tick-tock goes the puppy clock.

“The great pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool of yourself with him and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself too.”
Samuel Butler 

They say when a woman reaches a certain point in her life, she covets every baby she sees. Every infant that crosses her line of sight becomes the cutest, most desirable child to ever be born. Well, friends, I’ve reached that point — with puppies.

I’ve always been an animal person. When my jr. high peers were greedily baby-sitting, I was putting toddlers down early to play with the dogs. I know my neighbors’ pets names while having never once introduced myself to my neighbors (I’m looking at you, Sam and that blond lady you’re always with!). I try to be fair about the matter: animals are not, for all our romanticized personification, humans. They don’t operate on the same plane with the same needs as we do. I get it, really, I do. But that doesn’t diminish them. They might not love like we love, but they love in their way. A happy, healthy pet has a personality and disposition, a set of quirks and whims that enables a unique relationship. Many times I look at my cat, Liam, right after he’s horked up a piece of plastic or my sweater, and I think, “You dirty little animal.” Then he looks up at me with those green lamp eyes, jumps beside me, wraps his little arm around mine and starts purring, and I think, “You dirty little animal — you know exactly what you’re doing. God, I love you.” Their companionship is easy on good days, and still rewarding on bad — a trait they share with my closest friends.

I love my cat and, in his feline way, he loves me back. He is the first pet that was genuinely mine. I wouldn’t give him up for the world. But, truthfully, my life isn’t complete without a dog.

With the advent of a real job and adulthood, I’ve decided I can finally in good conscience adopt a puppy. Pet owners say you have the best chance of teaching a cat and dog to coexist peacefully if they are opposite genders and at least one of them is young. My own experience has taught me terriers are the best fit for me, because of their size, disposition, and general awesomeness. I’ve narrowed my search down to two breeds: a Yorkshire Terrier or a West Highland White Terrier.

I had a beloved Yorkie in high school. She was unnervingly clever, affectionate, and well-behaved. The joy of small terriers is that, unlike most toy breeds, they were bred with a purpose. The mill workers in Yorkshire weren’t trying to breed a lap dog, they wanted a hunter to catch the mice and rats in the factories. Later, they wanted a dog small enough to slip in their pockets when they poached on the local nobles’ land. Yorkies were bred with subversion in mind, and I don’t think that inclination has ever completely left them. Also, they are occasionally war heroes. So, assuming you didn’t get a sickly, inbred “teacup” Yorkie, you’re getting a real dog only in a very small package.

The same is true of the Westie (of Caesar Dog Food and Black & White scotch fame). Descended from a long line of hunting terriers, the Westie was developed so that its white coat would distinguish it from game and help hunters track it when its enthusiasm took it across the Scottish highlands. Though Westies can be two to three times larger than the Yorkie, they still have disproportionately large personalities — or, as the AKC website puts it, “no small amount of self-esteem.” They are known for their friendly, alert dispositions, trainability, and also general awesomeness. Neither breed sheds and both have a low to negligible amount of dander, reducing allergens and that “wet dog” smell. Also, both breeds are precious-pants. Consider the following:

A Westie puppy.

And a Yorkie puppy.

I’m trying really hard not to squeal over these pictures. 

So, the journey has begun. In six weeks I go for out-of-town training, and I’d like to have a puppy ready by the time I get back. Don’t tell Liam. And expect more ridiculous pictures in the weeks/months to come as I make my decision and welcome a new lil furball into the pack. 

Filed under fuzzy, life i guess | Comments (2)

of course i did [warning: explicit, humorous language].

Right now I’m sitting in an echoing corridor of Morrison Hall, poking my head in the two seperate rooms my students are taking their finals in. Why two seperate rooms? Well, I’ll tell you.

I got to campus at 10:30 AM to pick up the tests. After that, I went to grab breakfast on campus with Ezra. So far, so good. At 11:19, I go back to my office to grab the tests, only everyone else had already left and I was locked out. After a good deal of running up and down the dreaded stairs of Carroll Science and a couple of calls from students, I finally make it to Morrison Hall. As I’m walking in, I see both sections of my academic dependents exiting a room that was “crowded as hell.” So, together, we took a little walk around the building, found a couple of empty rooms and got started — though not before I announced that it was “probably a good thing I only had one semester to fuck students up.”

Well, it was bound to happen someday. I finally said “fuck” in front of my students. Two hours shy of leaving with some dignity I said, almost literally, “fuck it.”

Good thing I’ve spent the entire semester conditioning my students to a) not be shocked by anything I might say or do and b) to just roll with it. After dropping the ole f-bomb, showing up 10 minutes late for the final, telling them I wore my new boots so I wouldn’t have to shave my legs, and going pretty much rogue on departmental policy, they just went along with it all, laughing as they did, reminding me to be glad they’d already filled out my student evaluations. As if I hadn’t thought of that. 

While passing out the test, two of my students told me how the other proctors were freaking out and making “executive decisions” in my absence, which I guess is what happens when you’re on top of things as a teacher. I’m actually really proud that my students just up and left, all together, to find me. To quote one student: “They didn’t understand we’ve been with you all semester. 11:30 means 11:45, and everyone would be fine.” It’s taken some of my closest friends a lot longer to figure out the same thing. 

As they’re handing in their test, saying good-byes and wishing happy holidays, they’re telling me how much they enjoyed my class (*ahemgradesnotinyetahem*). I’m pretending it’s not just because of my general spaznuggetry. Each time I say bye, I reminded how this really is what I love doing. Though I’m about to take a couple of years off and work in completely unrelated sector, these kids brought home the reason I got into my discipline to begin with: because I love using English to show students what they’re capable of,  helping them find their voice and be taken seriously. And also to say “fuck” in front 43 college freshmen at the nation’s largest Baptist university. 

Filed under corrupting the youth | Comment (1)

teaching: going out with an inappropriate bang.

My little teaching experiment has come to an end. I’m graduating next week (!), I’m going to work at the VA, and I’m taking a break from academe for a bit. The last day of class, I’d planned a lesson on revision, since that was part of their final unit. That fell apart immediately.

I began by switching up the roll call question format. Instead of me asking them a question, they would ask me one. Ezra warned me that this was dangerous, but I expected my students to be too afraid to ask anything inappropriate. What was I thinking? Have I been in class for the last semester?

My 9:30 class had the unofficial goal of figuring out if I smoked pot. To quote one student after class, “Well, people wonder about you.” I got, “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”, “Have you ever done anything illegal?”, “Have you ever run from the cops?”, and the phenomenally unsubtle, “Have you done multiple drugs?” I caught him on the multiple bit. What’s that supposed to mean? I got him to narrow it down to coke. Which, clearly if I did coke, they’d be getting their papers back a lot sooner. So no, I don’t do “extreme drugs” (wtf) but I told them stories about people I know who have. Look at me! I’m crossing lines all over the place! Just not those kind of lines. 

After convincing them I was boring, I got somewhat milder questions: “What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done drunk?” was a fun one that I totally answered. I cited my tendency to have heart-to-hearts when I’ve been drinking, and the emotional, very un-Kat melodrama that ensues. They liked that. I got questions about Ezra which he categorically told me not to answer, so I went out of my way to answer and volunteer unsolicited embarrassing stories (”Psssssshh! What is up with you and your jar?!”).

My second class cared more about my political leanings and what I was doing after graduating. One 12:30 student asked if I had to have basketball-sized elbows or knees, which would it be? I answered the only way a “teacher” like myself could: my elbows, because I have really nice legs. They were mildly scandalized. This confirms my long-held suspicion about my classes: 9:30 is quiet but infinitely mischievous, 12:30 is all talk. 

Finally one student asked what I liked best and least about the course. I said what I liked least was the grind. Trying to figure out how to fill class time in the best and most helpful way, being attentive but not babying them, and trying to not burn out completely proved for an unrelenting semester. What I liked best was easy: my students. I met 43 really cool people this semester. I don’t know if I always did right by them, and clearly I need to redefine some boundaries, but they were a joy. I’m going to miss those crazy kids. 

Filed under corrupting the youth, life i guess | Comment (0)