Velveteen Doggie

Today I took Lola to get the second haircut since she's been with me. Since it's forty-seven bucks a pop, I try to leave it as long as I can between haircuts, and then get it cut as short as I can without her looking completely ridonkulous. The girls at Petsmart were really nice and agreed to pose for before and after pictures.

Before:


After:


They gave her pink bows with green dots to match her collar :-D

Right after a haircut, Lola becomes what I call the Velveteen Doggie. Her coat is short and soft, with no curl, and it's like stroking velvet.

Here is a picture of Lola eating, because that's the only time I could get her to stand still. Her head looks ridiculously huge compared to the rest of her body.


Of course as soon as the camera flashed she came towards me. She has an odd fascination with the camera. Also, did you know that Lhasas are prone to having problems with being bow-legged? I guess I'm really fortunate that Lola doesn't seem to be affected!


I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.

Evolution of a Cat Nap

Stage One:
Hi, I just wandered over to sniff your purse. Which you can't see because my big fat body is in front of it.


Stage Two:
Yawn.


Stage Three:
What are you lookin' at?


Stage Four:
Excuse me while I lick my butt for a moment.


Stage Five:
Hello again, purse.


Stage Six:
Ah, much better. As you were, everyone. Carry on.

In Memoriam, with the greatest respect

My dog books say that you should 'train' a dog for ten or fifteen minutes a day.

The books lie. What they actually mean is that you should pretend to train your dog for ten or fifteen minutes a day. The evidence:

Me: Want to see Lola do a trick? She knows Sit and Dance.

My Mom: That's two tricks.

Me: No, it's not. I've been teaching them together.

My Mom: Maybe she would learn them better if you taught them separately?

Me: Oh yeah? Lola -- sit!

[Lola sits and I give her a treat.]

Me: Now you tell me how to get her off her ass so I can reward her for Sit again.

[Lola, still sitting, watches me intently. She is clearly not going to move. Having her butt on the floor means a treat. She is not going to jeopardize the possibility of more treats by doing anything other than Sit. As my mother put it, she could sit for Britain.]

Me: See? This is why I have to do two at once. Lola -- Dance!

[Lola remains sitting.]

Me: Dance! Dance! Dance! Dance! Dance!

[Lola jumps up onto her hind legs and I give her another treat.]

Me: Good girl! Dance!

[Lola sits.]

Lola is a big fan of Sit. Sitting gets her a treat, setting gets her harness on so she can go outside, sitting gets her brushed. You'd think she'd also be a fan of Dance, since I make her do it before I give her food, but apparently not. Tonight, I randomly alternated Sit and Dance commands while using Lucky Charms as treats. She chose Sit as her initial response every time.

And I couldn't help but think, "What we have here, is a failure to communicate!"

A New Nickname

People have told me that a dog should have two names: the first, a meaningless nickname that you don't need the dog to respond to, and the second, an actual 'command name,' the word which precedes each command, so that the dog knows she's supposed to pay attention.

My last roommate did this. Her dog was technically named Jackson, but she called him Pickle most of the time. Oddly enough, Pickle turns out to be a rather fitting eponym for a blonde Chihuahua-Rat Terrier mix.

But I've never managed to make this concept work with Lola. She's mostly just Lola. After all, when I was choosing her name, I deliberately picked one that was fun to say. And although she has a few other nicknames -- Silly Little Girl, Scruffbucket, Ragamuffin, Princess Poo-Face the Second -- those tend to be the kind of nonsense words you say when you're doing tummy rubbles.

But yesterday, Lola managed to earn herself a new nickname. Internet, I present to you a play in three acts, entitled: "Lola: A Play About A Nickname."*

ACT ONE:

Lola awakens in an incredibly energetic mood. I decide to take her out to Walnut Creek before breakfast so she can burn off some steam. We drive up there and do the mile-long hike we enjoy, and meet up with an older gentleman named David and his two medium-sized dogs. Lola pretends that she is part of their pack, even though it's clear she doesn't have a chance of keeping up with them. We have a nice outdoorsey forty-five minutes. I think that I've tired her out a bit.

ACT TWO:

I get a phone call from my apartment complex. "Hi. Did you call in to report that your breaker blew, and all the power is out except for your kitchen?" "Why yes, yes I did!" "Well, our maintenance guy is over there now to try to fix it, but there's a problem with your dog. She won't let him in."

She won't let him in. A thirteen-pound Lhasa-Poo is keeping a grown man at bay. She is adorable and fluffy. She is the complete opposite of threatening. But apparently, in my absence, she takes her protector duties very seriously. My dog rocks.

I manage to swing by home before work so that the maintenance guy can flip the right breakers. "Yeah, she really didn't like me being here before," he says.

ACT THREE:

I now have to leave for work. I give Lola a Teenie Greenie to occupy her while I slip outside. Despite this distraction, she darts out the door the moment it opens more than an inch -- I swear, I did not think the door was open enough for her to fit through it -- and she then prances around and around my car. You could practically hear her singing "Chitty-chitty-bang-bang, we love you!"

Since I was (of course) already late for work at this point I put on my most commanding voice. "LOLA. LOLA COME. LOLA COME. I MEAN IT. LOLA COME. Goddammit--" as she prances behind the car again. "LOLA COME!!!"

Eventually she did actually obey me, whereupon I tossed her back into the apartment without ceremony, saying, "That's right, and you stay there, you -- you Snickerdoodle!"

I have no idea why I called her a Snickerdoodle. The best explanation I have is this:

- Cookies are my favorite sweet dessert-type food. Forget cake, pie, brownies, anything. Cookies are the best. I had one of those big cookies from the Great American Cookie Co as my birthday cake for at least four years that I can remember.
- Snickerdoodles are a crappy kind of cookie which I do not actually enjoy. They suck. It's because of the cinnamon. Cinnamon is a stupid spice and I have never met a Britisher who enjoyed it. Even my Scottish roommate refused cinnamon gum.
- So it's sort of like saying, "I really love you lots and lots, but right now you are being really annoying!"

Or, as Lola's Daddy pointed out, possibly it's just because it rhymes with poodle.

Anyway, Lola can now be referred to as the Snickerdoodle. But probably only when she's been a bit naughty.

*Ellie, you would be the only one to get this incredibly inane reference, except that the play happened my freshman year. It was a decent play. One of Phillip's weirder set creations.

You Want What?

A young guy, maybe twenty years old, asks if we have a certain book. I walk over to the right section with him and we look -- nope, sorry, we don't have it, thanks for trying us, would you like to call our other locations because we all have a different inventory, thanks so much.

And then he says, "Where can I find wood?"

"Wood?"

"Yeah."

"Actual wood. Not a book called wood."

"Yeah."

"So, not something that we would have in this store."

"No. Real wood. We're going camping. We're from Dallas. We're going camping at [stupid campsite] and when we called they said there wasn't much firewood around."

"Well, there's a Home Depot a few exits down the freeway."

The punk has the nerve to say, skeptically, "And they'd have wood? That you could use for a fire?"

No, but I have a back-stock of paperbacks that you are welcome to use as kindling. I have officially run out of patience. "I don't know. Where would you go for firewood?"

"Walmart?"

"I don't live near here. I don't know where the closest Walmart is. Do you want me to google it?"

And then a customer chimes in. "There's a Walmart one exit up the freeway. What are you looking for?"

"Firewood. Wood chips."

"Oh, I don't know about that. I mean, it's the end of the summer in Texas. Maybe you should try Home Depot?"

Boo-yeah. I totally win.

The Difference Between Cats and Dogs: Part 1

To set the scene: I'm sitting in bed, Lola is sprawled out on the kitchen linoleum, and Banzai is curled up on my rollaboard.*

If I get up, Lola will immediately jump to her feet, tail perked up, head tilted to the side, looking at me expectantly, as if to say, "What? What? Are we going somewhere? Am I getting food? Do you want to play? Do you want to pet me? What's happening now? This is so exciting!"

Banzai will lift his head and cautiously open one eye, as if to say, "Woman, I'm nice and cozy, and you better not bother me."

It's nice to have one of each.

*I had to google how to spell rollaboard. My parents are English. I always thought it was Roller-Board. Which, come to think of it, doesn't make much sense.
** I also read Nancy Drew novels before I had ever heard the word "alibi," so I thought it was pronounced "uh-LIE-bee" until about tenth grade.
*** For the benefit of Lola's Daddy: my rollaboard is my brown suitcase-thing, on wheels with a handle. That is the name for this newfangled kind of equipment.

Can't Trust Those Stereotypes

Today, a tall, beefy guy in a Detroit Lions football jersey bought "Opera 101: A Complete Guide To Learning and Loving Opera."

A Handy Checklist for Retail Shopping

As Ellie pointed out in the comments of the last post, I haven't updated my blog in almost a week. Egad! For a few days, I was spending my writing-time on other stuff, and then I spent the last two days up in Dallas with Lottie and her parents. Internet, I offer you my most profound apologies.

With that out of the way, allow me to share a list I've created since I started working at Fifty Percent Literature. This is the Retail Shopping Checklist, Suitable For Use When You Are Shopping At A Retail Store And There Is A Long Line Behind You.

CELL PHONES

- Don't be on your cell phone. PERIOD. If the call is important, step out of the line. If the call is not important, then when it is your turn to check out, simply say, "I have to check out now. I'll call you right back." This is not a difficult concept.

- Don't be on your cell phone. EVER. I mean it. It's degrading to feel like the person who's not even here is important, while I am not. Do not devalue your fellow human beings in this manner. I will retaliate in a passive-aggressive way by loudly saying things that you don't actually need me to say, like "Your total is four thirty-eight, sir!!!" and "Here's your receipt, sir!!!" and "Would you like a bag, sir!!!" and "Have a great day, sir!!!" except that I don't actually mean that last one.

- Seriously. Don't be on your cell phone. It is difficult for me to give you correct change while I am listening to your half of the conversation.

THE CONTENTS OF YOUR PURCHASE

- Decide what you're going to purchase before you get to the register. My goal is to get you out the door so I can take care of the ten people behind you. Do not dither over whether your child would prefer to read Holes or Hoot. If you really want to consult with a bookstore professional on this all-important question, ask another employee before getting in line. (For the record, go with Holes.) Above all, do not hold up the entire line because you are on the phone with your wife, asking whether she wants the South Beach Diet Cookbook or just the South Beach Diet, including telling her the prices and giving detailed descriptions of the conditions of both books. You know what your wife wants? A husband who's not an asshole.

OFFSPRING

- If you have children, then fucking be a parent.

- If you have children, then fucking be a parent. If your child wants to ask you a question, then either listen to the child and answer the question, or explain to the child that you are busy and you will answer their question in a few minutes. Do not allow your child to repeat to stand beside you repeating "Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy." for ten minutes while you browse the romance novels and absentmindedly say "uh huh." Those of us within hearing distance are slowly going insane. Your child is a human being, not a dog. Respect him. Either answer the question or don't.

- Seriously, would you just fucking be a parent? Yes, I know that life is difficult when you have kids. I know it's a lot of work. I know that they're running around the store with obscene amounts of energy. I sympathise. But this doesn't have to be as hard as you're making it. Do not give your child a directive if you're not going to follow through. Do not pretend like you're listening when you're not.

- It can be done. At my register, I have checked out people who are actually being parents. You know what they do? They let their kids know that their attention is otherwise engaged. They say, "Mommy has to pay now, go look at your new book." Or they say, "Everyone who's paying for these books, up at the counter. Everyone who's not, back off" (I liked that one). Stop getting so aggravated with your child's behavior when you're the one who's not enforcing the rules.

METHODS OF PAYMENT

- If you are paying in cash, and you have some change to make the transaction simpler, then yes, that is appreciated. But please remember that my goal is to get you out the door so I can take care of the ten people behind you. Do not count the change out onto the counter so that I have to laboriously pick up each coin. Do not spend forty-five seconds rummaging in your cavernous, disorganized purse "to see if you have two pennies." Above all, when told that your total is 15.10, DO NOT HAND ME A TWENTY AND THEN GO OUT TO YOUR CAR TO GET TEN PENNIES. I still can't believe that actually happened. With people waiting in line behind him.

- If you are paying in cash, you ought to know that I have to organize the bills in my register so they are all facing the same way. It makes it easier for the managers to count the register drawer. So please, do not shove me a handful of nine crumpled dollar bills from the recesses of your pockets.

- If you are paying with a check, stop it. Just stop. Right now. We live in an exciting age where we can enjoy all of the benefits of the wheel, the penicillin, and the checkcard. Go watch this commercial. Sadly, I no longer find it funny.

- If you simply must pay with a check, get with the program. You already know that I'm going to need your address, phone number, and drivers license number on the check. Order your checks so that this is pre-printed on them. If that is too difficult for you, write the information on the blank check while you are standing in line. While you're at it, fill in the name of the store and your signature. And you know that I'm going to need to see your drivers license, so get it out. When you set down your books on my counter you should have nothing left to do but fill in the amount. Don't you dare spend all that time waiting in line, let me spend all this time ringing you up, and THEN start to fumble around for your checkbook, a pen, and your license. Dumbass. Remember, my goal is to get you out of the store so I can deal with the ten people behind you. Outwardly, I will smile at you and tell you to have a great day. Inside, I am imagining you being boiled in oil.

PRICING

- Do not try to talk me down on the price. I know it's a used bookstore. But I'm not even trained to buy books. I know nothing about pricing. I will tell you to go talk to the buy counter. I don't know why Book A is 4.98, while Book B, which appears to be another book in the same series from the same publisher, is 7.48. That's just the way it is. Like gravity.

- However, if you happen to have found a book without a price tag, then waiting until there is a long line can be a very smart move. Am I going to call a manager over for a price check? Hell no. Why? Because (all together now) MY GOAL IS TO GET YOU OUT OF THE STORE SO I CAN DEAL WITH THE TEN PEOPLE BEHIND YOU. I'll look at the book, look at what else you're buying, and say, "how does 2.98 sound?" I can do that. I have powers where I can do that.

DISCLAIMER

All of this is a great big long diatribe worthy of Waiter Rant (except he's all cool and famous now, and he has a new girlfriend, which is way not fair, but Lola's Daddy is awesome). But the truth is, 95% of the customers are sweet as pie, and no trouble at all. And I actually really enjoy my job. And hell, if there's no one behind you, you can take your sweet time. I'm not going anywhere.

Except for the part about not being on your cell phone. For goodness' sake, show some common courtesy.

Um...

As I type this, I'm sitting on the floor with my back against the bed, and my legs straight out in front of me, ankles crossed. Lola has just come up, straddled my feet with her back legs, and started humping my ankles. And while she's doing this, she's looking me in the eye very seriously.

This is so not okay.

No, the font had nothing to do with it.

Lola's Daddy was a bit put out by this post, in which I indicated that he had been giving cat treats to the dog.

It's not that I have a problem with giving cat treats to the dog. At this point, I'm happy with any treat that she's interested in. Cows' eyes? Sure! Ferret skin? Why not! Powdered mandrake, infused with the essence of souls from the third circle of hell? Anything, as long as it will give her an incentive to do what I say!

But last night, he triumphantly identified the bag of treats that he'd been talking about. And he was rather smug about them being dog treats after all.

Which is why, Internet, I have to post pictures of the bag of treats he was referring to when we had the conversation about greenies.

Here is the front of the bag (with some treats laid in front of it).


Here is the back of the bag:


The treats are dehydrated pig liver. Lola totally loves them. Lola's Daddy and I are both vegetarian, so the whole concept is kind of disgusting. I pretend like they're chocolate shavings. I don't know what he does.

Nevertheless, I'm not sure how we can have an entire conversation about "greenies" that turns out to be about a treat that is not green, in a bag that has no green on it, and which could easily be identified by other means, e.g. "those treats from the independent pet shop," "those treats which are actually pig liver," "those treats in the silver bag," etc. etc.

My point being, I still win.

It was hard to pull myself together after this one.

She's probably nine years old. She has a messy ponytail, as though her hair wasn't brushed first, or maybe it was done yesterday and she slept on it. Her two little brothers wrestle behind her, pretending to punch each other. Her hands and chin are on the check-out counter. Her father is buying "How To File For Divorce In Texas." She watches the book with somber, adult eyes.

FPL Quote of the Day

The next time someone comes up to me and says, "Do you work here?" I'm going to reply, "No, I just put on this t-shirt and shelve paperbacks for fun."

Maybe if it was in a bigger font?

Recently, Lola has been picky about which treats she likes, which makes training her much more difficult than it ought to be. After Lola obeyed a "Lola come!", sniffed the treat in my hand, and then walked away in disgust, Lola's Daddy and I had the following conversation:

"I don't think she likes those ones."

"I know she likes these. These are the ones that she jumped on my desk and ate a whole bag of them."

"Well, she definitely likes the greenies."

"I know, but those are too big to use as training treats."

"What, the little green ones?"

"Greenies are the big green ones shaped like a toothbrush."

"But she likes the little green hard ones I've been giving her."

"The ones shaped like little fishes?"

"Yeah."

Pause.

"Those are cat treats."

"What???"

"The ones that say 'Feline Greenies' on the bag? Yeah, those are cat treats."

FPL Quote of the Day

"I have to ask you a really stupid question."

"I promise you, it won't be."

"Where am I?"

Blink. Blink.

Where are you in the store? Where are you along your life's journey? Where are you in relation to Jupiter?

"I got lost coming back from Guitar Center. I'm trying to find Mopac."

Ohhh...

I gave the young lad directions (at one point becoming the archetypal big sister: "No, stand next to me. Face this direction. Good. Now, THAT is east...") and sent him on his way.

But in the future I'll have to remember: sometimes it really is going to be a stupid question.

Happy Birthday to Me!

My birthday isn't for another three days, but a birthday package from my parents arrived this morning, and I am definitely not the type to wait until the actual day before opening birthday goodies.

And amongst several other thoughtful and much-appreciated gifts, my wonderful mother had included a fifty dollar gift card to Petsmart for The Scruffbucket.

What can be purchased for fifty dollars at Petsmart? Why, I'm glad you asked! As it turns out, fifty dollars at Petsmart will procure you a great many exciting squeaky things!


More specifically, that's 1) a pink stuffed bone with fuzzy edging that crinkles when you chew on it, 2) a plush dog toy in the shape of french fries, 3) a pink octopus with long tentacles, which cost $14 but I couldn't resist it and I think Lola will really enjoy it, 4) a pink poo-bag dispenser which I will use to store treats, 5) a bag of the treats I know Lola likes because one day when I was at work she jumped up on the desk (which I thought she couldn't do) and chewed the bag open and ate the whole thing, 6) a few cheap rawhide bones filled with cheap flavoring, which were on sale, and look revolting, but she devoured the one I gave her, 7) a pink bunny rabbit that has a rattle in its head and a square flat body with four knots tied in the corners for arms and legs, which is the toy she got today and she loves it, 8) a stuffed turtle made of environmentally-friendly organic materials, and 9) a Democrats 2008 t-shirt, because we only have a few weeks left, people, and every little bit of advertising counts!!!

Happy Birthday to me! And to Lola!

The other awesome thing (that has to do with the damn dog, that is, after all it is MY birthday and not hers) is the gift for Lola that my mom included in the package. Lord knows you'd never know it from reading this blog, but I'm really not a soppy or sentimental person. It's just that, with having a small dog, ALL the soppy and sentimental urges I could possibly ever have come charging to the front, and I shamelessly indulge them. Case in point is that I really want Lola to have cute little clothes. Yes, I know. Dressing up a small dog is the height of absurdity. And yet somehow I just cannot bring myself to care. My mother, knowing this secret and shameful desire, included a princess outfit.



It was really, really hard to get a decent photo of Lola in her princess outfit, because I was practically squealing with excitement, and Lola, picking up on my energy, was running around all manic too. I couldn't get her to sit still for the life of me. But I do think that this final shot is funny enough to be The Best Picture Of The Day.

Lola Reviews: Red Bud Isle

Recently, both Lola's Daddy and I were off work -- a rare occurrence! So we took Lola out to Red Bud for the first time.

It's a lovely little off-leash dog park, and it's incredibly easy to get to. Go south on Mopac, right on Lake Austin Boulevard, and left on Redbud Trail. Then take the first left into the parking lot for the park. It's a funny little island, created when a dam broke in 1900, so it's not even on google maps (you can see it in the satellite view, but it's mislabeled).

Here is the sign they have explaining the history of the park. This is where I learned that it was created when the dam broke. Also, it became a park in 1987 and an off-leash dog park in 2001. And the reference to "hearty fishermen" cracks me up every time I read it. Who wrote this copy, Ernest Hemingway?


Here's the entrance to Red Bud. It is -- wait for it -- yes, it's beautiful. Of course, it also pretty much looks like every other park in Austin. Sandy pathway, green trees, blue sky. But there's nothing wrong with that.


Red Bud has a simple layout. It's a small peninsula, so you walk to the end of it, and then you turn around and walk back. But along the way, there are plenty of places to access the water. Here's Lola's Daddy looking out at the water.


Lola explores amongst the tree roots.


Lola keeps me company while I enjoy the view (not true; she didn't sit still for a second the whole time we were there.)


But it is a lovely view.


Lola's Daddy thought it was pretty too.


Various organizations have done a lot of work in the park, especially with things like these steps into the water. I tried to get Lola to come into the water with me. She wasn't particularly interested.


However, there were a couple of cute schnauzers. They belonged to a woman who also had a one-year-old in a stroller. Ye gods.


I wanted to entice Lola into the water with treats, but this big boy was pretty excited about the treats himself.


I did eventually get her on the bottom step, but that was about it.


So we went to a spot that slopes more gradually into the water, and she poddled around a bit.


And then, oh internet, I did a foolish thing. Remember how we got Lola to swim when we took her to Bull Creek? She totally swam. So I thought to myself, look, obviously she knows how to swim. But she won't jump out into the water herself. So I'll just plop her into the water and we'll see what happens from there.


Yeah, I almost drowned my dog.

It's not as bad as it looks! That's exactly where I put her. She's all of three inches from a big rock to stand on. But, um, she didn't seem to remember the whole swimming concept. So I had to help her.


This is about as wet as Lola gets.


But she quickly recovered, and ran to catch up with us at the end of the peninsula. (I think that all four of her feet are off the ground here. Not positive -- but it appears so.)


The view from the very tip is kinda rockin' awesome.


And so is this guy.


Lola stayed wet for a while and that always makes me laugh. Hehe. Silly wet dog.


And then we went back. And we tried to have lunch at Hula Hut, but they don't allow dogs on their patio. Even though it's a fucking huge patio and boats can dock at it. Yes, that's right. If you're on a boat and you're hungry, go to Hula Hut. They have seating for boats. But not for dogs. Dumbasses.

So we went to Freddie's instead, and everyone was very happy.

My Mom's Fifteen Minutes

My mom is famous.

Mr. Henderson

When you adopt a rescue dog -- which everyone should do, and also you should spay and neuter your pets, and don't you dare buy a dog from a puppy mill -- sorry, where was I? Oh, right. When you adopt a rescue dog, you just accept that you'll never really know what happened to that dog before she came into your life.

In Lola's case, all I know is that the Houston SPCA got her on October 31, 2007. Her left eye was badly infected and they removed it the next day. Lone Star Rescue took her in, I adopted her in June, and it was the best thing I've ever done in my entire life.

When I was up in Dallas, so that Lola could meet Princess Poo-Face, my parents and I speculated endlessly about what could have happened in Lola's prior life. After all, Lola is so socialized, so loving, so smart, so adorable -- who could have possibly owned this dog but not loved her? Who could have abandoned her? The very idea is absurd.

Since we were never going to know the truth anyway, we created the story that made the most sense to us. We created Mr. Henderson. Internet, I give you Lola's imagined history.

Lola was owned by an elderly widower named Mr. Henderson. He must have been old, because Lola tends to be rather slow on walks, and an old person wouldn't have walked very quickly. He must have been male, because Lola is so much more friendly to males than females. We decided that Mr. Henderson's children bought Lola for him when his wife died, to cheer him up a bit and give him a reason to get up in the mornings. When he died, no one else could take the dog, and somehow she ended up at a shelter.

Mr. Henderson explains so many things. Lola is perfectly housebroken -- Mr. Henderson must have taken care of that. Lola walks to heel -- Mr. Henderson must have trained her. Lola sits quietly when you put on her harness, even though she's desperately excited to go outside -- Mr. Henderson must have taught her that.

Lola plays fetch. Lola obeys "drop it." Lola sleeps quietly through the night. Lola barks when a stranger is at the door. My parents kept commenting on how well-behaved she is. I wish I could take a scrap of credit for it, but the truth is that she's simply a well-trained dog who is loving and eager to please, and I totally lucked out. All her habits show that Lola was owned by someone who cared about her, and cared enough to teach her manners.

Mr. Henderson became our icon for everything that is good about Lola. We started to talk about him like he was a real person. "Mr. Henderson must have really taken care of her; look how socialized she is." "Mr. Henderson must have cuddled with her in the evenings; look how she always wants to play with you after dinner." "Mr. Henderson would be so happy to know that Lola is safe and happy and in a loving home."

That's our story. We talked about it so much that we all started to believe it. But new information has come to light, and it's possible that there's not an iota of truth to the whole thing.

But that's a story for another day.

P.S. I've always thought of Mr. Henderson as the guy from this Aimee Mann song.

FPL Quote of the Day

"Where's your nonfiction section?"

"Well, it's divided up by category.  What are you looking for?"

"Wuthering Heights."

Lola's Teddy

This is the first toy I ever gave Lola.  I bought it for her at Bark N' Purr just before I headed down to Houston to go get her.  He is small and soft and he has a squeaker inside.

Last night she was playing with it, and when I glanced over I thought that something didn't seem quite right.  When I investigated further, I found this:

The funny thing is, I was devastated.  I felt so sorry for poor Teddy.  It was as though my own teddy bear had been torn to shreds by a pack of rabid wolves.  (I do not have my childhood teddy bear, Yellow.  I left him on a train when I was six.  I'll get over it one of these days, really.)  

I shall re-stuff his stuffing and sew him up and he shall be good as new again.

A Letter Found At FPL

Working at Fifty Percent Literature certainly has its perks.  The job is simple and satisfying.  My fellow employees are intelligent and interesting.  Every day, I discover new books and new authors.

And people sell us paperbacks with all kinds of crap inside.

Usually, it's just movie tickets or airline boarding passes.  We get a lot of those.  Sometimes it's an old bookmark.  But today, I found my first handwritten page.  No one else thought it was exciting; they'd all seen it before.  But I was excited.  It's a tantalizing glimpse into a stranger's life.  It feels incredibly voyeuristic.

Here, in its entirety, spelling intact, is the content of the page I found.  It is written in pencil, in an old-fashioned female hand, on lined purple paper, which had clearly been torn out of a spiral notebook.  Some words I simply couldn't decipher; they're just xxx.  

I don't know what to make of this sad page, torn so abruptly  from its surroundings.  Is the author serious?  Is any of it tongue-in-cheek?  And why is she so sad?  Is this motherhood?  

"I stare at the moon.  On nights when I'm reflecting, thinking or trying to conjure comfort or peace, I wonder how anybody thought it was made of cheese, and I have yet to see the man.  What a scarry thought - a man watching you, would he open his eyes and say boo!  Did our ancestors live in fear even at night?

"It's hard to imagine yet I guess most people are probably afraid of the night.  I used to be especially in unfamiliar surroundings but now I just accept it as night - A quiet - usually (except in the summer when all the cicadas raise so much racket it annoys you - steals the place - very annoying) peaceful time.  Its made for other creatures not seen during the day.  Creatures like me.  I've been working nights almost five years.  Does it change you?  I believe so.  It makes you love the solitude, the calm, I feel I have a greater perception of earth, the universe of being alone.

"Many people run around all day going - going then fall into bed only to rise again + start over.  I move slow, I think slow - I hesitate when I speak.  I get my days confused.  I think tho [thro? this?] aging.  I'm not sure.

"but it makes me feel inadequate like I don't belong in the "day" world.

"I remember when my babies were young, I took them to the zoo every week.  Then we would shell [?] around central park [I swear it says central park].  The xxx was so big and xxx, in the fall a blanket of leaves would cover the ground big crunchy leaves and their little xxx would come along - you didn't want to talk just listen to the sound.  It was peaceful, the parking - but was full of gang-bangers and drugs - but no one bothered us.  [I swear that's what it says.]

"We just crunched along.  Thinking of that time makes me cry.  My children were so young - so perfect.  Its hard to believe the beautiful young adults are the same people babies - where did the time go?  Did I teach them enough?  I wish [here it shifts from pencil to pen] I could just erase all the mistakes I've made, all the sad times.  Would they be better off without those times?  I don't know.  I just wish we could feel that same peace again.  Innocent, loving, easy going, crunching - its been awhile since Ive felt it."

Things I Said At Work Today

"No, we don't have any Stephanie Meyer."

"No, that's not a stupid question.  It's Stephanie Meyer, and we don't have any."

"If we had it, it would be in the young adult section, under M for Stephanie Meyer.  But we don't have any."

"The movie's about to come out, so we don't have any."

"It's the Twilight series, by Stephanie Meyer.  And no, we don't have any."

"No, that's not a dumb question.  It's by Stephanie Meyer, and we don't have any."

"WOULD YOU GODDAMN FREAKS SHUT UP ABOUT YOUR STUPID STEPHANIE MEYER AND HER STUPID TWILIGHT BOOKS!  THE MOVIE IS COMING OUT!  WHEN A MOVIE IS COMING OUT, THE USED BOOKSTORE WILL NOT HAVE THE BOOK!  IF YOU HAD THE BOOK, WOULD YOU SELL IT TO US?  NO?  THEN NO ONE ELSE WILL EITHER!  PLEASE WAIT SIX MONTHS, AT WHICH TIME NO ONE WILL CARE ANY MORE AND YOU WILL BE ABLE TO FIND THEM ON THE CLEARANCE RACK!  WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE THE THREE SHELVES OF LORD OF THE RINGS PAPERBACKS LANGUISHING OVER IN SCI-FI?  GET YOUR ASS TO A REAL BOOKSTORE, YOU TRENDY PIECE OF CRAP!  AND NO, I DO NOT HAVE AN OPINION ON THE EDWARD-OR-JACOB DEBATE AND I DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT IT!  I WON'T GET TO READ THEM UNTIL SIX MONTHS AFTER THE MOVIE COMES OUT, ASSHOLE!"

Okay, that last one might have been just in my head.

And then, finally, with far too much enthusiasm:  "Yes!  It's by Orson Scott Card!  Right over here!  We have two copies!  Have you read it before?  Oh my god, you are so going to love it.  And then of course you have to read Ender's Shadow!  Well, it's sort of a sequel.  I don't really like the ones in the traditional Ender's Game line of sequels, but there's an alternate line of sequels starting with Ender's Shadow and they're wonderful.  Here you go!  Enjoy!  Come back and tell me what you thought!  And you'd probably really enjoy Starship Troopers!"