creativity MONTH
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Today a mouse got caught in a trap in my apartment. Somehow, it managed to set it off in such a way that it was caught by its tail with no other apparent injuries, leaving it free to squeak and spasm around and freak the fuck out, dragging the trap behind it all the way. It was completely terrified of me when I first approached; eventually, I managed to get close enough to it while it was still (likely resigned to its death at the hands of a giant, frozen in terror, its little mouse heart beating at somewhere around 6000bpm) to release it so it could scurry off under the fridge.
I felt good, because I saved the mouse. O merciful me, savior of poor terrified mice! But when you reduce the system to inputs and outcomes... I set up the trap for the purpose of killing interloping mice, the trap failed, the mouse lived and was released back into the building, and the mouse (an innocent being, after all) was made to suffer needlessly. It may have actually been one of the worst possible outcomes, depending on how you assign out your utils and how much value you assign to property rights or sanitation or mouse welfare or me having to feel bad, or whatever. It was a failure on almost every front.
But I saved the mouse, so. Let's not think about any of that. I'm a hero to mice. It's easier this way. The mouse was squeaking and pitiful and I saved it.
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Hi honey,
Your leaves started drying out and I didn’t know what to do.
I became worried. I wasn’t going to let you die, but it was possible. I’m new to this.
I told a new friend at work she told me that I needed a pot with a hole in the bottom.
“The roots will rot and the plant will die without a way to release all that water,” she said.
That night, I pulled my parents aside after dinner. I told them everything.
They listened. They offered to help.
My Mom took the pot from my hands,
and my Dad found a new one—with a hole this time.
I let them be rock stars again.Or maybe they let me be a rock star.
And maybe there were never any rock stars, just rock star people.
I’m better at passing the ball lately too.I still don’t know if I care about plants all that much,
but I think I’m a little better now at caring for something living. -
film should be coming back tomorrow
@Alexander that is beautiful, for some reason it reminds me of the last song on Camp "That Power"
"I wish I could say this was a story about how I got on the bus a boy
And got off a man more cynical, hardened, and mature and shit
But that's not true. The truth is I got on the bus a boy. And I never got off the bus
I still haven't"the content is not the same but the feeling I get when you say "and maybe there were never any rock stars, just rock star people" is similar. I quite love that line you wrote
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Jasper
Jasper was a good dog. I met him on the twenty seventh of December, in 2023, and for eighty two days he was the fifth member of my family.
I remember the day we met him. My family and I were driving home from Nevada after visiting my grandparents for Christmas. The trip was long, and I wanted to go home, and I certainly did not want a dog to be on our trip home with us. But we didn't stop at home, because that wasn't what we discussed.
We pulled into a large parking lot full of mostly empty spaces, and we stepped out of the car into what felt like a sea of gray. The sky was gray, the ground was gray, and the buildings were gray, and I felt pretty gray too. I looked it up actually, and the buildings weren't gray. But in my memory they were, so we're gonna roll with that. Maybe I was just looking at the world with a gray perspective.
Either way, I walked inside the main building with my family, and we got to chat with a few employees at a table. I don't exactly remember how the discussion went. But I think that's okay, because this is a story about my dog, and not the animal shelter employees (no offense to them). One of the employees took us on a tour of the facility, introducing us to some of the different dogs at the shelter. They were all really friendly, and it made me happy that there was a place for them to stay and find homes. Although I didn't want one to live in my house with my family, I still did (and do) really like dogs.
Eventually, we met Jasper. The shelter had named him Nickolas, but he was only a bit over two months old, so later we gave him a new (and frankly, cooler) name. A piece of paper on the outside of his room had a bit of information about him. He was a dark brown, mixed, rescue dog. I'm not exactly sure where or what he was rescued from, but I'm glad he was, because all dogs deserve happy lives. Jasper was dark brown, mixed, and estimated to be medium sized as a fully grown dog. The person giving us the tour also told us that he had survived a virus called parvo, which is really dangerous (and often fatal) for puppies. I was really glad he survived, which now that I'm writing this sounds really obvious, but it's still true so I'm keeping it in the story. Jasper was really calm, and he let us pet him, and he was also really cute (as puppies tend to be). So we adopted him.
The adoption process and drive back home took a while. But those things aren't as related to the story, and it's already getting long, so I want to keep things concise.
A couple weeks went by, and along with my family, I discovered a few different things about Jasper. First, he had a lot of energy. Second, he really liked to chew on things. Sometimes we would give him cardboard boxes to sit in and tear up, and other times he would use his bed to sit in and tear up. I'm still not sure why he did that, because we would take out his bed when he did, and then he would have to lie down in his crate or somewhere else. Most of the time, either of the two options were clearly less comfortable.
Another thing we learned is that the piece of paper in the shelter wasn't completely right. Jasper was definitely a dark brown, mixed dog. But he certainly wasn't shaping up to be a medium sized dog. If Jasper's paper at the shelter was a test in school, the person who wrote it would have gotten a 66.6%, which is a D. In American high schools D's get you diplomas, but they don't get you into college, so do with that info what you will I guess. Maybe I'll excuse the size question in our imaginary test though, because whoever wrote it down could only really make their best guess. That was a really long way to say that Jasper got big quickly, and maybe I shouldn't have used that many words. But this my story, so I can use whatever words I want, and people don't have to read it if I accidentally put in too many, so I think it's fine.
Sorry, I'm getting off track.
The fourth thing I learned about Jasper was that he was a very stubborn dog. He was a nice dog, but also a stubborn dog. That, on top of being playful, and chompy, and incredibly big for his age meant that he was really hard to train. My parents would take him to puppy socialization classes, and he was by far the largest puppy there.
When we were home, my parents trained Jasper for hours a day, every day. My brother and I helped as well, but not as much as my parents, and especially my dad. When we had to leave the house, he would have to stay in his crate, and he really didn't like being in his crate. So he would bark, which I can't blame him for. But he would bark for a really long time, and then he would usually fall asleep before starting to bark again. He also had a little fenced in area for his bed, his crate, and his toys, which he quickly outgrew and learned to climb over. After Jasper learned to jump, it was effectively useless. And for a large, playful puppy who didn't like to listen, but also really liked to chew on stuff, that was hard to manage.
Over time, Jasper grew so big that my mom and my brother couldn't keep him in place when holding his leash. Soon after, I wasn't able to either. So my dad would spend most of his day with him. He would wake up in the morning, let Jasper out to take his morning dump, bring him in and feed him, stay with him most of the day, put him in his crate during meetings, and train him in his spare time. All while Jasper would be playfully nipping him or chewing random stuff. As a family, we all decided that he would be better suited in a bigger home with owners who had more time to dedicate to him.
The last time I ever saw Jasper was on the eighteenth of March. Two days after my dad's birthday. My parents drove him back to the shelter and surrendered him back.
The people at the shelter said they had behavioral specialists who could help train Jasper before he went off to another home. They had a policy where they didn't euthanize animals unless they had a serious illness or posed a danger to others. Jasper wasn't aggressive or anything, and he wouldn't really act angry at people. So I do believe that he probably ended up with another family sometime after that. But it was hard losing him. The people at the shelter entered him back into their system where his name was Nickolas, and now he probably has another new name. But I was still really sad, and the rest of my family was also really sad. I didn't want a dog, but I ended up with a dog, and I loved my dog even if he frustrated me sometimes. It felt embarrassing to explain our situation when people asked about him. Because to anyone who hadn't seen him, we might have just sounded like lazy dog owners who didn't want to put in the work to train their puppy. But at the end of the day, Jasper got a new chance to meet new people, and to be a part of a family better fits what he needed. Ultimately, that's what was best for him.
I'm grateful for the eighty two days Jasper spent with us. I miss him a lot, but I know he's out there somewhere living a nice life.
Thanks, Jasper. I hope you're doing alright out there.
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Drew today
