Blech. Ninety degrees today? You wouldn't think this is September, or maybe I'm remembering incorrectly the way this late summer thing goes down every year. That's funny because Q and I end up arguing every year about when it is precisely that real winter hits here in the frozen northeast. She generally takes the position that Fall sucks here, compared to the sylvan paradise where she roamed as a whimsical little nugget of a queercat, and that it's all over by some time in October. I'm sure she'll correct me if I'm wrong. I, however, being from a less wooded and more...arid and frozen place, find the falls here to be long and idyllic and lovely. Winter, proper, for most of the five years I've been here, doesn't really get going until the beginning of January. Let the weather polling commence, if you have it in you and feel so inclined.
In other news, I finally got the more or less full story about my sister's dogs if you'll be so kind as to remember my fairly recent post on the matter. As it turns out, my mom didn't have the full scoop because she was so relieved when my sister admitted that they were gone that my sister no longer wanted to talk about it. I can get that. My mom has a very utilitarian perspective on animals. Anyway, apparently what had developed over the last few years is that the dogs had been tearing to pieces any other animal they could get their paws on: birds, rabbits, raccoons, the pet hamster, etc. The behavior started very young and apparently just got worse. My sister said that the sheriff had been to their house once, and the health department more than that. The final straw came when they dogs ripped apart a raccoon on their neighbor's lawn. gshhh. The story from this point is that she got in touch with their vet, the Newfoundland rescue people, and so on, and the experts concurred that the behavior had been rewarded and distinctly not corrected for so long that there was no hope for the dogs. She claims she was roundly counseled to put them down before they decided to go after even worse prey--small children? Pet dogs? Basically, it's still their fault. However, I feel bad for her for having to make that decision. It's the kind of thing that I don't think you ever get out from under. If that makes sense. Again, ugh.
Not to close on that note, the new class seems to be going fairly well. I think my students are warming up a bit, and I'm figuring out how to aim my jokes so that they get them. I made a DOMA quip last week that I thought was clever but which fell so flat that the room instantly got quiet. I hate it when that happens. Other news? I'm fighting my sense of overwhelming dread about revising my third chapter. I drafted the bloody thing in July and then let it fester on my computer for over a month. Mostly I don't think it sucks too bad, but, as with everything else, there's still so much to do. No more whining about that for now. You're welcome.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
When you first get that feeling that you hate yourself, that life is worthless and you will never see the sun ever again in your life and you awake from anxious, dark dreams to feel anxious dread in the morning as you prepare for work, and the smell of baking Cheerios seems to perversely warm you as you step out the door, it is winter in Buffalo.
PS - Nice, new layout.
I still think it's your sister's fault, albeit less directly. Despite Stephen King's efforts to convince us otherwise, domestic animals don't tend to be born as bloodthirsty maulers. We allow them to become what they become. We are rubber and they are glue. Or something.
Yes, we Sylvans do indeed know that a true fall cannot happen in Montana or really anywhere in the midwest either. In fact, I prefer the Adirondacks [said nasally], which is like fireorks, but oh well, I will settle for a coughing, sputtering attempt at a sparkler.
Winter begins at SAMHAIN!
Post a Comment