Meet “Boomer”

I’m not sure what breed of dog “Boomer” is, unless Big, Aggressive, and Annoying is a breed. Whenever we express our misgivings about this vicious beast, our neighbor (the dog’s owner) assures us that “Boomer” is “just a pup.” Okay. That just means he is going to get even bigger. Not a very comforting thought.

So we have this huge back yard that we can’t use. We pay rent for it, of course, but I can’t let my son or our small Dachshund play out there. They have a right to play in the back yard, but that right is abrogated by our neighbor’s equal right to keep his dog in his back yard. The point at which our respective “rights” collide is a rather shabby looking chain-link fence. When “Boomer” isn’t busy digging his tunnel under this fence, he practices jumping over it. It is only a matter of time.

There is no solution, unless the dog actually attacks someone. As a responsible parent and pet owner, I can’t let that happen. So my son doesn’t get a swimming pool this summer, and my Dachshund gets his fresh air and sunshine while being chained to a stake in the front yard.

I thoroughly despise people who get these big, aggressive dogs, then park them in the back yard and call them “guard dogs.” They are not “pets.” I’ve never seen anyone pet, or play with “Boomer.” He’s fed and watered regularly, as near as I can tell, and he has a big dog house that he can retreat to when it rains, or to escape the heat of the day. To the best of my knowledge, the dog is not mistreated in any manner. He just wanders around back there, barks at me when I go out into the back yard, works on his digging project, lays around.

I think he would like to play. Even when he is barking and showing his teeth, his tail is always up and wagging, and his ears perk forward. He’s “just a pup,” after all. Right after we moved into this house, I attempted to engage the dog in a little bit of play. I didn’t actually reach over the fence, or attempt to touch the dog. I need my hands. I just talked to him in a playful tone. The dog seemed immediately interested.

It didn’t last more than thirty seconds before the owner came out to see what I was doing, then he called the dog inside. I guess he didn’t want me “getting friendly” with his attack dog. No, that wouldn’t do at all, would it? He wouldn’t be much of a “guard dog” if folks could come right up and pet him, or play with him. Better to keep the animal distrustful and aggressive toward ALL strangers, that way nobody will ever sneak into your back yard and steal…say…that rusty-ass old swing set that looks like it’s been sitting there since the Reagan era.

Thieves are notoriously stupid. Surely it will never occur to them to break in through the front door, avoiding the back yard entirely.

In the meantime, fully one-third of the property that we pay rent for sits useless.

Scary Dolls

My wife collects dolls of all types, and for whatever reason they absolutely terrify my seven-year-old son. I mean to the extent that he will not use the bathroom just off the master bedroom if the main bathroom is occupied because he would have to walk past one of the scarier ones. Of course, to me they are just dolls, but I well remember the fears and terrors of childhood, and I well remember my own parents “pooh poohing” such supposed silliness on my part.

So, with this in mind, I set out this morning at the dark hour of 4:00 a.m. to try and capture these dolls’ faces the way that I imagine my son sees them, rather than in the bright light of day and filtered through the mind of a “rational” adult.

I wound up scaring the snot out of myself…

This is the doll that is perched high up on a shelf in the master bedroom. It belonged to my wife when she was a little girl, and it is definitely showing it’s years. The thing looks positively demonic…

Another shot of the same doll…we’ve gone from demonic to insane…

I actually got a little creeped out, standing there in the darkness with nothing between me and that freak-show but a flashlight and a digital camera. This “I Love Lucy” doll is actually wearing a festive little Mrs. Claus outfit. What could be less threatening than Lucille Ball and Christmas? But viewed from the right angle, and in the right light, the image takes on a rather sinister overtone…

The expression on this little laughing boy’s face turns from merriment to madness, when viewed from a slightly different perspective…

And this gypsy lady with the mask over her eyes seems about to come alive and turn toward the camera…

Finally, even the angel in my office comes off as somewhat less than “angelic” when the lights go down…

I’m glad I tried this little experiment in changing perspectives. I’m far less likely to dismiss my son’s fears as irrational if I first try to see things as he is seeing them, rather than judging from my own point of view. Gosh, I wonder what else that might work with…

I get by with a little help from my friends…

I get up every morning at around 2:00 a.m. It is my “personal time,” I suppose you could say, set aside primarily for my writing, and other creative endeavors. I love these dark, pre-dawn hours when the house is quiet–the whole world is quiet, at least over here in my little corner of it–and I can hang around with a few of my best friends. Who are these friends, you might ask? Well, let me introduce you to them. They are a bit shy–as am I–so I doubt they will be making any more appearances here. If you would like to ask them any questions, you should do it now. We like to call ourselves “The Nerbs,” because we haven’t figured out yet if we are Night owls or EaRly BirdS.

By the way…this blog post has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I just purchased a new fancy-schmancy digital camera. Nothing whatsoever.

First up, I would like to introduce Angel.
She belonged to my wife, originally, and was kept in a box of her things out in the garage. I came across her one day and was immediately smitten by her beauty. She’s the real authority in our little group; calm, kind, and very wise. We all love her very much.
Isn’t she gorgeous?

Next up is this rascal, who goes by the rather unoriginal name of Beary.
Beary is quite patriotic, as you can see, and of Scottish descent. He originally belonged to my mother, who has since passed away, and he always reminds me of her. He is also very smart, but mostly where it concerns fixing or building things. You see, he is sitting atop a complete set of Practical Handyman’s Encyclopedias. His knowledge is a bit outdated–the set was published back in the early 1950’s–but all in all, he is quite a shrewd and useful bear.

Next to Beary (and his girlfriend, or so he likes to think) is Regina.
Regina is the main character in a video game called Dino Crisis, of which this poster is an advertisement. Regina’s pretty hot, no doubt about it, and she certainly looks good in a black leather outfit, but once you get to know her you realize that she is actually very shy and reserved. You don’t want to piss her off, though. She’ll open up a can on your ass in a heartbeat. Regina is a very tactical-minded person, and she is invaluable to me as a sounding-board when I am fighting my way through various plot difficulties, or trying to figure out why my novel has gone all wonky all of a sudden. I think she has the most beautiful eyes that I have ever seen, but of course, I’m far too shy to ever tell her that.

Over here on the desk is a feisty little fellow named Irish (for obvious reasons).
Irish was a gift to me from my wife, just this last St. Patrick’s Day. He’s quite a stern little fellow, and he seems rather preoccupied with making sure that I get my daily writing chores done. I think he fancies himself a writer, but of course he could never succeed at it as he has no pencil with which to write, nor any fingers with which to grasp the pencil (that he doesn’t have). I sometimes suspect that he has the ability to write through me…sitting there seeming to glare hypnotically at me with his beady black eyes. I wonder how much of what I write comes from my own creative subconscious, and how much is actually channeled through me by this little green bear? I suppose it really doesn’t matter. He’s quite a nice fellow, once you get to know him.

Rounding out our little 2:00 a.m. cadre is Uni.
Not a very original name, I will admit, but, then, neither is mine. Uni was a gift from one of my nieces, back a couple of birthday’s ago. Uni is very magical, and she (according to my niece, Uni is a girl) tells the most fantastic stories of far away places and mystical things. I wish I could write a few of them down and share them with you, but for some reason they always disappear from my mind sometime after 4:30 a.m., while I’m getting ready to go to work. All that is left is a vague memory of some beautiful place full of strange and exotic people, and adventure. Lots and lots of adventure.

So, there you have us: The Nerbs. For the better part of the day they just sit around my office staring at each other; a couple of stuffed bears, a doll, a poster, and a ceramic statue. But at 2:00 a.m., when I come in here to begin my day’s writing, they are very much alive. It is little wonder that these two and one-half hours are my favorite part of every day.

I like hanging out with my friends.

Three Easy Steps

Says so right on the box. “Three Easy Steps.” What they fail to mention (until you get the damn thing home and read the set-up manual, which is considerably longer than three pages, I might also add) is that the pool will only work on perfectly level ground. Honestly, how many places on the entire planet are perfectly level? Doesn’t Nature abhor a straight line? I abhor this friggen pool. Yes, indeed I do.

Another thing that I learned…don’t set the damn thing up under a tree. They don’t make a heater for a pool this size, and the thing needs direct sunlight for most of the day. That is, unless you get some sort of perverse pleasure out of watching your children’s lips turn blue and their teeth chatter whenever they swim in it. The most level stretch of ground in my back yard (one that only required three hours of digging and leveling) is right under a big old elm tree. I figured what the heck…it gets hot under elm trees, at least where I live. Not hot enough, obviously. My son hopped in the first time, shrieked, and he hasn’t been back in since then. NOW I’m going to have to move the damn thing, which means I’ll have to drain it, and God knows how much more digging and leveling. I hope I don’t accidentally poke a big-ass hole in it in the process.

In other news, I’m trying to work out a cool interview with the guy who developed PageFour, the word processor that I use. Cool dude and cool product. Hopefully by next Sunday.

Thank you Blogger, for screwing up my “Picture Of The Day” element over in the sidebar. That thing has worked just fine for years, now it’s goofed up. Appreciate it!

Still can’t tell you the name of my Super Secret book project, but it is coming along nicely, thank you. I am out of “preproduction” and happily working away on the first draft. More on that in the near future.