Monthly Archives: April 2012

“Thank you.” (For what?)

Before I launch into tales of our latest woodland (mis)adventure, a word about my “file photos” used in this blog. The ones featuring Lili in the woods, unleashed, are either carefully staged, 2-minute photo shoots (after which she is safely back “under harness”), or they date from back in the day, before we realized how foolhardy (and illegal) free-range dog walking in the Smithsonian nature preserve, or other municipal parkland areas, is, around these parts. Since yesterday’s walk took place at the sports park, without an accompanying photog, the scene was re-enacted this morning on our own property (think shooting Pasadena for Westchester County, in MadMen).

After more than a week of glorious walks in the Smithsonian woods during Spring Break, it’s been a tough transition back to the sports park, mostly because there’s so much more dog traffic, even before 8 a.m. I have come to associate certain vehicles with specific “challenges.” The tiny Beemer coupe transports 2 giant Bernese dogs; the green Yukon brings “Murphy,” an irrepressible golden puppy; and the red Subaru brings 3 untamed (often unleashed) “rescues,” whose lady owner speaks to them earnestly (but ineffectually) about “being good citizens” and “observing the golden rule.” My motto has become “(Almost) anything for a quiet life.” I will alter course on a dime, to avoid a snarly encounter with a free-booting dog.

As we were finishing the 1st half of our planned circuit, a silver Range Rover nearly ran us down, pulling into the otherwise vacant parking lot. “No way he/they can catch up with us,” I calculated, so when we got to the mini-woods at the back of the park, I decided we could circle back and walk it twice. At which point, on the crest of a little hill appeared a lovely but unleashed black Lab, who charged down to get up in Lili’s face. To my credit, despite much mutual canine snarling and skirmishing, I did manage to spit out “Oy! Suwate! (hey! sit down!),” which left Lili “boxing her corner” from a sitting position, rather than dragging me off my feet. To my utter humiliation, though, I then let out an involuntary, Hitchcock victim, blood-curdling scream, which brought the Lab’s owner, the Sloan Ranger, into view. He calmly walked up to his dog and said, “Sit,” which the dog did; and he clipped on a leash.

And then, without emotive inflection or evident irony, he said, “Thank you.”

As Lili & I high-tailed it out of the woods and back to the parking lot, I pondered, “Thank whom? For what?” Your dog, for obeying your command? Me, for not berating you for having your dog off-the-leash and out-of-sight? Dunno. Didn’t stop to inquire, although, I no sooner had Lili loaded & locked in the Jeep, than Sloan & Labby materialized in the parking lot, too. (We had double-timed back, so they must have triple-timed.)

Oh well, as the (inescapable, this week) British cliche has it, “Worse things happen at sea.” And what a useful phrase, to add to my repertoire of (power subtext) remarks signifying, “I am not your enemy, but I am not your victim.” Recently I have been coaching my (socially put-upon) patients to try the New Yorker’s universal comeback, “I know! Right?”  But that’s a bit Big Girl’s Blouse [UK slang for girlish], for the guys. Look how well Mr. Just Finished My Photo Shoot for Dunhill’s carried it off: “Thank you.”

I can hardly wait to try it out, myself.

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Filed under gets right up my nose, power subtext

Why the short leash?

In a much earlier post [“Tie Me Kangaroo Down”], I quoted Robert Frost’s view, that following rules [in that instance, the rules of rhyme & meter in poetry] can actually be as appealing as the siren song of anarchy. “Freedom,” said Frost, is “moving easily in your harness.”

Evidently, Trenton Oldfield’s course in Contemporary Urbanism @ the LSE didn’t cover that line of country. His website, “Elitism Leads to Tyranny,” discusses civil disobedience techniques, one of which he demonstrated this afternoon @ the 158th Boat Race [commonly known as the Henley Regatta] between Oxford & Cambridge, which he disrupted by swimming right underneath the oars of the Oxford boat, which had to stop, to avoid beheading him with an oar. When the race was resumed, a clash of oars left the Oxford boat one rower short; and the Bowman, Dr. Alex Woods, tried to exert the Therbligs of two men, but in vain.  The Oxford boat lost & Woods collapsed in the boat. He is currently listed in “stable” condition @ Charing Cross Hospital.

So, well done, Trent! Your civil disobedience managed to cock a snook at those 16 Elitist rowers and avert Tyranny, good & proper. At this writing Mr. Oldfield is under arrest on the minor charge of disrupting public order.

Last Saturday, my elder daughter & I were longing for the short leashes which the order-shouting TSA personnel insisted that we take off her cats Seamus & Finnbar, as we passed through the x-ray machine @ San Francisco International Airport, each of us clutching a squirming cat in our arms. When [what are the odds?] both of us were selected for the anti-terror profiling exam which includes having each hand swabbed for explosive residue, my younger daughter assumed her Lacrosse goalie stance, prepared to catch any feline anarchists.

Let us apply the What’s Up Your Nose analysis to these 2 events. I’m guessing that Trenton Oldfield feels personally humiliated by those young men fortunate [talented?] enough to attend Oxbridge universities and exert themselves for all to see on the River Thames. Will he also be disrupting crew events @ this summer’s Olympic games, one wonders? Oldfield’s intrusion angered the sports commentators, even before it led [indirectly] to the pain & suffering of Alex Woods. Plenty of anger to be getting on with there, then.

The TSA’s seemingly vindictive choice of the 2 least likely terrorists in our cohort was prompted by what? A cat allergy, causing pain & suffering? Then surely it would have made more sense to bustle us through, rather than make us hang around for an extra 15 minutes. A sense of intrusion, that it is Southwest’s policy to let cats travel in the cabin, instead of the baggage hold, like most other airlines? For our part, the intrusion, humiliation, and fear of cat loss led to an almost irresistible need to vent our anger through sarcasm; but we both managed to keep our snark “on a short leash.” I was actually quite Zen about it, knowing that my younger daughter had our backs. But it was with great relief that we finally put each cat back on a short leash & thence into their under-seat carrier bags, for the 2 flights that brought them to their new home in Boston.

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Filed under attribution theory, power subtext, stifled wolf, therbligs