Hellhound

Every person has a story. What people don't unda'stan is every car has a story too. Just so happen my story tangle with a car's story.
When my pa first bought the car - our first as a family - I was four. The day he brung home tha car he says it look like an ebony body builder on wheels. I don't know what tha mean then, but I know now and it sure make ma frown like the devil.
I was in a stage, thinkin objects was real. I thought that car was a hellhound from one o' my ma's scary bible stories. When I tol' pa he thought this was a hoot. We's call it Hellhound from then on. And it was. Tha thing could roar louda than a lion with a thistle in it's paw. I'd be playin with my chawk in the carway and pa come home, that car near gobble me up into its dark maw. It like a growlin beast at my back.
Pa said don't wurra, tha car never take a bite a me, I'm spoilt he say. Back then he coulda been right.
Weren't till lata I get unscared and start to see it for wha it was.
Tha ol' car hold our family togetha.
When ma used to walk home in the pourin' rain from the fac'try, she catch such a cold. Now pa can pick her up. Sometimes they even catch a milkshake togetha first.
On Fridays when I had no schoo next morn - oh Lord how I hated schoo then - we'd pile inta the Hellhound and go to the drive-in show. I'd squeeze between ma and pa on the shiny leatha bench seat. Sometimes I'd fall right asleep, and I'd always have the besta dreams. I'd dream I'm king of the hellhounds and we'd ride through the city, snatchin' up crim'nals.
As I grew, times they gota hard. People, they ain't lookin'to pay people they ain't have to. My pa got laid off, then my ma too; lot a people did. Soon we move to a small apar'ment. My mum want my pa to sell Hellhound, but he don't. He can't I guess. Tha the only thing linkin' him to what we had.
Afta I see mum start coughin' more. She always cough, but this sure is new and it's not just her. We learn her years at the fac'try make her sick, others too. Even Hellhound can't take her way from tha. My pa gets mad and then bitter like ma's rhubarbed pie. But one night he just knows. He tell me to get Hellhound runnin'. I'm neva allow to drive Hellhound, not yet. I want to feel excited but I don't. Pa, he cradles ma carefully and sits her in the middle a Hellhound, between us. Then tells me to drive. Tha car drives smootha than it ever did, like it was scared a bouncin' ma. It don't even jump for'ard goin' inta third like it likes to. We go to ma's favourite spot, lookin' over our city. Tha city ain't always nice to us, but ma sure love it. It's then I know what goin' happen. Her breathin' slows, like she goin' sleep real quiet. And then as she lean on my pa, she don't wake. We cry silent as if not to stir her.
Growin' up was hard then, for me and pa. Mum sure made it easy but we did our best. I decide to keep on with school, till I got accepted at university. It hurts to leave pa but the day before I go, pa hand me Hellhound's keys. Says it needs more good memories.
Drivin' away, pa looks smaller, just a wisp in that smoky mirra. I try my best; I work hard in school but make friends and memories too.
When I come home, I think I did good. Thinkin' pa be proud, I drive Hellhound home more nervous then I ought to be. In that small apartment, dustier than ma would ever let it, I find him in bed.
My strong pa is justa sick ol' man. I spend my days with him, but still couldn't figure out how he get so old, so soon.
One day he ask me to park Hellhound unda'neath his winda. So I shine it up real good and park it below. I pick up my poor pa and place him in the creaky rocka where it can see it. I prop open the winda so he can get a good view and feel the air on his face, like he drivin'. He can't sit there long, but I know it long enough. Next day he spend it in bed, but he smilin' just a bit.
Tha night, I know. Don't know how, I just do. I take that man in my arms, so small I wurra I crush him. His heart beats like a buttafly against my arms. I sit him gentle like on that cracked leather seat in the middle and get behind the wheel. He leans on my shoulda, sittin' where my ma sat them years ago. It makes my eyes burn thinkin' bout it. We drive slow and Hellhound with it's ol' shocks and worn brakes carries him like a newborn babe. It sure seem to know where to go, up to ma's favourite spot. Tha city below twinklin' like stars stuck on the earth. I wonda how them people below don't know what's going on. Why don't they know what's happenin' to us three: me, pa and Hellhound. It's quiet and I think he gone but he squeeze my hand with his frail one. With one last effort he pat ol' Hellhound on her dusty dash like she a retired huntin' dog. Pa, he curl up 'gainst me and his breathin' goes quiet. Then it's just me and Hellhound.

Ode to a Cheffrey

Upon a recent foray into the neighbouring country, what was meant to be yet another life-changing adventure and possibly a week’s worth of stories, turned into a song of sorrow for my poor friend. During a valiant rescue mission to save a friend from the local “po po”, my good friend broke his foot and then (idiotically) walked on it for two days before being able to attend a hospital. Although I admit I hope they put a hot pink cast on, I just know he’d rock it to spite me.

Since his job requires him to be on his feet, it’s come to the conclusion that he might have to take a break in order to recover. This is not only a financial conundrum but my friend happens to lead an energetic and active lifestyle – while somehow being the most laid back person I know.
While working a 12 hour nightshift, I found I couldn’t get it off my mind, worrying about what he was going to do. So I compiled a list of possibilities:
- Join an interpretative-crutch dance group
- Paint waterfront scenery canvases
- Become a crippled buskar and put on entertaining sock puppet shows (crippled buskars make the best money)
- Begin writing a cooking course to teach, for future use
- Join World of Warcraft (oh wait…), or better yet, Dungeons and Dragons
- Hang out at the playground, just to rile up the local parents
- Consider writing a memoir – well maybe write it, instead of consider it
- Sketch caricatures for cash
- Sell the over abundance of “stuff” you have falling out the doors and windows of your apartment
- Become a sex-line operator… or a suicide operator but seriously which one would be more fun
- Gain lots of weight and become morbidly obese – it is considered a disability and you could have your own nurse!
- Win the lottery and get chauffeured around like Driving Miss Daisy
- Teach 4-H, you have enough experience
- Have more Arts and Crafts days with me!
I can’t wait for the day that my friend can look back and laugh, but knowing him that’ll probably be tomorrow. Not being able to imagine what it’s like, I figure I’ll just watch my step, leave my friends to the po po’s and try to cheer up my busted buddy.

How to NOT Sell a Horse

I have a bit of an addiction -aside from sorbet ice cream- and that's watching horse sale videos. To be able to watch dozens of horse videos, one after the other when in the past you had to send away for one and only if you were a 'serious buyer'. If technology has done one thing, it's fuel the horse lovers obsession and enabled us more outlets to watch and learn.

While some videos make us envious and wish we had room for "just one more!" other videos leave us shaking our heads and wondering why someone would take the time to make a video if that was the end product.

Maybe that's a bit harsh but it's like those raggedy, thread-bare sweatpants that you love to wear around the house. You may love them, but you don't admit to owning them, let alone put them on the world wide web.

Here are a few if my latest horse sale video pet peeves:


Wearing shorts in a riding clip - Umm no. This is one of those "sweatpant" examples. You may love to ride in shorts, but never admit to it, let alone use it in your sale vid. No only is it unsafe, it's unprofessional. It says to your potential buyers "This is a backyard pony that I trained myself wearing shorts the entire time. We also wear camoflauge during duck hunting season."

Wearing flip flops/running shoes/barefeet or even better Crocs - Although this is a great way to show how well your horse moves off your leg, this is like wearing a hollowed watermelon as a helmet. My horse is very good about staying out of my space, but I couldn't blame her if she stepped on me while wearing flipflops. That would be her way of telling me I'm an idiot and I'd have to thank her for it. In a training video, it says I couldn't care less about this video so I didnt take the time to put proper shoes on.



Standing on your horse's back - This occurs mostly in horse pictures, not videos. I realize it's supposed to be impressive but my camera takes less than 5 seconds to take a photo. You may be trying to tell me that your horse is bombproof but all that I'm getting from that picture is you were able to stand on your horse 5 seconds before he blew up and threw you off. Congrats though, maybe you should take up bronc riding.




Not grooming the horse first - Really?? Should I even explain this? Let's start at the beginning : you take the time to charge your camera, you make sure it's a sunny day, you get your friend to help you take the video, you sit down and upload it to your computer, you even put some pretty music to your horse flouncing around the ring... and you didn't take the time to get the mud off him? I love ads that say " This is a stunning, fancy red roan" It is? Looks mud-coloured to me. Maybe if I turn my head to the side.... Nope, still brown.

Riding said horse in draw reins and/or other training implements - Your horse may go beautifully in draw reins... but how am I to know that everything won't fall apart the second they're taken off? Doing a sale video with them on says to the buyer "These are a crutch, I don't know how to ride without them and neither does the horse". Another example is "greenbroke 2yr old, easy to train and practically finished." then the poor 2yr old is shown riding in an 8inch shank bit with rockgrinder spurs... in those videos I feel the damage is done and although you could 'undo' it, it's painful to think that the horse would be so much further ahead if it had never been 'trained' that way.

Lunging a weanling or yearling around and around and around - Ouch, ouch, ouch. Jeez, that's great they lunge... but they could have learned that when their knees were properly closed. People forget there are lots of other ways to teach foals the basics without making their growing legs suffer. Not only that but when you see a foal in a sale video, you know it's a foal. You're not expecting to see a video of it winning Congress for HUS. All that is necessary is a vid that shows its movement, it's conformation, the foal interacting with people and maybe some clips of the dam. The best way to do most of that is to get the mare moving and have the foal follow, preferably in a larger field and not a 7 minute clip.

Palestra-Tan-Servizio Lavanderia

THEY'RE BACK and this season looks like it'll take the cake over all others and what's better than guidos and guidettes showing the way they roll? Throwing them in a country that won't understand the way they roll. Hairdryers are blowing up and the girls are straightening their hair in the kitchen which makes me wonder: what will Pauly do without his blow out??

After just one episode, The Sitch is already breaking his rules and stirring the pot and surprise surprise Deena has decided that now Ronnie's single, she's not interested and would rather have Pauly... which she does in the most disgusting face-sucking way.



So now what do we have to look forward to? At least one trip to the exotic Italian cop shop, a few sparring matches and probably one knock-out, three-way kissing (Blech!) and a season full of random pick-ups. Of course, let us all pray that the inevitable doesn't occur and hopefully Sammy and Ronnie can avoid smushing.

This season's tag line will still be G-T-L but with the Italian twist of Gelato-Tiramisu-Linguine. Maybe bad-ass Jenny will gain back some of her tough-girl body on the GTL.

911 Animal Complaints

Scenario 1: You see four adorable and cuddly raccoon babes handing out in a tree, apparently motherless. You think - they can't get down and you believe a police-run rescue mission is in order. You call 911 because supposedly this a bloody emergency. Me, the dispatcher, can tell you how this goes:

Me: Which service, police, fire, ambulance?

You: Police

Me: What's your emergency?

You: There are four raccoon babies stuck in a tree.

Me: Okay so you want an officer to shoot them down?

You: NO! I want an officer to rescue them.

Me: Okay well if an officer goes, they're going to be shot out of the tree. Trust me though, they'll make it down.

You: Umm never mind... *click*

Scenario 2: You're bit once by the neighbour's frothing mutt Miss Tickles. You freak out, imagining horrendous scenes from Cujo, even though you're safe and sound in your home. You call 911. If I answer, this is how it's going to go:

Me: Which service, police, fire, ambulance?

You: Police.

Me: What's your emergency?

You: My neighbour's dog bit me 10 minutes ago.

Me: Did you bite it back? No? Well the police aren't paid enough to come bite a dog and teach it a lesson for your wussy ass. Have a nice day.

Scenario 3: This is a regular one, and keep in mind I have to take notes when I answer a call. It goes like this:

Me: Which service, police, fire, ambulance?

You: Police.

Me: What's your emergency?

You: There's a coyote walking down the road.

Me: And it's just walking.

You: Yeah.

Me: Is it getting into garbage, or acting aggressive?

You: No.

Me: So it's just walking down the road?

You: Yes.

Me: Okay I'll send an officer out right away.

You: Thank you! *hangs up*

Officer: What was that about?

Me: Nothing, just more paper to shred.

The Power of No

No.

No, no, no...

I don't normally believe I have 'pet peeves', or at least I do, I just hate calling them pet peeves. Unfortunately people who can't say no are one of them.

Want to go to a Celine Dion concert? No. Hell no.

Can you clean up that random pile of cat barf? Blech, no.

Will you be my Dungeons and Dragons partner? Sure! I mean umm no...

It's really not that hard. Unfortunately for some, it seems to be. I realize that I have a hard time saying no when it comes to work, probably because I envision my paycheck shrinking and the stuff I want to buy going away with it. Guilt has a lot to do with it; it weighs on you forcing a yes out of your mouth. Guilt plays a large role in a lot of our lives: feeling guilty if you don't do what people want, feeling like we're not good enough, feeling like we're failures. I believe in embracing our faults and feeling good about them. I'm self-absorbed. Therefore I don't mind saying no to attending Celine Dion just because you like it. Why not feel proud that you're a failure, or feel good about rebelling against what people want. While you're at it, say no.

Flaws

It's weird to think that someone will find flaws in you and dislike them when you've grown attached to them, happily or not.
For me, it's easy to look at someone and see their flaws. But then I wonder whether I could accept them.
Physical flaws can become familiar and endearing unless they go as far as to turn you off.
Can you grow to love and react to someone with flaws?
What about personality flaws? These I find harder to endure although they are less obvious: egotism, insecurity, vanity, apathy are more difficult to love than a snaggle tooth.
At what point do flaws control our opinion of someone?
Is that what everyone strives for, to be balanced and not over-flawed? Is that bland - we strive to be bland human beings?
Maybe a person's good traits overpower the flaws but we need both to see the difference.