Monday, March 9, 2009
Makin' it Rain
There is apparently an A/C drain in the ceiling above my desk. Over the weekend, that drain clogged, prompting water to soak through the ceiling and shower my desk with condensational goodness. Ironically, it completely missed my plant, which is the only thing on my desk that needed water.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Coincidence?
Just an observation...
In 2003, the two MVPs in Major League Baseball were:
American League: Alex Rodriguez (Texas Rangers)
National League: Barry Bonds (San Francisco Giants)
Let the " * " begin...
In 2003, the two MVPs in Major League Baseball were:
American League: Alex Rodriguez (Texas Rangers)
National League: Barry Bonds (San Francisco Giants)
Let the " * " begin...
Monday, February 2, 2009
embry
Not much to see in this end of the pool. For the latest news and updates, head on over to "Embry's Board".
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
perspective
A friend of mine was a Drill Sergeant in the Army, serving two tours of duty in Iraq. Another member of his family also served, but is now in the hospital with pneumonia. His treatment and recovery are complicated by his HIV status. While a "normal" person typically has a T-cell count between 700-1400., today his CD4 (T-cell) count dropped below 40.
The massive amount of antibiotics administered took two nurses to carry due to the weight of the material. And while I'm not certain of the name of the medicine, he told me it is some sort of naturally occurring substance in the body that without it causes blindness. The nurses wore thick, lead-lined gloves while starting the treatment.
He went on to tell me that everyone in the family is taking turns visiting him in the hospital...expect his father. An ex-Army officer, his father refuses to accept his son's lifestyle and subsequent HIV status. They haven't spoken in almost twenty years. My friend continues to try and explain that he is running out of time to make amends; that his son is going to pass soon, and with that passing goes any opportunity for apologies or atonement. And yet, his father won't budge. He will not even call and speak to his son in the hospital.
Somehow, this makes my brother canceling on us at Thanksgiving that much less significant...
Life teaches us lessons in surprising, yet opportunistic ways. Most of the time, we miss them because we are distracted by something seemingly more important.
Today, for instance, I spoke with one of my colleagues, who explained that I've become the scapegoat for many of the things going on at my former company. My response was, "Well...yeah. That's one of the reasons I left: they are more concerned with assigning blame than finding solutions." Fault is always passed to those who move on, absolving those left behind of any responsibility.
Later, I found myself reflecting on our conversation and realized I was getting defensive, trying to figure out what I could have done differently to avoid the outcome. Never mind the fact that I've been gone for seven months. Never mind that my decisions were based on the cards I had at the time, and a new deck was played after I left. Never mind the job I left for has more responsibility, better hours, higher salary, and actual opportunities for advancement. In so many words, "Why the f**k do I care?!"
And then I saw a commercial for the Army, which reminded me of my friend and his family. Suddenly, a lot of emotions and rationalizations fell into place. It's amazing how quickly our priorities can get shuffled.
The massive amount of antibiotics administered took two nurses to carry due to the weight of the material. And while I'm not certain of the name of the medicine, he told me it is some sort of naturally occurring substance in the body that without it causes blindness. The nurses wore thick, lead-lined gloves while starting the treatment.
He went on to tell me that everyone in the family is taking turns visiting him in the hospital...expect his father. An ex-Army officer, his father refuses to accept his son's lifestyle and subsequent HIV status. They haven't spoken in almost twenty years. My friend continues to try and explain that he is running out of time to make amends; that his son is going to pass soon, and with that passing goes any opportunity for apologies or atonement. And yet, his father won't budge. He will not even call and speak to his son in the hospital.
Somehow, this makes my brother canceling on us at Thanksgiving that much less significant...
Life teaches us lessons in surprising, yet opportunistic ways. Most of the time, we miss them because we are distracted by something seemingly more important.
Today, for instance, I spoke with one of my colleagues, who explained that I've become the scapegoat for many of the things going on at my former company. My response was, "Well...yeah. That's one of the reasons I left: they are more concerned with assigning blame than finding solutions." Fault is always passed to those who move on, absolving those left behind of any responsibility.
Later, I found myself reflecting on our conversation and realized I was getting defensive, trying to figure out what I could have done differently to avoid the outcome. Never mind the fact that I've been gone for seven months. Never mind that my decisions were based on the cards I had at the time, and a new deck was played after I left. Never mind the job I left for has more responsibility, better hours, higher salary, and actual opportunities for advancement. In so many words, "Why the f**k do I care?!"
And then I saw a commercial for the Army, which reminded me of my friend and his family. Suddenly, a lot of emotions and rationalizations fell into place. It's amazing how quickly our priorities can get shuffled.
Monday, January 12, 2009
snow falling on cincy
I've lived in Cincinnati for over 10 years, so you would think the weather forecasts would cease to amuse me. I remember the first time I laughed out loud when I heard the term "Sun Delay". When I asked one of my co-workers at the time what the weather guy meant by a Sun Delay, she explained, "Well, sometimes you drive up a hill and the sun is directly in front of you, so it's hard to see." Really? No...Oh my gosh...Surely, Cincinnati must be the only place on Earth where this happens. As it happens, this phenomenon occurs elsewhere as well; Cincinnati is just the only city where people slow down to 30 mph on the highway because of it.
Today, I've been hearing reports of the "Winter Storm" making its way across the United States. At first, the big news was the falling temperatures, as they predict the highs to be in the teens the rest of this week. Ok...I'll give you that's a little chilly. Of course, those of us from the Cleveland are refer to those types of temperatures as "Spring". While driving home, however, the newscasters began talking not about the cold, but about the chance for -- get this -- "blowing snow".
That's right folks...snow simply falling may be newsworthy, but throw in some wind and it beckons the label of "severe weather". I fear that if the sun is out too, we may have ourselves a natural disaster.
Having studied Meteorology, I understand how unpredictable the weather patterns can be throughout this part of the country. But I've also lived in Ohio my entire life and have learned to expect drastic changes throughout the day. When I hear the weather folks say, "Expect accumulation up to an inch", I laugh because that is barely enough to cover the grass. I grew up hearing the words "Lake Effect Snow", which means anywhere from an inch to four feet. The most impressive thing about four feet of snow is not your buried lawn, is not even the drifts between the houses...but rather the enormous piles of snow in the mall parking lots after they plow. These snow hills were easily some 40-50 feet high and were still visible in June. Cool stuff!
Anyway, I'm really not making fun of the newscasters or the people who buy into their panic-inducing predictions. I've just never understood when the weather became such a topic of attention. How did people 30 years ago survive without Weatherbug? Do we really need updated forecasts every 15 minutes? More importantly, if the weather does change, will you completely alter your life around it? There are people in our office that bolt for their homes at the first sign of a snowflake. Their rationale: "They aren't concerned about the snow. They are more worried about the idiots that can't drive in it." Yet, it always sounds like an excuse for leaving early. I've always thought, "Wouldn't you want to stay off the roads so the plows can treat them?!" Instead, everyone rushes out en masse and creates a traffic nightmare.
But I'm digressing into a whiny diatribe. I'm just sitting here trying to watch Jeopardy, but keep getting distracted by the severe weather alert scrolling across the bottom of the screen. "I'll take The Winter of Our Discontent for $1000, Alex."
Today, I've been hearing reports of the "Winter Storm" making its way across the United States. At first, the big news was the falling temperatures, as they predict the highs to be in the teens the rest of this week. Ok...I'll give you that's a little chilly. Of course, those of us from the Cleveland are refer to those types of temperatures as "Spring". While driving home, however, the newscasters began talking not about the cold, but about the chance for -- get this -- "blowing snow".
That's right folks...snow simply falling may be newsworthy, but throw in some wind and it beckons the label of "severe weather". I fear that if the sun is out too, we may have ourselves a natural disaster.
Having studied Meteorology, I understand how unpredictable the weather patterns can be throughout this part of the country. But I've also lived in Ohio my entire life and have learned to expect drastic changes throughout the day. When I hear the weather folks say, "Expect accumulation up to an inch", I laugh because that is barely enough to cover the grass. I grew up hearing the words "Lake Effect Snow", which means anywhere from an inch to four feet. The most impressive thing about four feet of snow is not your buried lawn, is not even the drifts between the houses...but rather the enormous piles of snow in the mall parking lots after they plow. These snow hills were easily some 40-50 feet high and were still visible in June. Cool stuff!
Anyway, I'm really not making fun of the newscasters or the people who buy into their panic-inducing predictions. I've just never understood when the weather became such a topic of attention. How did people 30 years ago survive without Weatherbug? Do we really need updated forecasts every 15 minutes? More importantly, if the weather does change, will you completely alter your life around it? There are people in our office that bolt for their homes at the first sign of a snowflake. Their rationale: "They aren't concerned about the snow. They are more worried about the idiots that can't drive in it." Yet, it always sounds like an excuse for leaving early. I've always thought, "Wouldn't you want to stay off the roads so the plows can treat them?!" Instead, everyone rushes out en masse and creates a traffic nightmare.
But I'm digressing into a whiny diatribe. I'm just sitting here trying to watch Jeopardy, but keep getting distracted by the severe weather alert scrolling across the bottom of the screen. "I'll take The Winter of Our Discontent for $1000, Alex."
Sunday, January 11, 2009
random observationisms
Watching the Foosball
My track record in football games over the past few weeks is not good; I keep backing the wrong horses. I was hoping the Baltimore Ravens would lose in the first round of the playoffs. They did not. Then, I was hoping the Indianapolis Colts would win. They did not. I was rooting for Ohio State, Oklahoma, Cincinnati, and Ball State in various bowl games. They all lost. Surely the New York Giants can buck this trend and beat the Philadelphia Eagles, right? Nope. Oh, well. Maybe I'll break my age-old rule and actually root for the Pittsburgh Steelers, even though that's a cardinal sin for someone from Northeast Ohio.
Kid Genes
I've never been able to explain why I'm missing the kid genenome. I'm an uncle to over 10 nieces and nephews, and we live next door to a house full of pre-teen girls. But as far as having any interest in my own kids, there is less than zero. Never had any interest whatsoever in having kids. And part of me actually feels slightly guilty about this. We know people that can't have children and would give anything to be parents. When I'm around them and I make a comment about not wanting kids, you can see the disappointment on their faces. I wish only the best for them and I'm sympathetic to their reproductive struggles, but I decided a long, long time ago kids were not in my cards.
Puppy vs. Treadmill
All in all, Traz has been an easy foster dog. Other than the initial snapping from the other dogs on Day One, we've had no aggression from anyone. To-date, Traz has eaten a hole through a blanket, dug up and eaten some lanscape lights, likes to chew on towels and throw rugs, and loves to eat frozen clumps of dirt and mulch (but, you know, who doesn't?!). Otherwise, he hasn't done anything overly destructive. Yesterday, however, he told us what he thought of the treadmill by standing on it and peeing. He has not peed in the house before or since, but -- for whatever reason -- he decided the treadmill was dirty and needed hosed off. Maybe that's why Mason tried to pee on RanDee in the shower...?!
What's in a Name?
Speaking of Traz, how many nicknames does a foster dog need to have before he ceases to be a "foster" and you start referring to him as "your new dog"? So far, he is known as Alcatraz, Alka Selzter, Traz, Traz Man, Trazzy, Trazmanian Devil, Traz-continental, Traz-Siberia, Trazlator, Trazformer, Trazmission, Trazzador, Traztastic Man......or just Puppeh.
Alert Level: Orange (High)
After losing two dogs in five weeks towards the end of last year, I've found I'm still on high alert. Yesterday, Darcy got sick and threw up across three throw rugs (never mind the rest of the floor is tile, of course...she HAD to throw up on the rugs, because that is Canine Law). For the rest of the day, I was trying to watch her every move and make sure she didn't throw up again. If she had, I probably would have taken her to the emergency vet clinic. Thankfully, she ate her dinner without incident and she seems her normal self today. We went to the dog park and she did her normal Basset-Spaniel behavior: wander, sniff, wander, pee, wander, bake tarts, wander, attack dog five times her size... Since then, she has eaten a bull penis and is now chewing on a bone. Life is good!
My track record in football games over the past few weeks is not good; I keep backing the wrong horses. I was hoping the Baltimore Ravens would lose in the first round of the playoffs. They did not. Then, I was hoping the Indianapolis Colts would win. They did not. I was rooting for Ohio State, Oklahoma, Cincinnati, and Ball State in various bowl games. They all lost. Surely the New York Giants can buck this trend and beat the Philadelphia Eagles, right? Nope. Oh, well. Maybe I'll break my age-old rule and actually root for the Pittsburgh Steelers, even though that's a cardinal sin for someone from Northeast Ohio.
Kid Genes
I've never been able to explain why I'm missing the kid genenome. I'm an uncle to over 10 nieces and nephews, and we live next door to a house full of pre-teen girls. But as far as having any interest in my own kids, there is less than zero. Never had any interest whatsoever in having kids. And part of me actually feels slightly guilty about this. We know people that can't have children and would give anything to be parents. When I'm around them and I make a comment about not wanting kids, you can see the disappointment on their faces. I wish only the best for them and I'm sympathetic to their reproductive struggles, but I decided a long, long time ago kids were not in my cards.
Puppy vs. Treadmill
All in all, Traz has been an easy foster dog. Other than the initial snapping from the other dogs on Day One, we've had no aggression from anyone. To-date, Traz has eaten a hole through a blanket, dug up and eaten some lanscape lights, likes to chew on towels and throw rugs, and loves to eat frozen clumps of dirt and mulch (but, you know, who doesn't?!). Otherwise, he hasn't done anything overly destructive. Yesterday, however, he told us what he thought of the treadmill by standing on it and peeing. He has not peed in the house before or since, but -- for whatever reason -- he decided the treadmill was dirty and needed hosed off. Maybe that's why Mason tried to pee on RanDee in the shower...?!
What's in a Name?
Speaking of Traz, how many nicknames does a foster dog need to have before he ceases to be a "foster" and you start referring to him as "your new dog"? So far, he is known as Alcatraz, Alka Selzter, Traz, Traz Man, Trazzy, Trazmanian Devil, Traz-continental, Traz-Siberia, Trazlator, Trazformer, Trazmission, Trazzador, Traztastic Man......or just Puppeh.
Alert Level: Orange (High)
After losing two dogs in five weeks towards the end of last year, I've found I'm still on high alert. Yesterday, Darcy got sick and threw up across three throw rugs (never mind the rest of the floor is tile, of course...she HAD to throw up on the rugs, because that is Canine Law). For the rest of the day, I was trying to watch her every move and make sure she didn't throw up again. If she had, I probably would have taken her to the emergency vet clinic. Thankfully, she ate her dinner without incident and she seems her normal self today. We went to the dog park and she did her normal Basset-Spaniel behavior: wander, sniff, wander, pee, wander, bake tarts, wander, attack dog five times her size... Since then, she has eaten a bull penis and is now chewing on a bone. Life is good!
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
running to stand still
I've spent the past few days with this phrase going round in my head. It started while I was running and listening to U2's "Veritgo" tour in Chicago, which is spectacular. When they started this song, which almost always follows "Bullet the Blue Sky" (one of my favorites), I actually stumbled a little bit because the thought stuck me: I really do feel like I'm running to stand still...meaning I feel like life is this constant race not to get ahead, but just to keep up with everything.
Granted, the song was written about a heroin addict from the Ballymun Seven Towers area of Dublin, but the lyrics reflect a sense of frustration and helplessness:
You've got to cry without weeping,
Talk without speaking,
Scream without raising your voice.
Henry David Thoreau once wrote "Our lives are frittered away by detail; simplify, simplify." There seems to always be something else: another bill to pay, another appointment to schedule, another call to return. When the lights turn off and we lie in bed at night, I think about the hours in the day and how I spent them. Before I realize it, the next day is wash, rinse, repeat. It often feels like I'm merely grinding away in the sand, only to have my tracks washed back into the ocean. But I know that is just High School mentality melodrama.
We all make our own history. Our accomplishments are up to us. Our legacies and destinies depend on each step we take, calculated or emotional. There are times to thrust your face into the wind and feel the rush of recklessness. Remind yourself that if tomorrow never comes, you have lived your best day today. Other times, we need to wrap ourselves in a blanket, close our eyes, and reject any and all responsibility. And then, when the next day arrives, we can't feel guilty about the consequences of our actions.
For this reason, I don't make New Years' resolutions. There are things I want to do this year: get married, travel out west, refinance and pay down some debt, lose five pounds, finally get started on building a recording studio... But I don't want to make them resolutions that hang over my head like an aging albatross. If the past few months have taught me anything, it's a long year and something will always get in the way. Instead, I've told myself to slow down, laugh more, take deep breaths, be the best person I can, and live within my niche.
But I'm not going to stop running.
Granted, the song was written about a heroin addict from the Ballymun Seven Towers area of Dublin, but the lyrics reflect a sense of frustration and helplessness:
You've got to cry without weeping,
Talk without speaking,
Scream without raising your voice.
Henry David Thoreau once wrote "Our lives are frittered away by detail; simplify, simplify." There seems to always be something else: another bill to pay, another appointment to schedule, another call to return. When the lights turn off and we lie in bed at night, I think about the hours in the day and how I spent them. Before I realize it, the next day is wash, rinse, repeat. It often feels like I'm merely grinding away in the sand, only to have my tracks washed back into the ocean. But I know that is just High School mentality melodrama.
We all make our own history. Our accomplishments are up to us. Our legacies and destinies depend on each step we take, calculated or emotional. There are times to thrust your face into the wind and feel the rush of recklessness. Remind yourself that if tomorrow never comes, you have lived your best day today. Other times, we need to wrap ourselves in a blanket, close our eyes, and reject any and all responsibility. And then, when the next day arrives, we can't feel guilty about the consequences of our actions.
For this reason, I don't make New Years' resolutions. There are things I want to do this year: get married, travel out west, refinance and pay down some debt, lose five pounds, finally get started on building a recording studio... But I don't want to make them resolutions that hang over my head like an aging albatross. If the past few months have taught me anything, it's a long year and something will always get in the way. Instead, I've told myself to slow down, laugh more, take deep breaths, be the best person I can, and live within my niche.
But I'm not going to stop running.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
my drawers
Traz Man had a surprise for us last night. I opened the nightstand to get my book, then turned to talk to Cindy. While I wasn't looking, Traz walked over and closed the drawer with his nose. I looked down and thought to myself, "No way...that had to have been an accident." Naturally, I opened the drawer again, looked down at him, then raised my eyebrows in amusement as he pushed the drawer closed again. At that point, I went downstairs and grabbed his list of commands. Sure enough, on page two, is the command "Push"...which instructs the dog to close objects things with its muzzle. Two grown adults then spent the next 20 minutes entertaining themselves by opening various drawers and watching Traz close them. What can I say...slow night.
Directly below "Push" on Traz's list of commands is "Pull". I read that and thought, "SURELY Traz is not smart enough to OPEN drawers, too?! (...and if so, is anything in this house safe?!)" Back upstairs I went, walked over to the nightstand, looked down at Traz, and said, "Pull". He walked over to the drawer, put his mouth on the knob, then backed up, thus opening the drawer. We've since discovered he can open the cabinet doors in the kitchen, too.
My response to this, of course, is "Oh crap..."
Yes, it is very cute and we're having fun leaving drawers open for him to close, but this is somewhat foreboding because the magic drawers are filled with fluffy, soft objects...such as towels, oven mitts and dish rags...which he is obsessed with carrying around. We've already picked up all the throw rugs because he scoops them up and brings them to us. We also now have lovely, wet, black stains on the family room floor because he chewed off a piece of the doormat outside and brought it in. When he chewed it, puddles of dirty water squeezed out and embedded themselves in the carpet.
Guess it could be worse; could be urine...or ass particulates.
In other news, I'd like you all to meet Weebl and Bob. They like pie. I have no idea why we find this so amusing, but "mmm pie" has been part of our vocabulary for over almost seven years.
Not nearly as amusing as trying to pee on somebody in the shower, but it's all I got for today. Things are obviously pretty slow here in the 'nati...
Directly below "Push" on Traz's list of commands is "Pull". I read that and thought, "SURELY Traz is not smart enough to OPEN drawers, too?! (...and if so, is anything in this house safe?!)" Back upstairs I went, walked over to the nightstand, looked down at Traz, and said, "Pull". He walked over to the drawer, put his mouth on the knob, then backed up, thus opening the drawer. We've since discovered he can open the cabinet doors in the kitchen, too.
My response to this, of course, is "Oh crap..."
Yes, it is very cute and we're having fun leaving drawers open for him to close, but this is somewhat foreboding because the magic drawers are filled with fluffy, soft objects...such as towels, oven mitts and dish rags...which he is obsessed with carrying around. We've already picked up all the throw rugs because he scoops them up and brings them to us. We also now have lovely, wet, black stains on the family room floor because he chewed off a piece of the doormat outside and brought it in. When he chewed it, puddles of dirty water squeezed out and embedded themselves in the carpet.
Guess it could be worse; could be urine...or ass particulates.
In other news, I'd like you all to meet Weebl and Bob. They like pie. I have no idea why we find this so amusing, but "mmm pie" has been part of our vocabulary for over almost seven years.
Not nearly as amusing as trying to pee on somebody in the shower, but it's all I got for today. Things are obviously pretty slow here in the 'nati...
Monday, January 5, 2009
no balls
Our township created a men's baseball league and is recruiting residents. I've spent the past few weeks thinking about dusting off my knuckleball and signing up, but I keep resisting. First of all, I'm not sure my rotator cuff will take too kindly to pitching again. I was a reasonably efficient pitcher and I know the game, but it's been awhile since I've pitched to live batters. And if my physical therapist ever found out...
Secondly, and of greater concern, I've finally realized my body is older. I don't recover as well and I can't compete at the level I used to. And while the league is "35 and older", I know it will be littered with guys trying to relive their glory years of High School and college ball. It's the same attitude we fight in all of our rec softball leagues: the "Johnny Softball" who takes out the shortstop on a double play, slides with his spikes up, tries to throw runners out at first base from the outfield, plows the catcher on plays at the plate...all of the unsportsmanlike behaviors I detest. I'll be very angry the first time somebody tries to pitch me inside and beans me with a 70 mph fastball. Not because I got hit -- that's part of the game -- but because I'll sit at my desk the next day and dwell on it, thinking, "Why is this fun again? Is the game really worth 48 hours of pain?" Plus, I'll be jealous because I can't throw a 70mph fastball without a strong wind behind me. Guess I'll stick to Wii baseball.
...and building my Campus Legend in NCAA Football 2009.
Secondly, and of greater concern, I've finally realized my body is older. I don't recover as well and I can't compete at the level I used to. And while the league is "35 and older", I know it will be littered with guys trying to relive their glory years of High School and college ball. It's the same attitude we fight in all of our rec softball leagues: the "Johnny Softball" who takes out the shortstop on a double play, slides with his spikes up, tries to throw runners out at first base from the outfield, plows the catcher on plays at the plate...all of the unsportsmanlike behaviors I detest. I'll be very angry the first time somebody tries to pitch me inside and beans me with a 70 mph fastball. Not because I got hit -- that's part of the game -- but because I'll sit at my desk the next day and dwell on it, thinking, "Why is this fun again? Is the game really worth 48 hours of pain?" Plus, I'll be jealous because I can't throw a 70mph fastball without a strong wind behind me. Guess I'll stick to Wii baseball.
...and building my Campus Legend in NCAA Football 2009.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Alcatraz, day one
And in one swift move, the energy level in our house is back to what it was a few months ago. Behold, the power of the puppy... The Back Story:
Alcatraz, aka "Traz", born January 1st of 2008, entered the Assistance Dog Training Program in March, 2008. After nine months of training, he was pulled from the prison program because he was a little too talkative, easily distracted and a little headstrong. He is still a candidate for becoming an "in-home" assistance dog, however, so he is still in training. We are now fostering him.
The Story So Far:
Traz arrived last night, circa 6:30pm, after an ill-fated trip to PetSmart (we missed their early New Years Eve closing by 15 minutes). Unfortunately, it was dark by the time we arrived home, which added a stressful element to the introductions. First up was Tank, who responded with a wide assortment of growls, then tried to bite off Traz's face. Old dogs - 1, New Dog - 0. Next, it was Sophie's turn. She responded by snarling, baring her teeth, then trying to bite off Traz's face. Old Dogs - 2, New Dog - 0. Finally, we introduced Traz and Darcy through the baby gate. Traz responded by leaping the gate and having his ankles bitten by the Spaniel Basset of Death. Old dogs - 3, New Dog - 0. To Traz's credit, he was unphased and continued bouncing at them: "play with me play with me play with me play with me play with me play with me".
Fast forwarding to today, things are surprisingly good. No baby gates, nothing separating any of the dogs; they all have free roam downstairs. Aside from the occasional nasty, snarling, resource-guarding episode from Sophie, there are no incidents to report. Traz keeps trying to half-heartedly hump TankMan, but he is having none of that. Some initial observations:
1) We've forgotten how much fun it is to watch puppies and their pure, unadulterated, unbridled joy. Traz loves to bounce and lope around, hoping one of the other dogs will join him; but if not, oh well - he will entertain himself by running back and forth through the house, then sliding across the tile floors.
2) It's been awhile since we've had a problem-solver in the house. If Traz sees something he wants, he gets it: be it the dish towel, a blanket, a toy on the counter, or something under the chair. It also took him less than 30 seconds to pop the lid off the food can in the pantry. He is not at all malicious and he stops what he is doing when you call him; just your typical, everyday puppiness.
3) Traz is an exceptional puppy. He turned a year old today and has what one can only describe as a "service mode". When you start putting him through his commands (sit, down, stay, kennel up, hurry, etc), you can see him snap to attention and you become the center of his world...albeit until he gets bored and wants to switch into "play mode". Still, for a dog who is working on his first 24 hours in a strange, new place, you really don't notice he is here.
4) He is going to start testing his handlers within the next few months. As is the case with most Labradors, he has a stubborn streak that will begin to show itself soon. He will work until he doesn't feel like working any longer, then is aloof and seems to just go through the motions. But the groundwork is definitely there and he has already surpassed Sophie in terms of temperament and obedience...though Sophie still has the record for most poop consumption per capita.
5) Traz's previous foster families note his uneasiness with reflections in glass, new people, and children, as well as his requiring constant supervision, lest he chews on furniture and pillows. So far, we've witnessed none of this (...other than him picking up the blanket a few times). He is fine with our dogs and the children from next door and pays no attention to reflections.
Traz does pick up his bowl and tries to carry it around and his hips are of concern. Otherwise, he looks to be overcoming most of the concerns listed in his notes. For a one year old Labrador puppy, he is very gentle and well-mannered.
If only one-year-old humans were this good...
Hopefully, he stays this good and I won't write a month from now about how "Traz ate the couch", or "Traz destroyed the kitchen table", or "Traz ate the 5-year-old next door", or "Traz stole a car, robbed the convenience store up the street, and is now an inmate at the State Correctional Facility".
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