Moose

Our neighbors were ambitious enough to welcome a small, black lab puppy into their homes last spring. They named him Moose and at the time, I had no idea how fitting this name would become. 

As a general rule, I think people should buy appropriate puppy gear before investing in the actual animal. My neighbors skipped this (key) step. 

For several weeks, Moose was led around on a red rope looped around his neck, no collar, no nothing, just Moose. His owner tried diligently to teach him the basics: sit, stay, come, stop chewing on my hand, no don't pee there, cut it out! You know, the basics. Well, to put it bluntly, his owner failed... miserably.

No big deal, right? 

The weather started to get colder and I saw less and less of Moose because I assume he's been confined to his inner sanctum where I'm sure he terrorizes the hell out of everyone. 

Keep in mind, the last time I saw Moose he still resembled a small, enthusiastic puppy, not quite able to put one foot in front of the other without swaying.

Tonight however, I had the privilege of getting reacquainted with Moose in the most unfortunate of circumstances. Walking to my truck this evening (I parked 2 blocks from my house...long story) I was briskly turning the corner, concentrating on the ground so as not to slip on all the snow and ice, when I hear the all too familiar jingle of dog tags coming in my direction.

Whipping my head up I see a 70 pound black creature barreling straight at me through the snow with complete ease. Clumps of snow are flying through the air in slow motion as club like paws claw at the ground, quickly gaining momentum. And, running at me with little coordination and great speed is Moose. Fucking Moose. 

I stood frozen (literally and figuratively) deciding what to do. 

If I don't move, maybe he won't see me. No! If I use my ninja-like reflexes, I can just jump OVER him once he gets to me. No! I'll rapid fire snow balls at his face long enough to scurry away. NO!.... As you may have guessed by this time Moose has reached me. I closed my eyes, braced myself for the blow (and most likely death) and waited...and waited... After deciding I wasn't dead, I opened my eyes just in time to see Moose miss me completely, hit the snow and ice covered road and go slip sliding away down the street.

For the record, while he was sliding away, I bid him farewell and I noticed no collar, no nothing... just Moose.

To Be Jolly

Decorating the tree (or MY tree if we're getting into specifics) is an intricate process. Allow me to elaborate.


Years ago, my dear mother separated my ornaments and my sisters into separate bins so that when we grew up, we could whisk them off to our own homes and decorate our own trees. Well... 3 years later we're still decorating our parent's tree.

That's not the point.

The point is that my ornaments (mostly hand decorated glittery objects indistinguishable from crumpled trash with the letter 'J' all over them) MUST be showcased. Let's be honest, I was a child prodigy in the area of feather and glitter placement when it comes to decorating. All of that to say I tend (always) to claim the front of the tree for the strategic placement of my masterpieces collected through the years.

This year was different. After years of my sly manipulation a certain sister REFUSED to have her ornaments ignored. The result?

Cindy.

Picture this: a ceramic angel whose face was drawn by an eager 4 year old with permanent marker. Cindy's "gown" (if you can call it that) is bedazzled with glitter that has dutifully clung to her robes for all these years. Not impressed? That's because I didn't tell you about her yellow feather hair glued all over her head, jutting out in every direction.

This year, for the first time, Cindy is displayed proudly in the front and center of our Christmas tree.

You must be thinking, wow Jessica, you've really grown as a person to not be so selfish. FALSE. I felt guilty for the following conversation:


(Decorating the tree listening to christmas music)

A christmas song starts playing and the whiney voice of a woman just keeps repeating the line "a baby changes everything" over and over and over. I waited until halfway through the song (sometimes I try to keep my opinions to myself) to comment "Wow this song is really stupid." My sister agrees with me whole heartedly by saying "I know! This is stupid!"... We continue to decorate the tree and listen to this awful song... 30 seconds before it's over she yells "OHHHH! Like a baby, like baby Jesus!! I get it!!"

After rolling on the floor laughing for a while, I finally managed to ask her what she thought it was about, a public service announcement about premarital sex?
She responded by saying she just thought they were trying to get the point across that babies make life hard. Then follows it up with a statement along the lines of "I was wondering why they were playing such a depressing song during Christmas."

I love her and I love Cindy.