Mutts

In addition to two wonderful daughters, we also share our home with three dogs:  a relentlessly sweet, achingly simple Brittany, an impetuous yet cowardly Border Collie, and a hopeless joiner of an Australian Shepherd/BC mix.  Together, they form a merry, if somewhat dysfunctional band. 
The Border Collie, through a combination of ambition on her part and apathy from the other dogs, became the alpha very early on in her life.  Perhaps she was not well-prepared for her sudden ascension to power, or perhaps she fell victim to the neuroses to which her breed are subject, but the mantle seems to weigh heavily upon her.  The most minor of squabbles between the dogs pushes her into a lather of indecision; on one hand, she knows she needs to assert her dominance.  On the other, she's aware that if she metes out her justice too enthusiastically, she will herself be disciplined.  The Aussie, in contrast, would love to ascend to the position of alpha, but he has absolutely no idea how.  He seems to have some dim grasp of the fact that it involves being dominant over the other dogs,  but as far as how to accomplish this...well, it beats his pair of jacks.  For whatever reason, he has decided that the Brit, who is quite elderly and blissfully unaware of his surroundings for the most part, is a mortal threat to his plans.  As such, any meeting between the two is punctuated by the Aussie's attempts at growling.  Unfortunately for him, he was not blessed with innate growling ability; in fact, he sounds more like a vacuum cleaner with a clogged hose being raped by a rabid Tasmanian Devil.  An interesting sound to be sure, but not one that inspires fear in all who hear it.  The fact that the Brittany is deaf as a tenpenny nail only adds to the whole experience.  Inevitably, it is the Aussie who yields ground to the Brittany who continues on his way, oblivious to his victory.
It is a befuddled pack that patrols their territory within the confines of our house and yard...

There are two little girls in our house...

...both of whom could be considered odd.  The eldest, who is 5, has an animist worldview.  This is incredibly convenient when it comes to explaining to her why we should care what recently happened in Japan, or why we should treat our companion animals with respect.  It's not so handy, though, when attempting to convince her that that old Cheerios box needs to be recycled.  As far as she's concerned, the soul-destroying rejection that the box would experience by being discarded would render it incapable of ever trusting again.  And boxes that can't trust are boxes that make bad choices.


The younger of the two is a cyclone of activity and inquisitiveness.  Nothing escapes her notice, and few things escape her grasp.  She is possessed of motor control that would be the envy of somebody twenty times her eighteen months.  Her latest tactic is to push a chair away from the table over to the kitchen counters.  The entire culinary world at her fingertips, she proceeds to investigate anything that catches her fancy.  Falls are momentary setbacks; a few tears, a bit of a snuggle, and she's off to devise new and even more perilous ways to shorten both her life and those of her parents.

I've never been a fast runner

In fact, if pressed to provide a one word description of my running, it would be "dogged".  My running style resembles nothing so much as a desperately tired man who has for some reason been tasked with running through a field of post holes while gently flapping his arms like a recently injured bird.  As such, I don't pay a ton of attention to pace; I'm more interested in ensuring that my run gets completed.  I can't be bothered with worrying about whether I ran my last mile in 8:47 or 9:13 or 6:35 (yeah, right).  Whether this is due to a truly carefree attitude about time or a reflection of my cognizance of my lack of ability is up in the air.