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I am spending the night at Mum's, because Maisie has had an accident that may, possibly (worst case scenario) lead to her losing her leg and my poor mother is distraught and doesn't want to be alone, and we have another appointment at the vet at 0950 tomorrow morning. Which is why I'm not on MSN or Trillian today - I left it all logged on at home and they don't like being logged on in two places at once. And IM conversations are impossibly frustrating with this stupid retarded nasty keyboard Mum has here anyway.
I think Maisie's leg will probably be OK, actually. It's a lot better since we came back from the vet's and she's walking on it and moving it with only a little discomfort. I'll post the whole stupid story tomorrow when I have a functioning keyboard. Using this one is painful, and not in any sort of a good way.
You've all heard me bitching, pissing and moaning ad nauseam about how my entire social and sex life lives in the computer, right? So naturally, I turn to the computer once again to attempt to do something about it: look.
There's already been more response than the Trekkie site. And, in the meantime, I add another name to my list of fascinating men on the wrong continent, while all my UK contacts (so far) are either gay, strictly platonic, young enough to have been my sons, or in at least one case, all three. Perhaps it's the climate, or the Prophets (or whoever) telling me I ought to relocate.
After coming back from the vet's, I left Squish to snuggle with Mum and cheer her up while I decompressed by taking Spike to the park by himself for an hour. Poor Spike - I've been having to concentrate on Squish's issues so much lately that he's been shortchanged, purely because he's the one I don't have to worry about. We threw balls, we danced, he played with a terrier puppy that we've met a couple of times before, and we spent a good amount of time just sitting side by side in the grass loving each other. It was a jewel of a moment in a stinking dung heap of a day. My hero
Squish has added Creedence Clearwater Revival's Proud Mary to his playlist. On the other hand, he's learning to control the urge to sing at the top of his voice every single time he hears one of his songs - last night he slept through Black Dog - but he'll still sing out if I encourage him. I'll make a civilised dog out of the little monster yet...
I've realised exactly why I was far, far better at falconry than I'll ever be at dog training, and why my sister (who's a riding instructor and horse freak) never got on with hawks but can make my dogs behave better than I can with one look. Training a hawk is an essentially submissive process - you don't look the hawk in the eye, you indulge her every whim, and it's impossible to dominate or command a hawk to do anything, ever - you simply alienate her if you try. She does end up doing what you want her to do, yes, but the very core of successful hawk training is manipulating her to do what you want while she remains convinced it was all her idea in the first place. It's completely opposite in nature to working with a dog or a horse.
Even the old falconry terms reflect this. You don't "break" a hawk, you "man" her, "make" her and "serve" her. Although it's still the hawk that wears the leather cuffs and the leash, the whole dynamic of the relationship puts her in the dominant position - looking down on you from the sky or the top of a tree while you scurry around arranging the world to her liking.
Ted Hughes spotted this too, look:
Hawk Roosting
I sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed -
Inaction, no falsifying dream
Between my hooked head and hooked feet
Or in sleep rehearse perfect kills and eat.
The convenience of the high trees!
The air’s buoyancy and the sun’s ray
Are of advantage to me;
And the earth’s face upward for my inspection.
My feet are locked upon the rough bark -
It took the whole of Creation
To produce my foot, my each feather:
Now I hold Creation in my foot
Or fly up, and revolve it all slowly -
I kill where I please because it is all mine.
There is no sophistry in my body:
My manners are tearing off heads -
The allotment of death.
For the one path of my flight is direct
Through the bones of the living.
No arguments assert my right:
The sun is behind me.
Nothing has changed since I began,
My eye has permitted no change.
I am going to keep things like this.
I think Maisie's leg will probably be OK, actually. It's a lot better since we came back from the vet's and she's walking on it and moving it with only a little discomfort. I'll post the whole stupid story tomorrow when I have a functioning keyboard. Using this one is painful, and not in any sort of a good way.
You've all heard me bitching, pissing and moaning ad nauseam about how my entire social and sex life lives in the computer, right? So naturally, I turn to the computer once again to attempt to do something about it: look.
There's already been more response than the Trekkie site. And, in the meantime, I add another name to my list of fascinating men on the wrong continent, while all my UK contacts (so far) are either gay, strictly platonic, young enough to have been my sons, or in at least one case, all three. Perhaps it's the climate, or the Prophets (or whoever) telling me I ought to relocate.
After coming back from the vet's, I left Squish to snuggle with Mum and cheer her up while I decompressed by taking Spike to the park by himself for an hour. Poor Spike - I've been having to concentrate on Squish's issues so much lately that he's been shortchanged, purely because he's the one I don't have to worry about. We threw balls, we danced, he played with a terrier puppy that we've met a couple of times before, and we spent a good amount of time just sitting side by side in the grass loving each other. It was a jewel of a moment in a stinking dung heap of a day. My hero
Squish has added Creedence Clearwater Revival's Proud Mary to his playlist. On the other hand, he's learning to control the urge to sing at the top of his voice every single time he hears one of his songs - last night he slept through Black Dog - but he'll still sing out if I encourage him. I'll make a civilised dog out of the little monster yet...
I've realised exactly why I was far, far better at falconry than I'll ever be at dog training, and why my sister (who's a riding instructor and horse freak) never got on with hawks but can make my dogs behave better than I can with one look. Training a hawk is an essentially submissive process - you don't look the hawk in the eye, you indulge her every whim, and it's impossible to dominate or command a hawk to do anything, ever - you simply alienate her if you try. She does end up doing what you want her to do, yes, but the very core of successful hawk training is manipulating her to do what you want while she remains convinced it was all her idea in the first place. It's completely opposite in nature to working with a dog or a horse.
Even the old falconry terms reflect this. You don't "break" a hawk, you "man" her, "make" her and "serve" her. Although it's still the hawk that wears the leather cuffs and the leash, the whole dynamic of the relationship puts her in the dominant position - looking down on you from the sky or the top of a tree while you scurry around arranging the world to her liking.
Ted Hughes spotted this too, look:
Hawk Roosting
I sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed -
Inaction, no falsifying dream
Between my hooked head and hooked feet
Or in sleep rehearse perfect kills and eat.
The convenience of the high trees!
The air’s buoyancy and the sun’s ray
Are of advantage to me;
And the earth’s face upward for my inspection.
My feet are locked upon the rough bark -
It took the whole of Creation
To produce my foot, my each feather:
Now I hold Creation in my foot
Or fly up, and revolve it all slowly -
I kill where I please because it is all mine.
There is no sophistry in my body:
My manners are tearing off heads -
The allotment of death.
For the one path of my flight is direct
Through the bones of the living.
No arguments assert my right:
The sun is behind me.
Nothing has changed since I began,
My eye has permitted no change.
I am going to keep things like this.
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From:
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*hugs*
as for the dogs ... who would have thought that you're not dominant enough .. actually it's not that .. you're too kind, too afraid of hurting them, while in essence in nature the alphamale would have already put them straight.
But why should you not be kind? .. as long as that heart is posted :)
*goes to check the link*
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That's one reason Spike and I work well together - he's good at thinking for himself, and once he knows the rules he'll keep them without needing to be told what to do or not to do all the time. Young Peeves, on the other hand, needs to be sat on frequently and hard. Luckily Spike takes care of a lot of that for me as well, bless his black heart. It wasn't me who taught Squish not to jump up and not to annoy the cat....
Maisie's leg is looking better by the minute. Thanks, sweetheart.
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Thinking of you, your mum, and Maisie. It'll be okay.
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I think *touches wood* that she will be all right. It was pretty bloody nasty this morning though. I shall tell the whole story tomorrow when I can type properly, this keyboard is making me nuts...
Thank you :)
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...while all my UK contacts (so far) are either gay, strictly platonic, young enough to have been my sons, or in at least one case, all three
I'm not sure whether I should apologise or take a bow...
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