Sunday, March 13, 2011
Safe Sex: Penguin-Style
Image courtesy Adam Foster
Howdy, howdy. Today I’d like to thank Zoe Courtman for sending me the following award:
And now, for seven things about me . . .
First: current events and/or traumas. Considering the tragedy in Japan, I’ll keep the whining to a minimum.
1. My computer died. The reason I’m bummed and not in a straightjacket is the last thing I did before the hard drive self-destructed: backed-up the writing to two separate places. Thank you, old Mac, for hanging on that long. I’ll miss you.
2. My basement flooded. The sump pump went belly up and we woke with two inches of water all around. Bright side: I had finished my New Year’s Resolutions to clean out the sump pump room. (30 less boxes of wet mess to clean up!) Brighter side: our insurance rider for the sump pump. We only had to pay the deductible. If you have a sump-pump in your house, ask your agent about this rider. Clean up cost: $3000.
3. The Fabulous Miss Sydney lost a front fang to feline root rot. There goes that pretty snarl. Sorry baby.
4. For those of you keeping count, Big Bear has been sick seven, count ‘em, seven times since New Years. Do they make hypoallergenic hamster balls in size 6X? I know first graders have cooties, but this is ridiculous.
Image courtesy: dalai-alana
I’ve been reading Water for Elephants and love it. It reminds me of my old zookeeping days. Here’s something you may be surprised to know:
5. Vultures have a sense of humor. Our turkey vultures would perform targeted vomit-bombing on the keepers for yucks. And when I left the paper towels in their exhibit? They rolled their trees in two minutes flat. Bravo.
6. Speaking of wacky birds, I used to be the penguin keeper. Each morning, I’d slide back the exhibit door and Chewy, my man, would rush out into my lap for some morning snuggles like a sleek, black puppy. He’d bring me sticks and pebbles—the penguin version of roses and chocolate.
One morning I was surprised at how hard he seemed to be struggling to climb my arm. His flippers were flapping, tail wagging, feet flying. Then he stopped, went limp, and closed his eyes looking sort of . . . happy.
I looked down at my latex-gloved hand. OH NO, HE DIDN’T!!!!
(I felt so used.)
7. And finally, what would I do with the extra dough if I became a successful novelist?
A) Find a good therapist
B) Learn to play the guitar
C) Locate a vet who could set up Miss Sydney with a gold fang.
Looks like I’ll have plenty of time to mull it over. Until then check out these Stylish Blogs. You know what to do, kids.
L. Diane Wolfe