A guest post by Poodle Oodle, Editor of Poodle Times:  By, For and About the Poodle Community. You don't have to be a poodle to love Poodle Times. (An equal opportunity publication.)

So I was taking care of before-bed business when a dark stranger wearing a white stripe breached the back yard perimeter.  I bayed like a banshee and gave chase. He scampered away and I almost had him when I choked on an evil, clinging cloud of peeeeeeeeeyewwwwwww! Help! I bang! clang! clanged! the bell hanging from the door knob. 

“Ugh! What’s that nasty smell?” Mom screwed her eyebrows down, her lips up and her cheeks in, pressing her nostrils shut. As if that would help. “Peeeeyewwwww!” If she knew the answer, why did she ask? She slammed the back door shut. I ran to the bedroom and rubbed my head and snoot all over the bed trying to get the skank off. No luck uck uck uck. 

“God, what is that stench?” She rammed the bedroom window down tight. “It’s rolling in.” 

I ran to the living room and jumped up on the couch. Maybe the ruff ruff ruff fabric would get it off off off. Mom followed me, lip curled to nose and slapped shut the windows, “Please god! Blow it away soon.” Amen to that. 

At the office next morning, Mom’s face corrugated again, “Feh! Here too!” She checked all the windows. “Closed. Where’s it coming from?” She shrugged, “Let’s get to work.”

I led the way (that’s my job) to the patient waiting room—

When the pack starts to pack— my butt starts to drag. When mom puts bye-bye-blankie in a bag, along with sweaty tees (one each: mom, dad and bro), a zip lock of kibble and treats, and we get in the car, Oh no. I quiver like jell-o in the shotgun seat. She strokes my head, Oh no. 

Then we pull into— Camp Boss! O Yay! O Happy Day! Boss opens her front door, my collie pal Opie shoves his head out from behind her knees, and it’s Hello! I must be going! I don’t look back. It’s fun fun fun at camp. 

When discussing options for a family vacation, Son (nineteen) requested a trip to Austin, Texas. He’s a huge fan of Rooster Teeth (“Comedy. Gaming. Community.”) and wanted to attend their RTX event (don’t ask), July 7 and 8. Hubby and I looked at each other. Why not? We’d take the week. Austin in July couldn’t be as hot as Austin in August. We were wrong.

Austin is so hot, it’s cool.  As the lady behind the counter of South Congress (gently used) Books said, “Austin is very progressive— for Texas.” It’s a melting pot. My shrinky heart swelled to the city’s anthem: Keep Austin weird! Yeah, baby. Bring it on.

New Yorker 2011A few weeks ago, we discovered that a now-former employee skimmed $3300+ from the practice in cash co-pays between January and April. The betrayal of trust was devastating.  Looking back, there were warning signs. But I didn’t see what I saw. I— my mind, not my real Self— didn’t want to. 

What normal person expects such behavior? Why would she do that? It’s so self-defeating. Why is she like that? It makes no sense. Why? Why? Asking why leads only to an infinite loop of whys. Which doesn’t help you regain your equilibrium, make you feel better, or help you figure out what to do. 

Four in a hundred people lack a conscience and most of them blend in. Sooner or later, into each life, a sociopath must fall. My mind denied, but my body knew. It sent me signals of unease and mistrust, then waited for me to catch up and accept it. 

Accepting reality, not understanding it, is what helps. Why? (Ha.) Because: Acceptance clarifies, leading to right action. I wrote up a summary of the evidence, drove to the police station and pressed charges.

The axis of the world tilted back into place. Eating lunch washed the bad taste from my mouth. I felt like a watered plant packing for my Mother’s Day gift from Hubby and Son: a writing weekend at Rowe with Dan Gediman of the NPR radio series, This I Believe. What do I believe? For starters: Trust, but verify. Ha. What else do I believe? I couldn’t wait to find out. 

The phone rang. It was Rowe: Dan Gediman cancelled. Despondency swamped me. I needed to get away, to chew on something nutritious, to recharge.  “If you’d like to transfer to another workshop, we’ll give you a $100 discount on the tuition,” Rowe said. I liked. 

I signed up for Awakening Your True Voice, with Jean McClelland. OMG. What have I done?

New Yorker 2011I find Techland difficult country. The terrain is steeply mountainous, the language alien and the natives impatient. Though when they birth a new gadget or app, the flash of colorful lights and all the party noise are so enticing! But frustration, wasted money and time have taught me to wait. I figure, let the enthusiasts grow that baby up some before I venture over there to meet it.

Lately, the buzz is about Siri, the “intelligent assistant” on the newest iPhone iteration, the 4S. Just as Captain Jean Luc Picard of Star Trek, The Next Generation commands his First Officer (“Number One” Riker) to make it so, so may we command Siri to make it so. Maybe so. Time will tell.

Meanwhile, I have plenty to fill the void: lounging on the couch, peeling grapes, keeping up with my chosen profession (shrinkdom). And my unchosen profession (running a business, a.k.a. the practice). And the second oldest profession (motherhood). As for staying married, a woman’s work is never done.

Speaking of which, darling Hubby is tech-impaired. Texting eludes him, checking e-mail’s off the radar, and does he ever have his phone on him when I need him? I despair, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t see the value. Or he sees it, but the learning curve’s not worth it. 

So we’re visiting with a couple of a certain age, only older, and animatedly chatting away when the husband starts, and raising one hand— Excuse me a moment please— pulls out his iPhone with the other. He lifts it to lip level and tells it: “Remind me to pick up my medicine from Walgreen’s tomorrow.”

The phone replies, in a pleasantly modulated female voice, “So you’d like me to remind you to pick up your medicine tomorrow?” 

“Yes, please,” he tells it. Returning to us, he says, “Excuse me for interrupting. My memory isn’t what it used to be.”

“Wow!” I ejaculate. “What was that?”

The wife says, “Meet Siri.” 

“Amazing!”

Hubby says, “Come on. That’s not realistic. It should whine, Why me? Or, Ask your wife!"

We all laugh. 

“Or, Not again! Or how about, I’m busy tomorrow. Try next week, maybe Monday or Tuesday.” 

We crack up.

“Does it work as a GPS?” I ask. “Hearing directions would be so much safer than reading them, especially driving alone.”

“Yes, it does that,” the husband says. “It’s great!"

"Yeah," the wife says, "I love it when it tells me, Take this exit, just as I drive by it."