergone the chilling fear of trading that tooth for money, hoping that you wouldn’t wake up and catch them.
They bought chocolate, candy, toy bunnies, and other Easter presents, stayed up late to make sure that you were asleep before laying them out for you, and then let you wake them up early so they could see what the “Easter Bunny” brought everyone.
Quit bitching about your parents trying to let you enjoy your childhood - be thankful that they went to the lengths that they did for your enjoyment.
“Santa”, the “Easter Bunny”, and the “Tooth Fairly” ARE REAL. They are the mother and/or father who thanklessly did all of the above, and did everything that s/he could to keep the credit off of her/him.
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