Dad here; the girls have always put numbered the boys at the Casa del Whackos, and now that Oba is here from North Carolina, the estrogen brigade is even stronger. Now, although Oba hails from Okinawa, a fairly rural island off of the coast of Japan, she is convinced that everyone in Arkansas has difficulty wearing shoes and pronouncing complete sentences.
This belief was reinforced when I let slip this morning that I sometimes engage in an activity that only men can fully appreciate, and women, with the exception of the four legged girls of the Casa, can only envy:
Peeing outside.
One of the advantages of having a secluded back yard is the ability to be a bit more relaxed when taking the dogs outside at night; something about watching dogs pee is like standing next to a waterfall, as it seems to trigger a sympathetic response. The beauty of the situation is you can even walk around a bit, although it is important to remember to always walk backwards, or at least scuttle a bit sideways, which unfortunately is more than a little crab-like.
How’s THAT for a run-on sentence, with a side of mental imagery thrown in, free of charge?
A few years ago, we were on a motorcycle camping trip with a bunch of knuckle-dragging mouth breathers up in the Ozarks, all personal friends of mine. I decided to walk away from the campfire to let my eyes adjust to the darkness so that I could better see the Milky Way wheeling in the sky overhead. I was standing alone, admiring the stars above when the combination of cool night air and solitude triggered that age-old response.
So, there I was, standing in the middle of this old country lane, minding my own business while taking care of the same, when my buddy Marty decides to come check the out the stars as well. I can see his flashlight approaching;, not wishing to hog the spotlight, so to speak, I start my backwards migration. What I didnt realize was that Marty was following the zig-zag trail I was laying down; needless to say, he was NOT pleased when he discovered the source of his navigational guidance. I am still of the opinion this uncomfortable situation could have been avoided had I been allowed to finish my task in in solitude, not being tracked down the road like a wounded deer.
Fast forward to last night: the Thanksgiving guests had toddled off towards their own homes to sleep off their tryptophan overdoses, and things were starting to wind down. On the other hand, the dogs were all frisky and demanding to be let out to flounce around the back yard; a beautiful full moon was rising over the Casa del Whackos, and, well, I think that you know where this is heading…
But this is how far my status as the pater familius has fallen: when Mia saw where I was marking my territory, she came over to mark her own on top of it; then Charlie, then Claire Bear, effectively nullifying any claim I may have had concerning pack leadership. Micro Polo and Ajax, being the stand-up guys that they are, recognized my ritual humiliation and wisely chose to expand their own boundaries further to the west… Oba and mom obviously chose the more civilized route, and elected to take advantage of one of the marvels of modern society: indoor plumbing.
It’s always a potty at the Casa del Whackos!
