News of the Weird-o

Me.

My strange ways of interacting with fellow humanoids caused me no end of torture in childhood. Strange men and boys are tolerated – a little – because of the reputation of scientists of being able to invent something massively profitable (a reputation almost completely undeserved, BTW).

But, Nerdy Girls? Nerdy Women?

Please!

It makes us an outlier among the female humanoids, and, therefore, a justifiable target for their ridicule. Little did I know that regular life, as an adult, would be a breeze, by comparison. At least in regular life, if you don’t like the people that surround you, you can leave! And, find people who function like you.

I’m slowly building my friendship circle here. Re-activating old friendships, beginning to recognize acquaintances from daily activities, finding new doctors (my first visit is today). And, I’ve recently acquired the best gadget available for getting to know people.

A dog!

My daughter is switching orders near the end of the month (from one Franciscan order to another), and will move out of her current living quarters to the new. Last month, she was informed that she would not be able to take her dog with her. So, I told her, if you can’t find someone else to take him, I will.

Me and my big mouth! I had to travel to Chicago this last weekend and pick him up. I also got some quality time with my daughter, and helped her with sorting out the stuff in her house. The picture below is him after his appointment at the groomer’s (maybe 3-4 times a year). They also trim the nails and deal with the teeth, so it’s a bargain to have them handle it all.

Traveling to and around Chicago was, as expected, horrific and heart-stopping awful – and, with snow! I was looking for an alternative to driving through the center of the city on my way out, and Shannon showed me a very nice route, that avoids the worst of it. It was a breeze to drive.

Capoochino

He’s 13, but still in very good shape. He’s a mix of Bichon Friese and Poodle, hence, Bichipoo (or, if he annoys me, Bitchipoo). Don’t know much about the Bichon side of him, but he’s a good doggo, playful but calm, and very affectionate. Apparently, he can get an attitude with other males, but otherwise behaves beautifully.

His training is OK. Admittedly, my standards are high. My best friend in high school even taught her dog to do back flips. And, my favorite childhood friend had parents who schooled their dogs to perform with military precision. I’m talking Kennel Club show dog standards. I may not have that much energy to put into improving him. Most importantly, he doesn’t tug at the leash, important for my mobility issues (I’m using a cane for outside walking and stairs), and a recently injured shoulder.

Best of all, he is forcing me to get out of the house for exercise. Fortunately, the weather has been very mild this week. I’m hoping by the time we get monsoons this spring, I’ll be more fit.

This weekend will be busy. On Sunday morning, I’ll be attending one of the first in-person radio hamfests in this area for the last few years. All meetings during Covid were virtual – you can’t completely blame them for caution, as the average age for active hams is Old. I am so looking forward to meeting local members of the clubs. If you know a radio operator in the Northern Ohio area, here is the link.

2 comments

  1. I had a white miniature poodle boy that I “rescued.” My wife (girlfriend at the time) was working at a local grooming shop in 1982. The dog had been tied to the railing in front of the shop over night and abandoned, but broke the rope and ran, then got hit by a car when the girls approached him. I named him “Ace” because of the Ace bandages the vet wrapped him in. He healed up fine and I took him to obedience training. Ace stayed in my parents home after we got married because we could not have pets. That was fine because he and my Mom were inseparable. He lived a good life and died of old age in a loving home.

  2. Bichon’s are great dogs. You’re lucky. Your daughter went with God and you went with Dog.

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