This is about something really dumb I did. The first time I made lunch for my mom I was in the 2nd grade. Her request was simple--hot tea (weak), light toast, and tomato soup. I got out the toaster, made sure there was water in the kettle and put it on the stove and then I got out the can of soup. The directions were easy. Empty contents into pan, add one can of water, heat and serve. Simple. I got out the can opener, placed the cutting wheel on the top edge of the can, clamped the handles together and started to turn the "spinner" (I still don't know what that part of a can opener is called). Everything was going great...for about three "spins". Then the can stopped spinning when I turned the "spinner". I unclamped and reclamped the can opener, but it would not work for more than a few "spins". I ended up with a can that had punctures and cuts all around its top, but none that connected enough for me to get the soup out. I considered my options and came up with a great idea. I went to my father's work bench in the cellar and got a hammer and one of his wood chisels. A WOOD chisel!!! I returned to the kitchen and proceeded to use the tools to cut around the edge of the can until I was finally able to lift the lid on one side. I poured the soup into the pan, added the water and made special soup for my mother.
What made it special? Love? No. What made it special were the metal slivers that HAD to be in the soup from my use of the wood chisel. Hopefully the metal had settled to the bottom and was not served to my mother along with her tea and toast. But hey, we need iron in our diets, so I'm sure a little tin never hurt anyone! LOL!
Friday, September 25, 2009
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Cycle of life? Food chain?
A friend blogged recently about a phobia she has and today my son had to face the thing she fears. The timing is so odd, but here's what happened.
My son dog-sits for his grandfather's neighbors when they go out of town. It's a good situation for him...a safe neighborhood, his grandfather next door in case anything happens, and two very active dogs for company. One dog is a terrier and the other is a mutt. The back door has a doggy door built-in and the yard has an electronic fence to keep the dogs from running away. It's a perfect set-up. But life is not perfect and things happen.
This afternoon my son let the dogs out to run a little and do their business. The terrier came back in before the other dog and my son heard an unusual squeal coming from the kitchen. He went to investigate and found the terrier had a baby squirrel in her mouth. He tried to get the dog to release the little thing, but it refused. My son went to get help from his grandfather, but when they returned it was too late. The squirrel was dead...um, a little more than just dead, but I won't go into details. My son is having a hard time forgiving the dog.
I'm trying to help him understand that the dog didn't do anything wrong and that a squirrel--even a small one--ending up this way is...well...normal. It's part of nature. If he had grown up on a farm the way my parents did he would understand that--hopefully I've helped him to understand that now. My parents both grew up watching their parents kill chickens for dinner. My dad had stories of pigs being slaughtered in the fall so the meat could be smoked or salted for the winter. My dad also went fishing and hunting--mostly quail and rabbits. I remember helping him clean fish, pluck feathers, and I was the only kid in the 2nd grade with a real rabbit's foot (when my grandma found it she threw it away--lol).
I wish the dog had not caught that squirrel today. But he was only doing what his instincts told him he should do...try to eat something lower than himself in the food chain. My son did the same thing when he ate dinner tonight. He did it in a more civilized, less grisly way, but the end result was essentially the same.
My son dog-sits for his grandfather's neighbors when they go out of town. It's a good situation for him...a safe neighborhood, his grandfather next door in case anything happens, and two very active dogs for company. One dog is a terrier and the other is a mutt. The back door has a doggy door built-in and the yard has an electronic fence to keep the dogs from running away. It's a perfect set-up. But life is not perfect and things happen.
This afternoon my son let the dogs out to run a little and do their business. The terrier came back in before the other dog and my son heard an unusual squeal coming from the kitchen. He went to investigate and found the terrier had a baby squirrel in her mouth. He tried to get the dog to release the little thing, but it refused. My son went to get help from his grandfather, but when they returned it was too late. The squirrel was dead...um, a little more than just dead, but I won't go into details. My son is having a hard time forgiving the dog.
I'm trying to help him understand that the dog didn't do anything wrong and that a squirrel--even a small one--ending up this way is...well...normal. It's part of nature. If he had grown up on a farm the way my parents did he would understand that--hopefully I've helped him to understand that now. My parents both grew up watching their parents kill chickens for dinner. My dad had stories of pigs being slaughtered in the fall so the meat could be smoked or salted for the winter. My dad also went fishing and hunting--mostly quail and rabbits. I remember helping him clean fish, pluck feathers, and I was the only kid in the 2nd grade with a real rabbit's foot (when my grandma found it she threw it away--lol).
I wish the dog had not caught that squirrel today. But he was only doing what his instincts told him he should do...try to eat something lower than himself in the food chain. My son did the same thing when he ate dinner tonight. He did it in a more civilized, less grisly way, but the end result was essentially the same.
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