Off the Wall Comments

Bathroom Habits

So, during AP US History, one of the junior boys raises his hand and asks, not for help finding a monograph or in determining whether a website is credible, but asks me: "I know this is off topic, but where does Coach go to the bathroom?"

Oh.

Well, I paused for a moment.  Then I pointed to the grass outside at the south of the library and the grass  to the north.  "He goes out there and there. And he also goes over in the pine straw by the Dimmitt Gym."

"OK."  He nodded and went back to work.

Change of Color

Earlier in the week I had a freshman class that was called for lightening, meaning that only three students showed up because the rest were being held on the other side of campus.  The four of us were having a great time talking about books and Coach.  Then Rachel, out of the blue said, "I love Coach best of all.  Sometimes I want him to have a pink coat so that only I can pet him."

Pink and black.  It is very fashionable.

Giant Balls in the Hallway

On another day when I arrived for class I happened to see giant balls in the hallway.  Now, it isn't every day that Coach gets an opportunity to interact with giant balls.  So, of course we had to run down and see what his reaction would be.

Coach went up and sniffed them.  Then he poked one a bit with his nose and it moved, but it didn't startle him.  He glanced up at me as if to say, "Yeah, it's a giant ball.  So what?"

Some days you just don't know what school will throw at you!  

Saved by the Bounce

Today was a calm day for Jam.  He seemed to have less than the normal amount of testosterone racing through his system resulting in a calm and steady, dare I say it, guide dog like presence today.

Apart from the small incident of leash tug of war (I won by virtue of taking him upstairs and making him do obedience for 10 minutes, which the kids reading up there found incredibly amusing), he was very good on the leash except for one incident on the way back to the library.

As we were walking through the mall to the library, a freshman boy in front of us started to bounce his tennis ball as he was walking.

Bounce.

Bounce.

Bouncey, bounce. Bounce.

Jam stopped and seemed to quiver all over.  Every hair seemed to stand on end like he was electrified.  I wasn't quite sure what was going to happen next.  Would he explode?  Or would he leap at the ball?

So before anything bad could happen I called out, "Hey, could you stop bouncing the ball until he can't see  you?"

The boy turned and saw that Jam was very nearly ready to pop.

"Yes, ma'am," he said cheerfully and walked away clutching his tennis ball.

Jam watched him out of the corner of his eye until we were headed off in another direction.

"Good boy Jam.  What a good boy you are."  I patted his head marveling that all of his hair was now flat against his skin.  "What a good boy you are."

Cursed with Manliness

Last night, we went over to our friends' house to have dinner and play music.  Claudia was doing all the cooking and I just contributed a dessert.  Fred and Tim were going to provide the musical entertainment. Jam was invited because they live way out in Lutz, they love dogs and know Jam and they are very nice people. 

Jam is trying to get Baxter to come over to where he is lying down on the rug.  

 When we got there, Jam and Baxter, who is a very sweet 3-year old golden retriever, got along great.

Jam and Baxter playing.

 There is nothing quite like young, energetic, frisky dogs playing to make you smile.

And then the humping started. Sorry, you were expecting something sweet for your Easter blog weren't you?

I feel terrible to disappoint you, but the evening just devolved (in terms of the dogs) from there.  At least I won't show you any video or photos of THAT. 8-) Jam couldn't go for more than four or five minutes with out hopping on for a ride on poor Baxter.  Baxter, who is very sweet, would just look around as if to say, "Would someone please stop this whippersnapper?  I know I'm the host, but really!"

Now, when we were at the Walkathon dinner, we happened to run into Dr. Edington while we were walking through the museum.  We had stopped and were talking with John Bauer when Dr. E stopped by and the topic of breeder dogs came up.  We happened to mention that Jam was pretty much a Player with a capital P as he would hump anything that let him.  Dr. E looked at us with a bit of concern and asked if we could stop Jam easily.

"Oh, yes. We just pull him off no problem." Dr. E said that you didn't want to correct for that behavior, because the breeding program wants dogs to be able to perform the act.  In other words: they want breeders that actually enjoy the act and will perform.  Evidently there were breeders who wouldn't or who had to be coaxed to do it.  So you had to be careful not to induce negative connotations with getting them to stop, but you had to stop them when they were doing it because it was inappropriate.

It's a conundrum.

We solved it by putting the ever sweet Baxter on the porch.  Jam went back and forth like a shark from the window to the door looking out the windows at Baxter.

Baxter sat in a patio chair.  He was thinking that perhaps the porch was the better part of the deal.

Claudia's dinner was amazing: a Brazilian feijoada. We all stuffed ourselves!  Periodically we would let Baxter in to see if the dogs could JUST BE FRIENDS.

But no.  After dinner, Fred and Tim pulled out Tim's guitars and started playing.

Tim is on the left and Fred is on the right jamming on the guitars.  They sounded great.

All I can say is that Jam still has no negative connotations associated with the act and is raring to go.

Deep sigh. I hope we get invited over again.  That feijoada was spectacular and Fred really enjoyed playing the guitar.  Perhaps we'll get a babysitter for Jam...