Conditional Learning

So, last night I told you the story of the smoke alarm that Dad set off with his less than perfect culinary skills.  Before I go on, I must say the chicken turned out pretty good – despite the smoke.  This is not to excuse his failure to keep the alarm from going off or that I would entrust him to be our full time chef, but I guess when it comes down to it we do like the fact he saves a morsel from his meal (every meal) for Zoe and I to share.  So despite his failure as a full time scribe, he has his positive attributes – which is important to keep in mind during this season of self-evaluation (aka we LOVE him).

Anyhow, the point of this blog is about what effect smoke alarms, compound miter saws, and so many other things, have on each of us depending on the circumstance in which they are presented to us.   For instance, Sammy hated the sound of the smoke alarm.  He trembled, cowarded, and sought out the comforting embrace of our mother every time they went off.  He would literally run to her side, lean on her, and tremble while she consoled him.  There may even be a previous post from Montana about his reactions to the alarm.  SO, he hated the alarm – pretty understandable for a creature with such acute hearing as he (and the rest of the canines in our pack) had.  However, where it becomes interesting to me, the behavioral observationalist I am (something I learned from Mom), is that he connected the sound of the saw with the smoke alarm, and thus, every time Dad fired up the electric wood divider, Sammy ran to his mother’s side and quivered.

Where this becomes particularly interesting is how Zoe responds to the same instrument of arbor torture.  See, when the saw gets activated nowadays:

1. The smoke alarm doesn’t go off…usually,
2. No wood is harmed during his efforts,
3. He is cutting cheese filled bones for us to get at the centers which our tongues weren’t able to reach when they were full size.

In short, Zoe loves the saw noise as it means more treats!  Sammy hated the saw as it meant the smoke alarm would blare.  Fascinating how the same thing could have totally different reactions from two of my siblings!

Of course, I handled both situations with the same calm, analytical, and scientific calm that you would expect from me.

The Tempest

I apologize if Montana or I have previously used this clip, but The Scribe used it as a template for his career… and used it as a quote in his thesis 🙂

The Night Dad Broke Zoe

Recently, Dad made dinner by himself as mom was out of town on business.  And as no surprise to me, the house was in no time filled with smoke, which in turn set off the smoke alarms.  I’ve heard this sound a number of times, not just from cooking disasters but also from Dad using power tools…a story for another night.

Anyhow, once the smoke alarm went off, the first time, Dad quickly depressed the button to shut it up.   Yeah!  Then moments later, the alarm went off again…and so did Zoe.  And even after Dad had unplugged the dang thing to shut it up, Zoe did not.  She had identified the intruder and would not stop her vigil of the newly identified opponent.

The sad part of the whole affair is that Dad had to alert mom that she may return home to a broken, constantly barking daughter.  So, Mom could not sleep worrying about her girl and ended up with a cold.  Whatever.

Luckily, after a decent walk, some airing out of the house, and a “few” treats, it seemed he had cured Zoe before mom returned.  Then the phone rang – a fairly regular occurrence at our house, rarely answered thanks to our parents being at work during the day…and caller ID of course – and suddenly Zoe was once again standing on the coffee table barking at the ceiling.  I could only give my best eyeroll at her antics and hope mom would be home soon!

I just was worried Zoe might go “Postal” at some point and then I checked out her GPS tracker and lo and behold…she was at the US Postal Service:

The I remembered she had lost her collar this weekend while we were in Michigan so I was able to relax.  Phew!  Farmor and (my favorite massage-giving) Aunt  (why did nobody tell me she had these skills until now?) were eventually able to find it today and are sending it back via the postal service so we can continue to keep track of Zoe.  Whether we want to or not.

More soon,

The Tempest

– In other news, yesterday we got a new scent in the neighborhood.  Zoe and I first got a sniff of the little guy in our backyard, but then when our parents entered our house yesterday after work, we got another good whiff of him on their pants, shirts and hands!  Turns out my best friends (the kids next door) got a new puppy!!!  We have yet to meet him in person, but we found out his name: Lambeau.  (they are cheese-heads…people from Wisconsin, and Lambeau is the stadium of the cheesiest of all teams: The Green Bay Packers).   Dad was inspired by this and contemplated renaming me “The Big House” – the nickname of the Michigan Stadium.  For some reason, he sent this picture of me to the neighbors:

Watering Hole

Recently, after a long walk to Starbucks and back, Zoe and I were a bit parched.  This was due to the fact that the fountain near the shop had been emptied of the water which usually erupts from the center of this structure and cascades down the sides and into a trough that we love to tromp through.  In fact, I think our parents have a video or two of us playing in the water at this location which Zoe has yet to make into a youtube feature.   Likewise, the other spots, located across the street from the Starbucks, which are around our local Whole Foods, the bank, and bookstore (which also has a Starbucks – btw), were also devoid of H20, further increasing our desperate need for water ASAP!

And upon our return, Zoe and I had a good romp around the upstairs, despite still not being quenched by a good lap from our bowl.   Afterward, I went to the bathroom door off our parents room to get to our water bowl but was met with a major disappointment, as the door was closed and no one inside willing to unlatch the door – it being one of those round ones which we (Zoe and myself) have yet to master (boy, do we prefer the lever type handles).   Being on the verge hydro-deficiency, I obviously could not go all the way down the stairs to the bowls in our room or the pool in the backyard, so I had to think hard about other options.  I thought, and thought, about where I could get the necessary liquid to alleviate my thirst.  And then…Inspiration struck!  The guest bathroom has a toilet.  And in that basin, there was water!!!!

So I trotted across the hall, lifted up the lid, and drank until my thirst was satiated.

And what I learned from all of this was:

1. My parents need to be more prepared to ensure we have water on long treks since we can not count on the village.
2. When faced with adversity, I can count on my deductive reasoning and creative use of the items at my disposal to solve any problems I might encounter.
3. Zoe is useless.

More soon,

The Tempest

Writers Block

Despite the many good stories I am currently working on, most are incomplete or not even started in our WordPress Blog account on account of the Scribe being inattentive to me and my inspired wisdom. In fact, there are currently 23 blogs in our “drafts” folder…I think a few may actually be from the time Montana was the real storyteller.

In my “great and unmatched wisdom” I decided to take matters into my own paws and put pen to paper.  On Monday, I found a nice notepad I thought perfect to start writing a story.  But the pen.  Where on earth is the pen?  I could not find one for the life of Zoe.  So I threw the papers to the wind…or on this dog bed by our back window.

Then a benevolent superpower – possibly Jessica Jones or Luke Cage – intervened and provided me with the required writing implement.  Unfortunately, the paper was stowed in a room in which the doors were closed off to me.

It was then I realized that even if I were to write down my own material, my fans – you in my blogosphere – would be unable to read my insights without some way to get it to the people at The internet.  And without the password to the family laptop I was once again blocked from ….  My frustrations at the multitude of roadblocks my parents placed in front of me were subsequently taken out on the pen.  Afterward, feeling bad, I tucked the pen in between the cushions on the couch.

Apparently my writers block comes not from my lack of words or stories or big picture concepts, but from my parents keeping me from pen, paper or the password to our laptop.

The Tempest