Never Forget Who's Voted for You

I know you’ve heard this from me before and it's going to sound like I’m beating a dead rocking horse, but my life is devoid of materials. It isn’t that I don’t want the goods; to feel a whole person, I need a wide selection of footwear, designer sunglasses, moderately priced paperback novels, and microwave-safe bowls just as much as the next guy. Unfortunately, I have some hot daughters living in the backyard that have torn through and eaten everything I just listed… including the dead rocking horse.

The Bench-walking Wench

When the dogs aren't testing their jaws of life on inanimate and often poisonous products, they are flirting with visitors to the house. While the driveway acts as a revolving door to our hostel environment, our adopted sassholes act as pushy greeters, offering to carry guest’s bags in with their teeth. Of course, this all takes place after each dog has shoved a nose into any new groins in the room; a strict check-in process, not to be disturbed.

We don’t ask anything of visitors but to have a good time, but we do warn them that by the end of their stay here they must vote for their favorite pup. Inevitably, opinions become polarized and tempers flare - ours and the guests mostly, but sometimes the dogs. When I recently saw Mosey cast a disdainful glance at Kona after someone cast a  vote for Kona, I knew it was time to teach her a lesson. Thankfully, she took my words to mouth and I watched as she digested everything I said. In fact, the advice worked so well with Mosey that I’ve decided to take it and apply it to my own life. It’s very simple, as I told Mosey: Never Forget Who’s Voted for You.

Two commas, chillin' on the floor.

I think each of our relationships is an individual Trust spectrum with a ballot box at each end. The boxes slide from Bust to Trust and multiple votes are allowed over a lifetime of interaction. It is important to pause often and check the boxes; I’d like to stay updated on who’s voted/voting for me and thank them for doing so.

I’m not going to thank those that elected me “Prom Prince: Wesley King." Votes for me weren’t cast at some grand event, they happen more often and in much smaller doses than that.

"Don't make me Power Tie you to the chair."

My preschool teacher decided against punishing me for being a “smart-alec” and gave me a kitten instead. A girlfriend’s Grandma and her Grandma’s friends gave me some money for “college expenses” because someday, they said, I was going to do great things. I barely knew them! A redneck gifted me a dollar to fill my flat tire... I gave him all the credit I could even as my credit cards were worthless in that situation. Here, you can borrow my car. Here, you can sleep on my couch. Here, you can stay here, right here, with me! Here, I don’t really know you but you can meet my circle of friends… I’d rather you do that than continue to stand in the corner by the umbrella stand, wading for rain.

I’m sorry to say that each of the above votes of confidence were based on a bad assessment. I’m not untrustworthy, but most of my decisions are path-of-least-resistance and you would get a better return tossing liquid assets into a waterfall. Yet people continue to trust me, and someday, inevitably, someone will do the same for you. I know, I agree, they are entirely too trusting! But whether the trust is small (they trust you with their time, their smile, their secrets) or large (horse-sitting, model train-set, experimental brain surgery), remember to thank them, or, at least, acknowledge their actions.

I’ve discovered the real world isn’t a vacuum, so I’m trying to suck less. Help me out… remind me of a time you trusted me so I can make fun of you for it. Just please don’t tell me which pup you like more; I’d rather you whisper it in their ears when you visit. Trust me, they won’t forget.

Groundhog Sees People Seeing Him Trying to See His Shadow, Gets Scared

In a fatal turn of events (at the very least for the entire aboveground groundhog community and possibly for the entire underground culture of groundhog enthusiasts), the once popular bullet-shaped creature of phur saw someone watching him watch his shadow. To the animal, already drowning in a dark emotional whirlpool of uncertainty, this all but guarantees a future full of brusque personal encounters and hard bargains.

Experts surmise that in order to ensure the arrival of a spring season there may soon be an onslaught of unscientific psychological mind games played with the mindless pillar of fear known as Punxsutawney Phil. Possibilities include: a national pronouncement of shadow slaughter, a bouquet of pheromone-doused dandelions (with apology note attached), or a cigar box filled with false teeth. Apparently, such creatures love false teeth.

Witnesses of the event noted that Phil seemed much more aware of his surroundings this year. As opposed to his usual behavior of exhibiting an unimpressive lack of awareness regarding anything but his cast shadow (or lack thereof), Phil stared into the crowd, locking eyes with at least two innocent paparazzi. When Phil spotted a video camera, it took his entire store of mental acuity to deduce that the cord extending from the recorder fed into a nearby van with attached satellite dish, meaning the event was being shown live to the world at large. Not accustomed to such heavy mental lifting, Phil wiped his shaking paw across his brow, took an unsteady step toward his hole, and bit his lower lip. Video shows that Phil either fainted backward into his adobe abode, or feigned the fall to be dramatic. High school friends are strongly convinced of the latter.

Where do we go from here? Despite ruminations of an overhaul of the entire season forecasting system, most agree that the current administration will adopt a wait-and-see strategy. Some are in support of adopting an actual baby groundhog, seeing an opportunity to expand (or contract, depending on the point of view) the public’s iris, shining more light on the evolutionary vitality of the dirt-running species and shedding less light on their shadows. In any event, one thing is certain; Phil has undoubtedly pulled out his collection of cutting-wrist 90’s music and is preparing for a season of change.