It's amazing how, after a night of reflection, writing about my Facebook stalker seems less important. I had 5 paragraphs and lots of information I had written while lying in bed. The delete button took care of that quickly.
Bottom line, who gives a shit. This could be a long, drawn out post about how Facebook employees kicked me out of an admin group. I could ramble about the new Facebook pivot to monetize groups, and how exposing that in said admin group is what got me kicked out. But here's my edited version: Really... Fuck Facebook! Fuck the stalker guy. Who cares.
Bear, our dog, saw the deer out the back window, up on the ridge, grazing behind the house. I need to go let him out. But I'm worried he will chase the deer up into the woods and vanish. I set up the invisible fence around the perimeter of our property. I will admit that it's a very effective containment strategy. Somewhere, for the last two weeks, buried under two feet of snow, there's a breach in that line, though. It broadcasts a radio signal that triggers an electric shock if the dog gets too close. It sends out a warning chime so the dog knows not to go any farther. So it's basically a torture device. My kids hate that I use that description. But it is. And hell, it's made a big difference in both his quality of life, and ours. But it's a worrisome method.
Anyway, this breach that's two feet under the snow causes the system to entirely shut down. Bear, having immediately learned the boundaries after one shock, hasn't gone out of the back yard since the breach occurred. I have to wait until I can actually access the line to fix it. But the mere memory of the one time he got shocked is enough to keep him from ever violating the intent of the fence. That is a strange psychological dilemma for me. Like, there were plenty of times I chose patient methods with my kids, perhaps less "effective" discipline, but morally justifiable. Shocking the shit out of them might have done the trick. That realization opens up a world of guilt for me.
So, as an update, I decided to go find the breach. After writing the above paragraph, I figured it's better to go crunch around in the snow and just get it done. Of course, the snow had gotten down to about four inches. Only, as it melts and refreezes on the surface, the top layer becomes about an inch of icy snow. So I had to go smash through the candy coating all up and down the line where I knew there was a joint in the wire. After 30 minutes of smashing and crunching, I found and fixed it. The torture device is repaired.
Guilt is a big part of my motivational arsenal. When it comes to dogs, I feel like the entire history of dogs is filled with evil humans, even those who love their dogs. We tear them from their mothers and sell or give them away. So many people mistreat them, or abandon them, or make them wear sweaters. They're like little slaves. Sure, they're family members. But they're not members with all the rights and privileges which that implies. This guilt worry that I keep in the back of my mind helps me treat them better. My German Shepherd, Maya, who recently passed away, was more of a friend and a partner. But German Shepherds tend to be people in dog bodies. Bear has been diagnosed as a Catahoula Leopard Dog. The symptoms include, but are not limited to, being very stereotypically dog. He thinks with his nose. He barks at the wind. But I am sure he is seeing something I can't fathom. His senses are pretty good. Sometimes, if I sit still long enough, I can pick up whatever he's barking at. Other times, if I sit still long enough, he thinks it's a game and starts barking at me. His language is very different from Maya's. She spoke people.
I'm in waiting mode for a few minutes. After tromping in the snow to fix the torture fence, I went to wake my son up so we could go to Starbucks for coffee. We have to drive about twenty minutes, Starbucks is inconsistent and, not to be snobby, but not that good. But my boy likes it. So we're going to make a little fun trip out of it. We agreed last night to take our coffees and go to the tower. There are towers all over up here in Connecticut. But this one is an easy walk from the parking area, and only about ten minutes from the house. So it's "the" tower.
I'm sitting here by the window as I write. The cats are scurrying about outside by the garage. They have gotten chunky over the winter. But I hope they'll work it off soon enough chasing the little critters away. I think the tick that gave me my "Welcome to Connecticut" case of Lyme disease, just a short while after moving here, came from critters in the yard. But it's hard to tell. The ticks up here are ferocious. They tend to crawl onto my back. So, not that I am unaware of what's happening. But I didn't tend to give my back quite as much attention until arriving here. I mean, I did focus on how my back felt, the little weak spot where the butt meets spine that got hurt when I fell off the ladder. It's manageable. But it is something that captures my attention at times. It doesn't stop me from doing all the things I have always done. It just reminds me of life when I pick up too much wood at one time, or shovel too much snow in a day.
It's 9:10. Neal hit the proverbial snooze button until 9:30 for our coffee trip. So I want to write this and post it before we go. It's good to have goals. But it's better that my goals are about taking a break from all the shit I do all day to post something rather than being about trying to do something between posts. I guess that's what this post is about. And maybe to tell the old man who stalks me and my family on Facebook, fuck you! But also, who gives a shit. It's just a Facebook stalker. That's half of the people on Facebook, stalkers.
OK. After a smidge of editing, not enough I'm sure, and making a delicious few slices of avocado toast for me and my wife, 9:29. Did it. Now it's time for coffee.
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