Welcome home, Kavanagh

  Kavanagh Gregory Kane, so I'm not the new kid anymore, huh...  Welcome home!!  OK, pleasantries over...

Kav (if I may be so bold) – We need to talk.  The first 90 days in a new house are the most important in your life.  It’s a fine line to walk – you have to be sure to set the ground rules that make sure YOU’RE the king of the house going forward, without crossing that magic line that gets you put in a box and left at a gas station.

I’ve been down this road before…

I’ve also done some research – well…I watched Lady and the Tramp a few times – and we need to get you through the whole chased by wild dogs scene, make sure you don’t end up in a muzzle, and get all the way to the happy ending where there are puppies (!) and babies and smiles and hugs all around.

First thing to remember, adult (humans) tend to lose their minds when a baby comes into the house.  This is normal.  They’re going to fuss with you, shake things in your face, and generally treat you like the bright shiny gift that you are.  As long as they keep feeding you J, there’s nothing to worry about.  In fact – a little advice from Uncle Chauncey – when you first get in the house, it’s OK to cry as loud as you can whenever you can’t see your Mommy, especially at night when you wake up (and you will wake up…).  It’s OK to give them a little break, though – maybe once a week let them sleep through the night.  I was terrible when I first got home – crying just ‘cause I was lonely sometimes, but, now, if I even look at the door, someone’s getting up to let me out.

Next thing to remember – it’s all new to them, too!!  You have a full-time job learning what’s going on in this new world, but they have no idea what’s going on with you either.  Unfortunately you have only one way to tell them something’s wrong – cry.  (I quickly found out that my other option – bite – was a one-way trip to the crate)  All this means is that they’ll be guessing – for a while, at least – at what’s wrong and how to fix it.  They had no idea what to do with me, but eventually we got to the point where everybody got fed and everyone got walked – nice J

Finally, remember, you’re the one thing your mom and dad can’t just go out and replace, so they’re going to treat you like a rare piece of china.  Let them.   It makes them feel good, and sometimes it just feels good to let someone spoil you rotten.  Ask for the extra juice box, five more minutes crawling around, an extra turn in the bouncy seat, and another crayon to scribble more on the wall.  All too soon, you’ll have to sit up straight, eat peas and mind your manners – take some time now and have fun.

Just try not to beat your parents up too hard J you’ll never understand them, but just know they love you.  We all do.  (when you get to about 22 you’ll be amazed at how much they’ve learned in that last few years)

Remember, if your first words are “Uncle Chauncey,” there’s a great big cookie in it for you.  Can’t wait to see you in person.   As so often happens, I’ve run out of time before I’ve run out of things to say (I have my own household to run…).  More every once in a while…

Arf

PS - You're mom loves dogs (she even helped me out, once), so she probably likes kids too - it's a good sign, anyways.  Just to be sure to stay on her good side, if I were you, I'd start doing household rounds in about 6 months.  I started a little sooner, but you look like you're a little smaller than me...

Arf-p?

(define (arfp visibleObject)
  (cond
     ((eq visibleObject food) t)
     ((eq visibleObject cat) t)
     ((eq visibleObject human) t)
     (t t)))


Arf.  (p?)

On Censorship – Literary and Political

There are a number of things making me scratch my ears lately.  We’ll talk about fleas later.  But not Chili Peppers.  They make my tongue hurt.  Some of these things may not seem obviously related, but there’s not too much room in my little dog mind, I can’t seem to pry them apart.

The first is the trustee of Mark Twain’s estate trying to improve the readership of some of the best-loved American literature of all time by improving its relevancy for today’s children by removing some inconvenient words.  To be sure, coming from a long, storied Southern hunting breed, like I do, there are lots of words and phrasings used in the 1880’s that we wouldn’t use today, but that’s true of the 1980’s as well.  Let’s censor the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, and every Judge Reinhold movie, in retrospect, before Twain.  (more to say on this later unless I fall asleep)

The second is that all of the hateful, violent speech towards abstract tea party ideas recently reminded me of the admonition (from the same people!!) that vile acts in Arizona should lead us to “tone down the rhetoric.”  Most of the talking heads at the time said one of two things.  First, “of course, incendiary rhetoric could lead someone to the edge, just look at Bill Ayers, sorry, I mean that nut from Arizona.  Something must be done.”  The second are those retreating, saying “Hey, nobody I’d associate with would say anything irresponsible” with the subtext of “sure, speech can go be beyond the pale, but nobody respectable would say them.”

Both are feline (sorry for cursing) ways of saying “No, YOU shut up.”

The people saying the first thing should quote specific rhetoric, and refute it explicitly and logically, not by an emotional appeal or some ridiculous call for “civility.”  This, primarily, from the same crew who would allow the SEIU to ensure “civility” at a polling place.  No thanks, in either regard.  I’ll take my chances weeding through all the arguments looking for actual truth.  The people saying the second thing should say, “Yeah, but EVEN IF they were inciting or doing something else that makes me feel queasy personally, I hope you’re not seriously suggesting that we limit their rights to expression, which for political purposes, especially, should be pretty close to absolute, are you??”

Both are cowards, so you'll never hear either.

Democracy is messy.  Ideas are messy.  Truth is simple and universal in math (not even there, but close enough for anyone silly enough to be reading my rants...).  Everywhere else, its complex, local and context sensitive, which is why federalism was genius.  It’s messier than my yard.  Aristocracy (internally, and on the surface) and autocracy (externally) appear genteel.  Again, no thanks.

I love nothing more than a loud, ignorant supporter of someone I disagree with.  I’m best served, usually, by handing them a megaphone, or ½ hour on MSNBC.

Freedom of speech is explicitly for controversial or ideologically out of the mainstream thoughts.  It’s only response is a better counter-argument.  If a better counter-argument (like “cats are delicious with a demi-glace” or “lower tax rates factually increase revenues, we have a spending problem”) don’t convince your opponents, they’re not looking for the truth.  Take what enlightenment you can from them (even ignorant people have experience, learn from every available source), but don’t waste your breath trying to convert them.

Oceania is at war with Eurasia.  Always has been.  Control of language and speech = control of thought.  It’s probably too late for you, but teach that truth to your kids.

Yeah, I may be a dog, but I do read.  You should start with The Federalist Papers, or A Theory of Justice.  Or both.  Plus, what else I got to do all day.  The books are just sitting there – no humans to play with most of the time – it keeps me busy...

Arf.

I mean, Bark.  There.  Arf could be construed as shorthand for “Accost Remaining Felines”, or something else sinister.  Regardless of whether I actually mean that (I do, actually, want cats dead), but not typically  when saying “Arf”.  I’m a dog.  It’s about all I can actually say.

Intent is all a speaker has.  All words have meaning.  Precise usage is the only way to get an idea from my mind to yours.  If listeners are allowed to be offended outside of the intent and context of the user, no-one will be free to say anything, or more accurately, they’ll be too scared of saying anything meaningful - which is the real intent of political correctness.  

Arf.

There, I said it.  Bite me.  (if you're human, sue me...  see how context informs intent...)

"Goop Melange" for the last 90 days or so

(It's an Odd Couple quote - look it up)  The first thing they did was set the network up, but they put the keyboard up high on the bar where I couldn't reach it...  Everything's more back to normal, but I have a lot to catch you up on - here we go...

The move down

So, the bigger guy comes back for a few days, and the next Monday - early - I get shuffled into the back of the big truck and off we go.  Now, generally, I don't mind riding in the car, usually it means we're seeing some of their friends, or, even better, I'm going to the kennel to see some of MY friends :)  But this was a looong ride…

They mashed something into a treat, and it got a little better – I slept a little, and when I woke up I was in Tennessee (yes, Tennessee!!) McDonalds, walking around trying to clear my head (and other things, too).  Then back into the car, another treat, and off to dreamland again…

The quick change

So, it’s the middle of the night, and we finally get to this teeny little apartment.  I settle in for a night’s sleep when everyone starts grabbing and moving things back into the car…apparently we have to get out of this apartment and into some other house TODAY – wait, I just got here, there’s plenty of corners to still check out.  I didn’t even get time to secure the perimeter…and off we go…

The new place isn’t so bad – I like things pretty empty, but the boys don’t seem to have anything to do…  The only things in the house are a couple of computers (the network seems to be up and running), an Xbox, and a guitar.  Everything else is gone…

I’m eating food out of a plastic Ziplock dish.  Not good.  The girl usually takes care of me (and them, too).  I’m actually pretty worried that without her we’ll all be dead in a week…

The barbecue is pretty tasty, however, and dad always overfeeds me – the jury’s still out…

Oh, yeah, forgot the two most important things.  It’s hot.  No.  Hotter than that.  Really !@&*#^*@!^$% hot.  Also, there’s a pool in the backyard.  It’s deep and scary, and I don’t remember ever learning how to swim.

So there you have it.  I can’t go outside because I’ll either broil to death or drown, and I can’t stay inside because I’ll have an “accident” (quotes because it’s not really all that unpredictable…I’m a dog and I know it’s going to happen…

The new place

For a few days, it was like we were camping – beans out of a can, walking around the yard, sleeping wherever you drop – it was pretty nice, actually.  Then, out of nowhere the other day, the girl shows up, and a few days later a huge truck shows up with 42,000 giant cardboard boxes.

I don’t like cardboard boxes.

It’s a rescue thing, you wouldn’t understand.  Suffice to say, there’s a euphemism among the twilight bark set called “going out to the farm.”  It usually starts off well, with Fluffy, the happy, barky pet.  Maybe she barks a little too much, but the family gets the great idea that she’ll be happier “on the farm”   Next thing you know, she’s scooped into a cardboard box and packed into the car (sound familiar???).

Noone ever sees Fluffy again.

I don’t know if there’s a farm or not, but I’m happy with my family, no matter what the heck is going on lately.  I am very wary about these boxes, though…

Settling in

Boy was I happy that they started opening boxes, and ALL OUR STUFF WAS IN THERE!!!!  My toys and everything.  Man did I breathe a sigh of relief.

I’m still not going anywhere near the pool, but the kids found some amazing trails near the house that I can lead them through.

It’s still hot, but little by little, this is starting to feel more like home.

Kids in school

The last week or two (or ten?? – time is a little abstract for me), the kids have been back in school – the older one has football practice, in the morning so the heat doesn’t kill them all -  suboptimal – and the younger one is settling in as well, but you know what that means:

Me and the girl staring at each other for 8 hours a day.

In Chicago, she had 14 million friends, so she was hardly ever in the house, so I was free to do my rounds or whatever without interference.  Not here…  “Hey, Chauncey, you wanna go outside?” or my favorite: “Who’s a good boy, yes?”  I don’t know what it means, either…  Anyway – I can’t wait for her to get some friends, already, so I can get into some kind of routine.  Oh, no…what if she never gets any friends, and it’s just her and me ALL DAY, EVERY DAY!!!   Owwwwooooooooooo…..

Wildfires

My nose picked something up last weekend, and I heard from them talking that there have been some pretty bad fires around here lately.  I think that may be why we left Chicago – I heard something about a cow burning down the whole place, but I didn’t see anything like that when we left.  Stupid cows, even more than stupid humans…

I hope everyone near the fire is OK, our prayers go out to them - don’t forget that as long as we have our family with us and safe, it doesn’t really matter that much where home is after all…


Arf.

How's a dog supposed to get to Yee-Haw-Texas??

So, apparently there’s house for us to move down to in Yee-Haw-Texas (or YHT, sung to the theme of The Green Hornet – but that’s a YouTube for another day).  I know some of you were concerned.  Well, not necessarily concerned, but, pruriently interested in how I would suffer because of a lack of housing in YHT.  All I know is there’d better be a pool and a water dish.

The only problem is that airlines are simply not fit for a dog to use for travel (a real dog, not one that fits in a purse).  Nowhere to run, too much noise, simply unacceptable.  But, wait…the people are going by plane (it’s good enough for them, I suppose), and the stuff is going by truck…uh, oh…I’m back to the vision of me sitting, alone, with a couple of weeks worth of food in a big bowl, and an oversized hamster water bottle taped to the wall.  Not good.  More nightmares, and more reason for dog-human friction around here – not good.  Anyone have any good ideas??  Somebody reading this has to have moved with their family before…anyone???

So, with all that going on, it’s been a tough week to focus on my rounds.  Plus it’s hot.  But sometimes the kids do something that makes you forget you’re sweating through your fur.

A while ago the youngest one won some money (well, in an NCAA pool, if you must know), and he did something you never expect a kid to do.  He didn’t ask if he could get a new video game, or a bike – he asked if he could give some to charity.  I’d forgotten about that (Dog.  Short Attention Span.  Squirrels…) until recently.    So, a friend of ours is connected to Ravenswood Community Services, which provides hunger and poverty relief, health services, and life skills education in the Ravenswood and Uptown neighborhoods of Chicago, and that’s where the kid decided to help.   Makes me glad I picked this family.

I know what it’s like to live in a box.  I didn’t like it. 

I kid around about the guys around here, but, hey, who can complain about 3 hots and a cot… (well, 2 half-bowls of kibble and anywhere in the house I choose to collapse) 

At least we have a house.  Find somebody who loves you, jump up on them, and lick their face. 

Do it today.

Arf.

There oughta be a law...no, really, there oughta be...

So, we haven’t even moved to yee-haw Texas, yet (long story for another day), and I’m already getting discriminated against. (I think it's cause I'm a Tennessee hound...)

I hear we’re getting a nice new house for the rest of the year ‘til they find a real one, which is OK by me - nothing left to chew in this one, anyway. I hear it has a pool and a real yard. Ok, I thinks, TX can be livable after all.

“Keep walkin’, buddy - Small dogs only”

I’m sure I’m gonna get hit for this…

Arf.

social contracts are for sissies

So the old man’s been playing Bioshock and reading Ayn Rand books. Talking about how his “city was betrayed…by the weak” and other such nonsense. This can’t be good. The girl thinks he’s a little off his rocker. I’m not scared, yet – hey, they’re still feeding me – but I see both points. When things are obviously in trouble, you shouldn’t panic, but when does buying gold and poring over C-SPAN transcripts of Fed meetings start to be the rational thing to do?

It’s got me thinking, though. We have a deal here – the humans and me - a kind of “social contract” (can there really be such a thing?) that says how we’re going to treat each other, and what we expect of each other. I keep the house free from cats and they do whatever it is they do to keep the food in the dish.

What if I thought it would be great if the city tore down the house and made it a dog park? I could talk to the other dogs in the neighborhood and they could think it was a great idea... but can I really start a petition to get it done? While I’m living in the house, eating their food and playing with their kids?? Doesn’t that break our deal? How? I haven’t bitten a kid, or let a cat live in the yard… still, it wouldn’t feel right. Like I was violating the trust of my humans… If I was truly evil it would be OK, because a dog park sounds sweet…

Too much thinking, and this is hard. I mean, in real life, if someone you don’t know tries to take your ball or mess with your humans, it’s not hard. You know they don’t care about any stinking contract.

You bite ‘em.

Hard. Or they’ll do it again.

…back to watching the pretty underwater city…

Arf.

Atlas Shrugged, I hope you won't...

I know it's been a looong time between posts, but I'm a dog - and I get no treats for posting...

(actually, there's a lot going on in this dog's life:
- long weekend for the adults at SXSW in Austin - what a great town
- the idiot executor of the Twain estate editing classics - original reason for blogstrike
- squirrels
hope to share in more posts this week)

What I've mostly been doing for the last couple of months is reading through Atlas Shrugged. The adults were talking about the book, and a new movie adaptation of Part I that got released last week...

they saw the movie on opening night Friday. Apparently, it was very true to the book, which is good, but the book is 1000+ pages of exposition, which doesn’t necessarily lend well to the screen. This is neither a Michael Bay explosion-fest nor a Spielberg, when he's his most interesting, shallow dive (necessary for a mass audience) into deeper societal issues. This is a movie largely, and somewhat lovingly, created for the converted. If the book is important to you, you’ll overlook the production’s shortcomings – if not, you’ll likely wonder what the fuss is about the book.

They both enjoyed the movie, and would see sequels if they’re made. The longest-term benefit the movie will have is prompting the dad into another rereading of the source.

My rating:

Hovering dog (that's 4 paws up) for the idea of this movie.
2.5 paws for the actual execution, but that's actually ok.
0.0 paws for the unfortunately low KKR*

No dogs were harmed (or even visible, apparently) in this movie.

- Arf

(*KKR is a reference to a wonderful mainframe game/coding example called CATWARS from a million years ago. If you must know, it stands for Kitty Kill Ratio - you were rewarded in this game not only for removing the neighborhood of cats, but for doing it efficiently, keeping your KKR-per-turn high.

sigh - they just don't make games like this anymore)

More posts later this week. I promise.

Unless I forget.

- ReArf