KerrieJean.com

Forgive me Bindi Boo…..

I thought we’d been landed with the most unrepentant foul-tempered family pet on the Pacific Rim.

I now know it wasn’t your fault:

You were depressed.

['I know how Bindi Boo felt': cr: Smithsonian: flickr]

*Ed’s note: I am on the email media release list for Dogs NSW. Spokesman Dr Peter Higgins recently warned that depression in dogs was a real problem but with proper treatment, outcomes were good. St Johns Wart can be helpful.  Signs of dog depression include changes in temperament, loss of appetite and over sleeping.

Like most things arriving in Hec Ross’s fibro palace – new fangled electric foot ticklers, cherry ripe ’seconds’ where the cherry ended up on the outside of the chocolate, bottles of beer which exploded on human contact -  Bindi Boo fell off the back of a truck.

Not a good start for any Australian Silky Terrier.

But Hec wanted his five lovely girls to love something other than Ray Brown And The Whispers, bad local boys and dirty books like ‘Papillon’ [ya know where he put those drugs, ya know where he put those drugs!]

If Dr Higgins had been active in dog mental health when Bindi Boo came to us all those years ago he wouldn’t have mucked around.

He would have told Hec to get Bindi Boo onto a depression fighting regime pronto.

‘Fifteen parts St Johns Wart, one part Pal twice a day Hec.’

Instead, Bindi Boo’s mood swings had a devastating effect on everyone.

One minute he was happily baring his little razor sharp teeth while trying to stick his head through the bars of poor old Cocky Ross’s cage.

Cocky Ross had enjoyed for many years a  quiet - though useless life - in his simple digs near the back door.

If anyone didn’t deserve this sort of unprovoked upset, it was Cocky Ross.

Then without warning, Bindo Boo would turn his crazed emotions on anyone brave enough to be in the backyard.

A mere ‘Hello Bindi Boo’ would see him spring into the air while letting out blood curdling staccato growls.

There followed precision ankle biting landings.

Everybody in my family had bandaged ankles  – and unseemly track marks on their arms from too many Bindi Boo generated tetanus shots. 

Dr Higgins warns that dog depression is also manifest in loss of appetite.

That was NOT our experience with Bindo Boo.

I think his untreated depression had quite the opposite effect.

Bindi Boo demanded – under threat of violence - more and more Pal. 

Fearing greatle what he might do if the answer was ‘no’, we all became Pal pushers.

Bindo Boo got fatter and fatter.

He let himself go which, looking back, would have only increased his anger and anxiety.

Knowing what I know now, I feel sorry that we misdiagnosed Bindi Boo as a ‘bloody awful dog’.

He was really a ‘nice dog’ trapped in a ‘bloody awful dog’s mind’.

I cannot save Bindi Boo.

But it’s up to all of us to closely monitor the mental health of our – and our neighbours’ – current pets.

Before things really get Well Beyond Bluey.

For new visitors, if you liked/hated this story – you probably will like/hate this one. The natural world – and all of its wonders – is a very big part of our ‘Living, Loving, Learning’ theme.

http://www.kerriejean.com.au/2009/03/what-bird-did-that/

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Everybody says the Dog On The Tuckerbox stayed there because he was loyal – but perhaps he was depressed……….isn’t that an awful thought?

Is your pet depressed?

Why not?

If your dog was depressed would you opt for St Johns Wart or go all out with traditional anti-depressants?

Would you be brave enough to ask your pet this straightforward question: Are you depressed?

Perhaps you don’t believe dogs get depressed. Why on earth not?

Write to me…….it’s free and it’s easy. Do it:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

Monday 1700

Hypocrites Week Programme Released!

So, SO  busy am I…..

I’m only now in a position to release our Hypocrites Week programme of no less than THREE  power packed activities.

The great thing?

They can all be conducted in your workplace, home or car at a moment’s notice.

*Simply mount your work desk, car seat or home entertainment system –  and shout:

Hypocrites Week Activity…….come closer!

…..And away you go……….

Activity (1)

Give participants paper/tell them to write down the name of the Biggest Hypocrite in the office/lounge room/car.

Count.

Read out the name with the most votes.  Say loudly:

“It’s sure been a great Hypocrites Week journey for you but unfortunately today/tonight that journey has ended – and you’re going home [or somesuch].”

Monitor closely how the Biggest Hypocrite reacts.  VERY telling………

Hypocrites Week Activity #2

For two hours straight, loudly tell everyone you come across that you donate 46% of your income to charity…….and  would be doing even more if circumstances permitted.

Quickly walk away.

Count the percentage of  flummoxed and/or angry people who attempt to stop you.  Write down what they say. VERY telling……………

Hypocrites Week Activity #3

Inform your boss you’ll be off work for at least 17 weeks because you’re having a facelift purely in ‘the interests of enhancing corporate image’.

Fill in the relevant forms. Await call from Human Resources.

Write down what the HR operative says. VERY telling………..

Go to it! [And don't forget to tell us how you went]

*For those of you who haven’t yet registered for Hypocrites Week, read on!

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We are apparently deep within in A Frightful Era Of Hypocrisy……

…..Self-proclaimed environmentalists turning their modest cottages into solar powered residences the size of French chateaux ‘because their architects said anything smaller wouldn’t get the sun…….’  

……Women declaring the ageing process ‘liberating’ while their botox addiction reaches criminal proportions…….

……….Politicians declaring they’re very privileged to be in such positions of privilege but complaining bitterly about their grossly inadequate postage stamp allowances…….

Thing is: 

I am a Hypocrite.

[An attack of truth vapours: cr: Powerhouse Museum: flickr]

Further,  just like Mr Bierce [see below] I’m suggesting that getting about my daily business would be at best chaotic, at worst, nigh impossible if I wasn’t.

[Politeness, noun.  The most acceptable hypocrisy. Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary, 1911]

For example:

I get invited to all-women Lingerie parties - and, being the sort of person Mr Bierce applauds, I go.

….Which is far better than ringing up and saying:

‘Don’t, don’t do this to me!  Don’t make me sit around – with a mouthful of jatz and a big pot of guacamole dip - oooooohing and aaaahing at NASA-manufactured bras and knickers with secret properties…please don’t.’

Or:

I run into folks who have not treated me kindly in past dealings.

They are of both genders and they’ve usually made nasty comments about my personal presentation.

Usually along the lines of: ‘I think women over 38 with long hair think they can get away with it…..but really, they are terribly misguided……terribly……’  

I say: ‘Hello’.

Which is far better than:

‘You, many years ago, hurt me like no other and now you must pay [flick hair in face].

So, I am sick to death of reading about how the wanton hypocrisy of politicians, parents, the Catholic Church [all right, all right could be a special case] botox addicts, meat eaters, steeple chasers….is threatening everything from drinkable water to orderly behaviour in  ‘12 items or less’ supermarket aisles.

I hereby declare ‘Hypocrites Week’ open………

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So, join in the ‘Hypocrites Week’ celebrations.

Suggestions for activities most welcome!

Or perhaps you’re NOT a hypocrite – very, very interested to hear about your lifestyle.

Throw caution to the wind. Report in now by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

Can’t tell you exactly what number wave of Feminism we’re up to but I can tell you this…..

The biggest dumper ever has just rolled in.

….I get about and in my dealings I have one rule - and one rule only:

I’ll listen to anyone who’ll listen to me.

All this week?

Men of all levels of attractiveness [hideous to hot] all levels of income [$0 to $00000000000000]  and all levels of reactions to seeing me [titillated to deeply distressed] desperate to declare what they want in women……

And what they want is the world’s most ruthless pastry deflector, Wendi Deng.

[I quit! Cr: Daleberts: flickr]

Sure [I say] Miss Deng has the reflexes of a woman one quarter of  her husband’s age…..she presents quite well……she has a sweet smile when she’s not deflecting pastries……..

….But come now, what does Miss Deng have – other than a man with $$$$$ and very good contacts in British Telecom - that other women [just like me] do not have?

Sure [they say] but Miss Deng  fights for her man…….deflects dangerous pastries……packs mean punches…………

They all say: I want my woman to do that for me.

So, no less than a critical juncture – the ‘Deng’ moment – in the appalling  history of gender relations.

With studies showing that men still only wash up 1.7 % of available dirty dishes worldwide, they’re now refusing point blank to rescue any more damsels in distress.

And the new demand is that women come out swinging in their defence.

Je refuse.

I’ve been out with many, many, many men who kindly, kindly, kindly folk took it upon themselves to forewarn me about.

……..Too bald, too hairy, too nice, too horrible, too comfortabe, too wretched, too immature, far too immature etc, etc, etc.

And the kindly, kindly, kindly folk were right.

The behaviour of the too-this-and-too-that fellas could generally be described as ‘indefensible’.

But I never ‘did a Deng’.

Never defended the indefensible.

I just went round and picked up my quarter bottle of Mum, old cottontails,  favourite sports bra and latex balaclava – and cleared off.

Pride, ladies and gentlemen, pride.

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So now, men want women to defend them…….?

I don’t know – sometimes life is all too much……..

…..I was brought up on the Gallipoli story….

I mean, aren’t fellas supposed to come out swinging on my behalf?

Wendi Deng’s behaviour – and the way men have reacted to it - is very confusing……

Or is it just me…..?

Come out swinging……it’s [apparently] easy……..do it by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

Have just crawled from my bed to the keyboard…….

Why not keep it simple – and walk?

Because I can’t………

Because there’s appalling issues with my [usually reliable] legs…..

….Simultaneous horrendously painful muscle twitching and contractions, deep vein thrombotic knees,  putrid ankle rot,  fissues in the intimate upper inside thigh region………

Why?

Because I’ve just returned from a restorative jaunt to the  Blue Mountains World Heritage listed nature playground where my dear friends insisted I walk.

And being a person who always puts the needs and wishes of others’ before mine, walk I did.

['There's very little to see up here.' cr: University of Washington: flickr]

I am fuming.

I walk every day, mainly from my desk to the staff snacks’ fridge and from the ABC Complaints Department back to the lift before walking in an orderly manner back to my desk.

Why should I walk when I’m relaxing,  getting my dangerous tension/hypertension levels down a notch?

I do that by not walking.

By lying prostrate in World Heritage locations with Sara Lee’s complete product range within arms reach…….

By watching DVDs of my favourite romantic comedies……..’The Shining’,  ‘Silence of The Lambs’ and [and yes, yes, I know it's borderline] ‘Sleepless In Seattle’.

Then……

‘You can’t  lie there all day watching grossly inappropriate material for such a sensitive women…………you’re going for a walk. Get up!’ 

So I do my annual Dunlop Volley Walk.

Along ravines in which the bounties of drought-breaking rains cascade as if God had come back with long, peroxided locks…….

….Up rugged mountains where exquistite native bluebells clutch prehistoric boulders…..

[........Surely, most surely, they would cry out for help if bluebells could talk.......]

……And down, down dark and slippery tracks cradled by bedazzling arrays of moss……..

 And I know, I know as surely as I know the Leeton Redlegs will not be in this year’s grand final, that only one, only one track  will end…….back at the carpark.  

I have done my walk.

Now it seems I may never walk again.

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Is it in our nature to like nature?

Should walking in World Heritage listed areas be banned?

Why, oh why, has it become so hard for people to admit that walking is just not their thing?

****There’s a great untold history of Australian walking  horror stories.

Stop the cover up now. Tell yours. You owe it to yourself – and me.

Do it by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

After I finish this missive I’m going under the doona - indefinitely………

……SO exhausted am I after an incredibly philosophically taxing hot drink with a dear friend.

It started as per normal…….

I reported in on my latest ponderings and personal breakthroughs……….

……A date suddenly ending in whiplash when I - in a minxy mood - pushed the car seat ’recline’ button before releasing the seat belt, a new age spot on an unmentionable body part….

……And on the political front, the bleedingly obvious…… 

Julia and The Mousse Man will not marry because the Gay Rights Nuptials Lobby would surely muck up the big day.

When the ‘if anyone knows why Julia and the Mousse Man shouldn’t be joined together by hair extension glue, say so now or forever hold onto your toupee’,  protesters would shout: 

Simple!  Because if we can’t why the bloody hell can youse two?

My dear friend said that, as usual, I was thinking [and living] with breathtaking clarity.

THEN she said:

But KJ, what’s it all about, what’s it ALL about?

I had been waiting for this question – the big one - since at least the start of this financial year.

I said:

Life is a colossal Bushells tea chest…..

In it, a stubby glass surrounded by much bubble wrap.

In the stubby glass, all the things we have to do to give the impression we are responsible participants in this thing loosely called life……

…… Contributing birthday cake money for unpleasant work mates, paying exorbitant rent in sub-standard Tora Bora condominiums, keeping  Brazilian waxing appointments,watching ‘7:30′…..

Now, to that bubble wrap…….

Most folks [my dear friend] spend their lives in the Bubble Wrap Zone but best to avoid it like the mouse plague currently making a mockery of the Great Australian Bite.

The Bubble Wrap Zone is where aggressive renovators, superannuation obsessives  [pie in the sky just before you die] and the filthy rich cyronics set, lurk.

Instead, they should attend my free, upcoming seminar titled:

Guess what? No One Lives For Four Hundred Years.

Then there are The Boundary Riders.

[This is living! cr: State Library Sth Aust: flickr]

The Boundary Riders know the Bubble Wrap Zone is preposterous terrain.

They’ve been Ridin’ The Boundary forever.

……Enjoyin’ grits under the stars with other Boundary Riders,  fulfillin’ crucial fence hole pluggin’ responsibilities and enjoyin’ the sweet company of other Boundary Riders who occasionally – as if out of now where - appear at warm campsites.

But make no mistake [my dear friend] Boundary Riders are as terrified of Death as anyone else.

Even more so.

A mesquite bush ain’t got no chance against them there winds that blows and blows along the boundary fence.

And weez all mesquite bushes.

And that [my dear friend] is all this mesquite bush is gonna say at this here juncture…..

My dear friend gave me a big hug and I went blowin’ up the street.

****For the new visiting mesquite bushes in here a big howdydodedo……and you might enjoy checking out how kerriejean.com marked The Fall of *The Rev Kev, June, 2010.  

*The Rev Kev was a great supporter of this site…..

….Then, as history records, he went blowin’ off  in the wind just like…like…..[I got it!] that certain bush we’ve been talkin’ ’bout. 

http://www.kerriejean.com.au/2010/06/rudd-spill-afp-swearing-units-rush-to-parl-h/

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Don’t ya just hate people when they say: ‘Don’t worry about Death, there’s nothing you can do about it.’

Ain’t that THE problem?

Ain’t that the starting point?

Oh dear…..but I do feel better having written this little piece……

Alright, alright!

Saddle up…..!

Report in………ain’t gonna cost you a thing……may even make those grits taste a little finer. Every thought, every dream, every nightmare, valid……

 Do it [report in, that is] by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

So….there’s these two nobodies in Canada refusing to reveal the sex of their latest addition.

Big deal!

Those of us of a certain age – and sigh, gender - have already witnessed another great ’gender non-specific’ experiment.

And it failed miserably……..

[And how is it today? cr: Musee McCord Museum: flickr]

Here’s what happened.

Feminism decreed that tickling dolls’ tummies and always being the nurse when playing [the now outlawed] ‘Doctors And Nurses’ set women up for systemic oppression.

So forward thinking parents in the 1970s/80s went all out to avert the horror once and for all.

For Christmas and birthdays, girls were given plastic machetes, chainsaws and ak47s.

Boys?

Fairy wings, The Complete Works of Margaret Fulton and Ajax/Wettex gift packs.

Eugenics gone mad……resulting in…….

…….Bizarre birthday parties where girls tried to dress up machetes and cuddle chainsaws  - and boys tore each other apart in fairy wing and Ajax/Wettex gift pack fights.

In the interests of their personal safety [and the integrity of new renovations], most parents called a halt to the experiment quickly.

No one talks about it anymore.

Strange, eh?

*By the way –  in the main - I wasn’t brought up to be either a boy or a girl.

I was brought up to be a Sinner.

And as a young Catholic Sinner, I certainly knew *what I was and *where I was going.

*Depraved.

*Hell.

Just in case you don’t know about our Canadian man and woman.

http://www.news.com.au/world/canadian-couple-kathy-witterick-and-david-stocker-want-baby-to-choose-its-own-sex/story-e6frfkyi-1226062395217#ixzz1NnPtl9N6

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Isn’t life strange?

……Strange but strangely predictable?

Are you involved [at any level] in the gender wars?

Are you winning?

Would love to hear from you……….perhaps you even gave a chainsaw to your girl child some decades back……..and now she’s a tree cutter in the Tasmanian Wildnerness……..

Do report in by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.