Tales from the Front Lines

Were you aware that dogs can go through windows? Were you ? HUH? Because, they can. On second floor windows, they wind up on the roof. On the overhang off my bedroom. Between the windows. Completely hidden from the casual observer, because, hey, who expects your dog to be on your roof? And they will lay there for 20 minutes dozing comfortable on the warm springtime roof, oblivious to your increasingly frantic calls of "treat!", "Ice!!" and "CCCCHHHEEEEZZZZ". Then, they will blithely take 15 years off your life by leaping BACK into the bedroom as you are checking under the bed, landing beside you, all warm fur and hot breath. I have a contusion on my forehead from slamming my head into the bed frame in the most fright I've ever felt in my life. Want a dog?

Sugarpie's post got me thinking. Last week, I was doing my morning routine which, of course, does include showering. I had put Black Jack out back on his run so that he could have his "outdoor time", while I had my soapy, in the hot water, relax time. (bad idea) Anyway...littlest daughter comes to the door and informs me: "Black Jack is in the front yard, Mama. How come?" How come, indeed. I think I can spare the 10 seconds to get dressed and go grab him, when...dear God, here they come, the Mafia walkers. They walk every blessed morning of the week sometime between 8:00 and 8:20, they pass my house. And, there's Black Jack in the front yard, head outstretched, ears perkily pointed, flag of a tail waving a happy hello. Of course, they see a menacing beast, ready to pounce. I don't blame them, he's 80 pounds and solid muscle. I leap down 15 stairs. Grab both leash, and my red rain coat and throw it over my bath towel fetchingly wrapped around me sa...

Believe me I know. You canNOT just come willy nilly back to your blog and not talk about what the heck happened in your classes at the end of the semester. It's unAmerican, unChristian and unchatty. I, myself, am a American Christian chatty girl, hence I shall spill the details of the....LAST WEEKS OF THE SEMESTER OF DOOM. Lets see: In my public speaking class, I had one of my very favorite students blow off his last speech. Now, I understand spring madness. I've had it myself, yet I canNOT let them get away with this. It's wretchedly unfair to the rest. I gave him a choice: speak or take a zero. Up to you, pal. I'm just the one with the gradebook and red pen. You earn it or lose it. (Oh, I'm a tough cookie in the classroom, you betcha) He grudgingly spoke in a flippant manner for about 90 seconds. I thanked him and then, at the end of class, I delivered his final grade. Once that formality was complete, I asked him, "Whatever possessed you to try and blow off ...