Stoics versus Pathetics

There are two reigning philosophies of thought, here at my Realm of Suburbia. "Some" of the family are Stoic, and "some" of the family are Pathetic.

I am Pathetic. Supremely Pathetic, as one might presume from a word invented just to describe Me, Queen Sophine: Sophathetic.

Pennie definitely belongs to the Stoics. Mom is Stoic. Mom and Pennie are very good at Dogging Up, Momming Up, suffering in silence, and simply getting the job done. During Mom's first week of illness, while Dad was away for three days, despite Mom suffering from high fevers and bone wracking coughs, she still managed to do the laundry, run the dishwasher, and get the Lads to all their activities. Dad checked in regularly, of course, but he had two Stoics in charge at home: Mom and Nurse Pennie. As Dad said, only ONCE, but unfortunately he said it all and has forever regretted it: "I dated sports cars, but I married a sedan." Yes, Dad actually said that, and it seems to be one of those unforgettable statements. Dad knows that with his Stoic (plus Pennie) in charge he can be gone for days on end, and come home to clean, fed, home-worked children.

Pennie suffers in silence. Pennie runs this household with an iron paw, and when she is tired or in pain, hides under a desk to nap until she is ready to rule once again.

The following is he online dictionary definition of the Stoics:

Stoic : a member of a school of philosophy founded by Zeno of Citium about 300 b.c. holding that the wise man should be free from passion, unmoved by joy or grief, and submissive to natural law.

Of course, I do not believe in Stoicism. No I am a firm believer in Patheticism. Just this afternoon I put to good use my Patheticism. Mom was actually curled up in the recliner taking a nap. She is still recovering from her illness, but after getting three kids off to school, running some errands, doing 4 loads of laundry, making her bed, feeding the dogs, etc, she was forced to succumb to a nap. I curled up in Mom's lap. I made my little Sputnik Sophie Super-Sophathetic Sounds. Sputnik was Sophathetic. For all the turmoil it caused, launching off the Space Race, it really did nothing but orbit the earth emitting little beeps. I lay on Mom's lap and emitted little Sophathetic Sounds. Not sounds of pain. Just little sounds of Patheticism.

Pennie, the Stoic, was napping on the couch. Yes, Pennie was quite comfortable. But not only did I end up in Mom's lap, but my Sophathetic little sounds caused Mom to pull me tightly close and tuck my wee Sophie head up under her chin. Then she stroked my jowls while I further emitted Sophathetic sounds until I fell asleep.

Call me Sophathetic all day long, I think it is clear that in the long run Patheticism reigns.

Totally NON-Sophathetic -- ME Rising to the Occasion

These past many days I have been quite uncharacteristically NON-Sophathetic. One might even say that in a grand gesture of non-self-centeredness, I arose to the occasion.

Dad started out with his oral surgery, then brought influenza into the house. Mom kept him well supplied with beverages, crackers, soup, decongestants, and fever reducers.

Then Mom succumbed to the influenza. Without even a kiss good-bye, Dad left town for three days, leaving Mom to care for Wee Lass, who also succumbed by then to influenza, and to get Little Lad and Middle Lad to their various appointments.

I never left Mom. I became Nurse Sophie. Yes, it is normally Nurse Pennie who is the chief caregiver, but this was MOM who was sick.

When Dad returned home, Little Lad became sick as well. Dad then had to care for Mom, Little Lad, and Wee Lass, but he had ME, Nurse Sophie, as Mom's constant nurse, giving continual Compression Therapy and Naturally Humidified Healing Vapors. When I sleep on Mom I normally like to curl up between her legs, but I was so concerned for her that I gave her Full Sophie Compression, with my body upon her abdomen and my head resting upon her chest, so that I could direct the Healing Vapors of my breath directly into Mom's germ-laden lungs.

Mom was quite surprised that I seemed to care for her so much. It seems that on occasion even Queen Sophine can be unselfish.

Royal Laundry Throne

My Mother forced me to remove myself from a pile of Dad's clean work shirts, that lay upon the bed awaiting folding. I had made a perfect Royal Laundry Throne, and was in a most comfortable long December Winter Nap Sophie Ball.

Where DOES that Woman expect me to lay and clean myself? The dirty laundry? Why would I want to lick myself clean and then fall into a satisfying nap amidst a pile of "dirty" laundry when there is still-warm-from-the-dryer "clean" laundry upon which to lick myself and nap?

Zapped AND off schedule

Sunday was a sad, Sophathetic day for me. It started out so well . . . .

Oldest Lad was home Friday and Saturday night. My Precious Oldest Lad. He slept in the basement, on the futon, because his room has been rented out to Wee Lass. Apparently his reward for earning a University Degree and getting a job was to have his room rented out to another sibling. Sorry Oldest Lad, don't let the door hit you in the A$$ on the way out . . . . I should have known that spaces here were only "rented," when I became the proud "renter," not "owner" of an Extra Large Crate. I am NOT an Extra Large Dog. As much as I consider the crate to be my Royal Throne Crate, it's made clear to me that once I'm gone, the next dog in line will move on in to it, much like Wee Lass moved on in to Oldest Lad's bedroom. "sigh."

In the basement, as cars drive up the street, the headlights hit the basement window just perfect, and a quick flash of light glares into the room. Oldest Lad realized that each time he happened to be awake AND the room lit up; that I was sitting up, just looking at him. My Precious Oldest Lad.

On Sunday morning I got up and Oldest Lad let me out into the front yard to "do my business." I am a regular girrrl. Unfortunately, as I was sniffing about the yard, looking for the best spot to deposit my royal bowel movement, I lost track of where I was. I entered crouch position. Then ZAP!!!!!! I strayed across the electric fence! I crouch ran and shook back to the house!

Not only had I been Zapped, but I did NOT get to relieve myself! I was out of sorts AND constipated AND off schedule the rest of the day. Then Mom forced Oldest Lad to hold me while she clipped my nails. To top it off, Oldest Lad left to go home, and I was forced to resume sleeping with Mom and Dad, who were no doubt plotting all night long who was going to be the next renter of MY Royal Throne Crate.

Sputnik Sophie

Mom calls me Sputnik Sophie because I make such funny little noises. The original Sputnik, which was launched by the Russians and caused such a ruckus, AND launched the NASA efforts to put a Man on the Moon, really didn't do anything but orbit the earth and make little noises.

Mom says I don't really do much but laze about and make noises, much like the Sputnik, except laying on a bed or couch instead of wasting energy orbiting.

I think I work hard around here. I clean up Wee Lass' vegetables. She refuses to eat the vegetables that Mom puts upon her plate at dinner. Mom says that Wee Lass does not have to put the vegetables in her mouth, but Mom will continue to put them on her plate. It never worked on Middle Lad. He will be 17 years old next week and a vegetable has never crossed his lips without being projectile vomited out immediately. Us dogs thought we had fast taste buds! Middle Lad can taste as fast as any dog!

However, Oldest Lad and Little Lad both succumbed to Mom's manipulations, and even if it took years, both eventually put vegetables inside their mouths and swallowed them, absent the projectile vomiting. It's actually quite entertaining when Dad decides that Middle Lad is absolutely going to eat a vegetable just because Dad is the Dad and he says so. Mom starts to stealthily begin rearranging dishes about the table, so that any still-edible food destined to be leftovers does not get projectile vomited-upon.

As soon as Wee Lass finishes dinner, I am quite good at popping right up, like a Brindly Gopher, onto Wee Lass' booster chair and grabbing her uneaten vegetables. I also snuffle about the kitchen, cleaning up crumbs from beneath the overhang of the kitchen cabinets. Perhaps if Mom ran the vacuum now and again, I would not have to snuffle for crumbs so often.

However, back to the Sputnik noises. THIS morning, Mom was listening to a Guided Meditation that included listening to sounds. As the house was still very quiet, Mom was surprised that there were very few sounds upon which to focus. Then I began to chirp in with my Sputnik Sophie Chirps and Sputnik Sophie Snores. Mom then spent several minutes focused entirely upon ME, Sophie, which is of course where her focus should alway be: Sophie, Sophie, Sophie.

Sniveling Sibling

Mom was curled up next to Dad, talking about some serious topic or another. It matters not what Mom's problem is/was. The attention should be all about me and The Woman should be in the kitchen making meals, or doing laundry so that I have comfortable piles of clean clothes to lay upon, or picking up my dog poop or attending to one of my many numerous needs.

Mom and Dad decided to let Wee Lass join them, in some overly-sentamental family type of snuggle.

This is what I did: I became Stealth Sophie, and from the side, without Mom noticing, I sneaked over and slowly nudged Wee Lass off of sitting on top of Mom and Dad, until it was ME, Queen Sophine that was snuggled up in a family snuggle. Mom had no idea I had pushed Wee Lass off!

Wee Lass ended up sitting on the floor in front of the couch, looking bewildered and tearful.

I do not care for Sniveling Siblings, for I had not been Stealthy enough; Dad had watched the whole thing. He forced me to move! Yes, I was forced to move over, and the snuggle had to include Mom, Dad, Wee Lass and Me.

Sophathetic Gotcha Day and Thanksgiving

I have a sad tale to tell of a little Brindly dog, forced to abdicate from a royal life in Suburbia to the cold realities of a Shelter, only to be rescued into Foster Care as Rental Dog Sophie, then adopted into her Furever Home.

Wednesday was the two year anniversary of my "Gotcha Day," the day that I went from Rental Dog Sophie to Rent-to-Own Sophie, and was able to regain my status as a royal denizen of Suburbia, although a different Suburb, different family. Perhaps I expected a nibbly morsel of a treat, or a pat on my head. This is what a got: Sent to the kennel. To make it far, far, worse, I knew that Oldest Lad was going to be home, yes, Officer Oldest Lad was going to be home from Louisville in a scant few hours. Unfortunately, Kennel Drop-Off hours ended at six, and Oldest Lad was not going to be home until near that hour. In his bereavement, he did not want to arrive at home to greet me and Pennie, only to have us summarily shuttled off to the shelter. Instead, he chose just to have us "gone," so that he did not have to say "hello" followed immediately by "good-bye."

Daisy, who had been staying with us since Monday, was still at the house, due to be returned to her home by Oldest Lad on Thursday, while Mom and Dad were already driving their way up to Cleveland with Middle Lad, Little Lad, and Wee Lass. Oldest Lad claimed that he could at least sleep with Daisy on Wednesday night, in the absence of Sophie and Pennie. As Oldest Lad shared living quarters with Daisy for two years while living with Daisy's Man, I was not jealous, just saddened that it could not be Daisy, Pennie and ME sleeping with Oldest Lad.

At the kennel, the cold steel bars of the kennel run closed in about me. I refused to look at Mom, even in a Sophathetic Stare. I knew that my refusal to grant a Sophathetic Stare made Mom feel even worse. Mom had even asked Dad if perhaps I could join the family in Cleveland. I bear no animosity towards CATS. Grandma, Dad's Mom, has a CAT, and it would be disrespectful to allow Pennie to consume that Cat. Still, that did not mean that I could not go and enjoy Thanksgiving, did it?

Grandma also has an overgrown Golden Retriever named Scoter. He is an affable fellow, but not very bright, nor very Alpha. However, as his breed name would suggest, he does do one thing well: Retrieve. While I certainly expected Mom to pet and pay attention to Scoter, especially in her bereavement over the holiday absence of Myself, Scoter went too far. It was fine for Scoter to pay attention to Mom and Mom to reply back. However, Scoter stole Mom's slipper. Yes, while Mom was curled up in her customary book-reading-curl, that overgrown purebred stole Mom's slipper, and drooled all over it, while carrying it about the house, like a trophy celebrating that HE hiked with Mom at the Cleveland Metroparks, and HE ate Thanksgiving Dinner with Mom and HE did not celebrate his Gotcha Day abandoned. He marked Mom's slipper with his breath and his drool and his stupid insensitivity. THAT was going too far.

I shall never Retrieve my second Gotcha Day. It is a poor Sophathetic memory of abandonment and absence from even a chance to spend a few blissful moments in the arms of my beloved Oldest Lad. My Thanksgiving was spent crunching cold hard kibble, on a cold hard concrete floor, with only a thin blanket from home to ward off the chill. I shall have to make sure Mom pays for all this, but I am doomed for a bath first.

Dental Hygiene Attempted Ruined

This afternoon, Mom headed to Tax Payer-Funded Public High School to pick up Middle Lad from staying after school for Jazz Ensemble. He plays the Alto Saxophone in the Jazz Ensemble. I was sitting in the front seat of the van, Pennie in the middle seat, and Daisy in the back. Daisy is joining us for a few days while Daisy's Man visits his family. Middle Lad decided that since he is important enough to have auditioned and qualified for Jazz Ensemble, that he thereby qualified to take MY SEAT. I was summarily shoved into the mid-section of the van, where I hunted down a perfectly good, although pre-chewed, piece of sugarless gum. I was intent on giving my near-perfect dentition a going over with that gum, as it is well known that a 1976 survey proved that 4 out of 5 dentists surveyed preferred sugarless gum. (The fifth dentist preferred no gum, not sugared gum.)

As I was chewing my sugarless gum, preferred by 4 out of 5 dentists, Middle Lad, who cannot hear Dad screaming at him to "turn out the lights, for the x&2*ing last time," COULD hear my mandibles and their excellent dentition.

Middle Lad forced me to cough out my gum. It landed in a gum wad, along with the chewed wrapper, on the inside arm rest of the mini-van passenger door. There that gum wad lay, with me straining in Middle Lad's arms to reach it, and Mom and Middle Lad just staring at that coughed out wad of perfectly still good pre-chewed gum.

Once home, I was forced to exit the vehicle and Mom obtained a wipe to remove the gum wad.

What about Sophie?

Yesterday Mom decided that it would be nice to go for a walk with Pennie, Me, Dad and Wee Lass. Unfortunately, Mom could only find one leash. Mom hooked Pennie up with the leash, and there I was, just standing Sophathetic in the garage; no leash. Upon interrogation, Dad confessed that the other leash was in his orange convertible, which he had parked up the street while he worked in his Garage. Dad then took Pennie, on her leash, out and gave her an R-I-D-E, while he fetched the orange convertible, and the leash. Meanwhile, I was still left standing, unleashed, and not getting to go for an R-I-D-E.

Mom noticed how Sophathetic that I looked, and gave me plenty of rubs, but still, my Sophie feelings were hurt. It's always the same story -- us quiet, well behaved dogs just get left behind while the loud, boisterous dogs get all the attention.

Egregious Error

It has been painfully brought to my attention, that I mistakenly wrote in my last diary entry that it was "Oldest Lad," who was the perpetrator of the crime of leaving Pizza Crusts in the Simple Human Trash Can.

It was NOT Oldest Lad. It was Middle Lad. Oldest Lad reminded me that even though he no longer lives here; HE IS STILL OLDEST LAD. He would prefer Officer Oldest Lad. I shall acquiesce to Oldest Lad, but not "Officer" Oldest Lad.

Oldest Lad most assuredly thinks that in his absence I have allowed Middle Lad to move up the chain of command into "Oldest" position. That is not so. While I am a shallow, self-centered dog and have moved on to find other comforts -- unlike Pennie, who still actively pines for Oldest Lad; as soon as Oldest Lad reappears I assure him I will give him my undivided attention and spurn all who have comforted, cared, and expressed their utmost adoration for me, in Oldest Lad's absence. Meanwhile, Pennie remains fixed in her undying love and devotion to Oldest Lad, and comforts herself only the best she can, making sure that all who comfort her know that her heart still belongs to Oldest Lad, while my heart is fickle.