News Flash: Dogs Fitting In

Here are the dogs. They are both rat terriers from my dad's kennels. Jibbly is the black one with hair. Ysabella is the white one without hair.

Since I wrote about them before, they have reversed roles. Jibbly was coming out of her shell slowly, while Ysa blossomed all at once. Now Ysa seems timid, preferring to retreat to her crate until pried out. Jibbly is acting like she owns the place.

Once Ysa is on the couch beside someone, she's fine. As a pup, she has trouble with transitions. She seems frightened of going out the door. Once outside she is fine. And she is fine approaching the door from outside when she is ready to go inside. But she balks crossing over the threshold.

Both are healthy and happy and eating and fitting in.

My Alma Mater

In its own way, this is the most beautiful campus in the world. Julia and I sat on that footbridge, day or night, watched and listened to the bayou.

When I did job search as I finished graduate school, I had an interview at my alma mater and at another university--one which was a cut above, with regard to research capabilities, which is what graduate students mostly consider.

I was torn. But when I got the offer to return to the bayou, I realized that I did not want anything else.

Oh, by the way, the University has classrooms, dorms, a huge library, and all the other stuff you need to educate a dozen thousand students.

Somehow, despite the fact that a medium sized university immediately surrounds this bayou, the natural beauty of this place is preserved. And somehow the administration manages to all-but-hide this jewel on their web site. I found it after a close inspection.

Lemma

This is a lemma related to Murphy's law.

Even though you can't tie a knot that will hold in the face of any adversity, if you drop two sets of headphones in your bag, upon removal you will find them tied in undefeatable knots.

What's In "A Name"

Julia and I were in a nearby city with a Mexican population so large that there is a Mexican side of town (with excellent authentic food).

We passed a sign that said,

"Sanchez" Auto Repair

Yes, the "Sanchez" was in quotation marks on the sign. What the heck was that?

Was the guy's name Santanna, but everybody called him Sanchez? Was the guy's name Sanders, but, since he served Mexican customers, they called him Sanchez?

Or did the guy have some deconstructionist outlook that views language, and also names, as artificial constructions that shape an arbitrary personal reality, such that any attempt at communication does not transmit information regarding a shared reality, but only reveals the biased worldview of the "communicator."

The latter is not likely because he is still in business. You can be a deconstructionist history professor, but not a deconstructionist auto repair person. "You say that your car is not running. But your car is 'running' our environment toward a cataclysmic ruin. $525.82, please. I don't take 'checks.'"

Dos Perros

Dad let us pick out two dogs when we visted him on vacation. I had sent him a check earlier for one and he had returned it. The economist in me says, "I don't want you to sacrifice the amount of money you could get from selling a dog." But he would not hear of it.

We ended up picking out a very shy, small hairless dog. Also, the boys and Julia fell in love with a personable black hairy dog that Dad was going to give away. I did not want a hairy dog, but since she was so well behaved and playful, I relented.

Julia named the hairless one Ysabella. We call her EEsa.

My 12 year old kept trying to hang stupid names on the black dog. He wanted Rascal II, for instance. Too weird.

When he declared--probably his tenth sundry declaration--that the dog's name is Jibbly*--I perked up. She is, indeed, a Jibbly. It sounds sort of silly and fun, but unique.

Ysa bloomed at once. She became snuggly, playful, and possessive of Julia, just like Rascal was. She is so small that she could sit in an oversized coffee mug, but she does not eat food, so much as she attacks it for prolonged periods of time. She frolics, rearing up on her hind legs, throwing her forepaws up in the air, and pouncing. She's adorable.

Though Jibbly was so personable and playful at Dad's, she did not react well to the change of scenery. She wanted to sit on the couch, not get down and explore, not go outside (when I took her outside she only wanted to head to the front door to go back inside), not do anything, even eat or drink.

After we had her for about four days Jibbly began to throw up rocks. By rocks, I mean . . . rocks, like from my dad's yard. The largest one was the diameter of a quarter, and as thick as three quarters put together. The smallest was the size of two stacked dimes. There were four rocks in all. That may have had something to do with why she did not eat for so long.

After around a week Jibbly decided that our yard was not the most horrible place in the world and even got down from the couch. She began eating normally. She also began playing with us and with Ysa.

So now Jibbly is easier to like. Ysa's only problem is that she is not yet house trained. Alas. You can't spell "puppy" without a whole lotta' "p."

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*The name "Jibbly" comes from a Homestarrunner cartoon. It is the sound Strongbad and others repeat over and over when they are weirded out to the point of twitching incoherence. I see Jibbly spelled on the net as Jibblie, but the pronunciation is not as clear with that spelling, a fact that been commented on by others on the net.

Morte d'Canid

I previously talked about Rascal.

The electric fence failed repeatedly. Two batteries and a collar replacement later, the fence failed for the final time. Rascal got loose and was hit by a car.

We cried a lot.

On vacation we visited my mom's grave. On her headstone was a picture of her.

With Rascal.

It was like having a grave for Rascal there, too.

I didn't want my kids to start crying so I didn't show them.

Tow

At the scene of my son's auto accident, the police asked whom I wanted to tow the wrecked truck. I gave them a name.

They could not reach my preferred wrecker service. They called another wrecker service who lived a mile from the scene.

The following day, I visited Ken's Wrecker Service. I said, "How much do I owe you?"

"$125."

Woah.

An expensive tow is $75. But, an economist understands that Ken was called out by the police and, as I stood there digesting that price, he had already performed the service, so I had no bargaining power. I would have bargaining power if I were stuck on the side of the road, calling different wrecker services.

$125.

I replied, "Impressive!"

He didn't know what to say.

Later, as my wife and I were looking for her cell phone in the car, calling it with another cell phone, Ken hemmed and hawed about how he had cleaned up the glass and had spread sand over the oil slick.

Yeah--I had watched Ken's labors. Some glass dust was on the road. Every window and windshield unbroken, but the front windshield was cracked, leaving the dust. The entire operation took him a minute.

But an economist understands absolute monopoly power, so I did not argue. It was nothing personal on Ken's part. It was business. He had me. He used all the power he had.

Since the month-old transmission had significant resale value, I needed the truck towed to my mechanic.

Ken did not get that job. Another wrecker service towed the truck from Ken's yard to my mechanic.

Nothing personal. Just business.