Doldrums

I'm in a bit of the doldrums right now.  I'm not sure if it can be contributed to the death of my duck, the Crazy and Ridiculous that never stops and just continues to get more Crazy and Ridiculous or the fact that I can't get excited about a crêpe.

I can't.  I can't find one bit of excitement about a crêpe and I'm afraid maybe I will lose my credential for it.  I have come to these conclusions about my lack of interest in crêpes:

1. Crêpes generally taste like crap in the USA.
2. Crêpes made by students taste generally even crappier.
3. If I want a crêpe I want to eat it on the cold Paris street, surrounded by friends and French people.
4. Possibly it's the surrounding cigarette smoke that adds that little je ne sais quoi to the crêpe flavor.
5. I don't know, but I care for a crêpe about as much as I care for playing Legos, which is to say not much.

I feel like I'm letting down my profession because while I can't drum up any kind of emotion regarding a crêpe, I did get pretty excited to get dating tips from Ken- le célibataire moderne.

My doldrums have not been helped by the fact that this morning I had been working for almost an hour when I realized that there was fucking mouse poop on my desk. We have a mouse problem in the F-wing.  We couldn't figure out why our printer wasn't working and when Gretchen called the IT guy, he discovered that the fucking mice had chewed through the fucking wires.  Also, she says she saw a mouse run through the inner pod area. 

When I discovered the mouse shit, I got right on the horn and called the maintenance guy.   He didn't answer, because he was busy putting the handle back on Gretchen's door for the 1000th time.  Our door handles are always falling off.  The other maintenance guy famously told us after we had called for the bazillionth time in the same week to report door handle problems, "You girls don't call me unless that handle falls off."  Well they fall off fairly regularly.  One time, the inside handle came off and me and the students were stuck inside while he fixed it.  In any case, in response to my cry of "There's mouse poop on my desk!!" the maintenance guy sighed and said, "Ma'am, I've got traps out.  I'm going to have to get one of those cats."  I yelled, "NO! not a cat.  That will kill me for sure."  He promised to look for some better traps, but expressed his surprise that my poster of Justin Bieber didn't get the mice away.  I told him I did not want to have to bring in my mouse pinchers and if I saw a mouse he would hear it all the way out in the maintenance shed.

Mon Petit Canard

PDub passed away yesterday at 7:46pm.  

I should back up.  Tuesday when I got home from work there was a dead bird in the backyard.  I immediately interrogated everyone and filmed it.  When I asked PDub she made a weird noise and then snot started coming out of her beak at an alarming rate.  I remembered that Duane, the ag teacher, had told me that you had to be careful with fowl because they can get repiratory diseases.  When I saw him yesterday afternoon, I explained the duck's symptoms and he said, yes she was sick and it could get quite serious.  "How will I know it's serious?" I asked.  "She'll die."  He answered matter-of-factly.  Nevertheless, I made arrangements with Duane to take my duck to school today so she could get an antibiotic shot and I went to Jessica's to get the cat carrier and I came home and PDub was just floating in her pool.  Not swimming.  Just floating.  So I told her that she just had to hold on until the morning because we were going to go to school.  I was so excited to take my duck to school.  I had it all thought out.  I was going to document everything and get my picture in the yearbook with my duck.  About 7:30 I went out back and she was still floating and quite a bit lethargic and it made me worried that she might die in the pool and that that would not be good for me, so I got her out of her pool and she quickly fell over, shook once and then died.

Having never actually seen anything die, I did the only thing I could think of which was scream, "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!" And then call Jessica, my mom and Sarah.  My mom suggested maybe she wasn't actually dead and in the morning I could take her to Duane's kids and that "maybe they can do something."  My mom was rather vague on the something, but I couldn't imagine anything besides either taxidermy or reanimation à la Frankenstein and I wasn't interested in either.   I wasn't sure if I could dig a hole and Sarah suggested I put her in the freezer until today, then she would come over and dig a hole.  I told Sarah I was not going to put the duck in the freezer.  She countered with that's what they do with people and I said, yes, but it's not generally the same freezer where you keep the chicken you're going to eat.  (Yes, I'm aware of the irony in that statement.)  Finally, I decided that I would dig a hole and I started, but then I hit a root about a foot down so I sent a message to Patricio, he who has buried many a dead chicken, to see if a foot was deep enough and he said, "No." And I said, well, I've got a problem.  He provided me with a solution which was much better because it did not involve me digging any more of a hole in the dark.  Then, the dogs and I reflected quietly on PDub's life and took a pain pill because turns out, digging was not such a good idea for me.

This morning I called Duane and told him that, indeed, PDub's respiratory disease was serious and he offered his condolences.  In fact, many people offered their condolences- people whom I didn't even know knew I had a duck.  And in fourth period this girl said, "Mlle, we were all very sad in Ag to hear about your duck."  And I said, "Merci."  It was fate, because my meal plan had me eating for lunch today the last of the fritata I had made with PDub's eggs and I had a small mini-memorial service in my head before ate.

The Little Backyard is a lonely desolate place right now.

This is what duck pneumonia sounds like.

Unproductive

This is why I can't get shit done at home because I go on YouTube looking for a nice video about verbs and 45 minutes later I'm getting dating tips from Ken.

Tense Moments at the Saratoga Animal Shelter

Reuters

The Saratoga Animal Shelter experienced 24 hours of uncertainty and near panic Sunday evening when its nook refused to come back on so that the shelter director could finish her book.  Unable to open her book, the Shelter director kept her calm and plugged the device in to see if it would reset.  When that didn't work, the director averted certain tragedy by downloading the book to her iPad so she could continue with only minor disruption to the Shelter's reading schedule.  "It was intense," a witness who did not want to be identified said,  "We read every night.  I wasn't sure what was going to happen when it wouldn't come on."  When on Monday the device still wouldn't turn on and refused to do anything but show the picture of Gertrude Stein, the shelter director called Barnes and Noble customer support and the Shelter is currently awaiting the arrival of a replacement nook.  Mischief is not suspected in this case, but anyone with information should contact the Shelter Director.

The Duck

The duck has lost her duck marbles.  Reasons the duck has lost her duck marbles and may require psychiatric evaluation:

1. Sunday she escaped into the Big Back Yard.  Again.  Sara and I were in the pool and at one point Sara said, "You're duck is in the yard!  You have to get her."  So I jumped out of the pool.  Scooped up the duck and put her back in her yard.  (The dogs were in the house.)  Sara and I then used our superior thinking skills to devise where the duck was getting out and a way to fix it.
2. Monday she was very pissed off that she didn't couldn't get in the Big Backyard and kept sticking her head through the chain link.
3. Wednesday the duck laid her egg in the middle of the yard.
4. Thursday she moved her nest to the top of the concrete brick by her pool.  Nothing says maternal instinct like laying an egg on a concrete brick.  While I was out looking for today's egg in every conceivable nook and cranny, I found a skeleton.  Yes, something else has met its end in my yard.

The duck's new nesting area.  Because that makes sense.

Evidence- Someone please call the Hawaii 5-O Guys.

The Week In Review

Friday
I saw the duck lay her egg.  Saw it.  Come out.  Plop.  Egg.  It was an intimate moment between me and my duck.  Of course, I was pretty excited about it thinking, "At least I'll know which one is new."  Only this duck hadn't just started laying eggs Friday.  She started Sunday when I left and so I had to throw away 6 eggs (one quiche worth!) because she can't be reasonable.

 WALKING!

Yep, this little guy started walking for reals.  It was pretty darn awesome.  Because he's now a "big kid," he also told me "No-no" when I admonished him for throwing his puzzle pieces on the floor.  He made up for his attitude by saying "stinky" when I changed his pants.  (Note to self: limit the F-bombs from now on in presence of the baby) Also he said some of the sounds in my name in mostly the order they go, so I say it counts.

LEGOS

A platform diving board for synchronized diving

Since my previous foray into "playing Legos" left me bewildered and feeling like I'd landed on the wrong end of the Legos bell curve, I've done some research.  I asked my friends' daughter Ruth about playing Legos because she's an expert and plays all the time and built an elevator shaft for her Lego apartment building.  She said, "You just put stuff together."  I'm sure she thinks I'm dumb.  I still don't get it.  When I was in San Diego for my conference I went to the Lego store to do some research and observation.  And after 10 minutes of researching and observing I decided that playing Legos still looked boring as all fuck and I am not interested, but that I will put on my happy face around Max.

Saturday

It's a Snickerdoodle Slumber Party this weekend!  I took possession of Her Royal Highness, Princess Emmah Snickerdoodle yesterday and brought her to my house.   She's supposed to go back to her house daily so she can sit in the air conditioning, but I have to draw the line somewhere.  Yesterday I was getting ready to go in my pool and Emmah and I walked outside to discover the fucking duck sitting by the dog food!!  (To review the dog food is in the Big Backyard where the dogs generally are and where ducks and cats go to die.)  I screamed and tried to shove Emmah into the house before she saw her and decided to eat her.  Then I scooped up the duck and in my bathing suit, walked her out to the front yard and into the Little Backyard and promptly cut her wings.  What the hell was she thinking??  I had just left her in the Little Backyard only moments before.  She's not in her right mind because she also put her nest in a place that is very difficult to reach.  The rest of the evening passed without incidence except for HRH Princess Emmah doesn't know what to do and so she does a lot of pacing which is annoying.

Today


When we were little my cousins had a dog named Boxtop.  Boxtop always smelled foul because he spent a lot of time out in the lake or rolling around in dead animals.  I'm not sure what he did, but it was disgusting.  The worst insult you can give a dog is to say it smells like Boxtop.  Well, Princess Emmah smells like Boxtop.  I told my mom this a few weeks ago and the next day when I called my dad said she was giving her a bath because I had said she smelled like Boxtop.  This morning I smelled the eau de Boxtop wafting from Emmah's general area.  It's so bad you have to wash your hands after you touch her.  Blech.  I guess Princess Emmah has some hygiene issues.  You know who doesn't have hygiene issues?  My two who knows what the fuck they are mutts: Randi and Earl.