Friday, October 21, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Before I begin this tale, allow me to assure you that, as of the time of this writing, the dog in question is not in fact dead, though he has an ear infection that smells rather odd. Rather, the title of this story finds its genesis in a quip I made following the events herein....
Following our first broiling night sleeping in the wilds of Oklahoma, the family decided that it was not for us to carry on camping in the midst of a drought. We decided therefor to venture forth and try to find something fun to do that day on our way home. Alas, we found no interest that day. Instead, we found a motel where we could put up for the night, and whiled the day away watching television and lounging in the pool.
The next day we ventured forth once more and lo, we did find something fun to do that day... But that is a story for another time; this story is of our adventures on the road.
We had been on the highway for some time, and decided to pull off for refreshment. We found a fast food restaurant and stopped in for a quick bite to eat. Upon exiting, we were faced with a tent, set up to attract weary vacationers much like ourselves. And what should we weary vacationers find in this tent?
Why, tigers of course.
Four colossal kittens, lounging in undersized pools in the safety of cages. They belonged to a nearby animal reserve that was, quite sadly, a bit too far out of our way for comfort. For now, they were here to promote the reserve; for quite some bit of money, you could enter the cage, pet them, and have your picture taken. A tempting offer, to be sure, but not tempting enough for us to waste our vacation budget. Not that we couldn't look at the majestic creatures for free.
And look we did. We saw them play and splash, yawn and stretch. Honestly, much to much like a normal cat for comfort. Eventually, though, it came to an end, and we had to leave our feline friends behind.
Which was when we noticed the dog was missing.
He had gotten out of the car with us, had wondered across the grassy hill outside the tent. But now... he was gone....
That's when the man running the tent found him. While we were all busy looking at the large cats, our small dog had wondered off into the tent and had lain down next to one of the cages, alone with an infant tent times his size.
We quickly retrieved him, said our fairwells to the man and his tigers, and got into our van, ready for our next adventure.
As we drove away, I came upon the title for my theoretical, maybe-someday memoirs: How the Dog Died. Nonsensical, to be sure, but it has a certain ring to it.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Continuing my series of... no, wait, this isn't a continuation. This is a bit of a throwback, a long ago something that has come to mind, but can't really be counted as part of the strange tale of last summer. But yes, it is a story, and it happened in the summer, and so the moniker stands.
This is the story of the most utterly surreal event to ever happen to me thus far. Will it remain the most surreal? I certainly hope not.
The time was July of 2008. I was fresh out of high school, ready to go out and explore the world, yearning for adventure. I found myself in, of all places, a shoe store. Exciting! Ah, I can tell there is doubt at this last statement. A shoe store, exciting? Why yes. For a naive young American, any location in the holy city of Jerusalem, Israel was most exciting.
I had been in the ancient city for a scant few days, perhaps as little as one, and my feet were hurting, as they were wont to due. In desperate need of relief, my godmother and momentary guardian brought me to a little store on the edges of the Old City. It was here that I did what any right-minded person in need of comfort but content with their shoes would do: I tried on insoles.
That's when it happened. Another customer came in, sat down next to me and, as customers are wont to do, began to try on shoes. So there I was, a naive young American, trying on insoles, sitting next to another customer-- a costumer dressed head-to-toe in black fatigues, sporting pieces of bullet-proof armor, web-gear, etc., etc. But so what? I've gone into stores dressed far more strangely than that (a particular point of interest was the 'robe in the Subway' incident. Ah, good times). I have not, however, entered into a store bearing an assault rifle on my back.
So there I was, a naive young American, trying on insoles, sitting next to a battle-hardened member of the Israeli Defense Force, decked out in full commando gear... and trying on shoes.