Kaleidoscopic Contemplations by Crystal Crawford

August 9, 2008

The Water Child

There was a girl once, born near the ocean, for whom water meant home and comfort.  She loved water, the soothing sounds of it, the cleansing flow of rain and the peaceful rhythm of waves; she loved the power of it, the crash of ocean waves and the rumble and shake of thunderstorms; she loved her watery home, where rivers, lakes, and ocean were nearby her always, and where rainstorms were a frequent friend.

But water was a threatening companion, with power for harm and destruction, housing various deadly creatures in its comforting abyss; and as the girl grew older, her love for the water was tainted by fear – fear of its darkened expanses, fear of its lurking inhabitants, fear of its consuming depths.  And yet she was thrilled by its beauty, drawn to it yet fearful of it, and she found herself standing often at the brink of the ocean, the river, the lake, observing its beauty but hesitant to go in.  Even while she feared the water, she longed to be a part of it again, as she was in her childish innocence, when predators and danger were farthest from her mind.

And then came one day at the beach, when she ventured farther into the ocean’s depths than she had been in years, and as she watched the waves crest and fall against each other, and felt their gentle push against her body, she saw just a few yards out two fins, curved, and she was shocked to find that even through her ingrained fear of ocean inhabitants, she did not for a moment mistake them for anything other than what they were – dolphins, two of them, their arched backs sliding up and over the waves then back down into them, gracefully, swiftly, as their glistening skin melted into shimmering ripples in the distance.

Then all at once it came back to her, the rushing thrill of the ocean, the passion she had for it in her innocent dreams, when working and swimming with dolphins was a cherished possibility.

But where will she go from here, this disillusioned child, having sold her hopes for the comfort of something safer, having settled for the convenient path, the familiar path, the path with the least resistance?

So she has chosen a new course.  She has chosen to change her path, to return to her dreams, in the hopes of finding that passion again, that thrill that once fueled her plans for the future.  She has chosen a new course, and a new path now lies ahead of her.  All the possibilities of the world are open to her, once again, as they were in her innocent dreams.

Comments

July 19, 2008

Leave It

“Leave it.”

These two words have opened up a world of possibility with training my new dog. 

When she bothers the cat, “Leave it.”  When we don’t want her to chew on our shoes, “Leave it.”  When we want to keep her from eating from the cat’s food dish or begging at the table – “Leave it.”

If only things were so simple with people.  If only we could say “Leave it” to pushy telemarketers, obnoxious strangers, or even bosses requiring more work for the same pay.   But then, people are not so willing to drop whatever they’re pursuing just to please another person.  People are self-driven.  People are stubborn.

But this got me to thinking about relationships in general.  How many times do we stubbornly refuse to change just because we want what we want, whether it’s something we need or not?  How many times do we pursue something, perhaps trampling over others in the process, only to realize that now that we have the thing we were after, it’s nothing more than a chewed-up shoe that leaves us wanting something new to gnaw on?

There may be something in the wisdom of the dog, who is willing to drop that delightfully smelly shoe just for the sake of pleasing a person she cares about.  The dog may be the perfect example of the loyal friend, the person who cares at least as much about her friend’s happiness as her own.

But then I realized that my dog was chewing on my shoes when I wasn’t looking, so I had to revise my theory a bit.

No person (and no dog) can give in 100% of the time.  However, there is something moving about those people who are willing to give of themselves for others.  After all, isn’t that what defines a hero?  Heroes, both comic-book super style and the regular everyday kind, are those people who give of themselves for the sake of others – whether that’s devoting their spare time  to swinging among the rooftops delivering victims of crime, or dedicating their money and resources to helping families in need.

In the same way, my dog is still going to chew on things.  She needs to – she’s a teething puppy.  But when it comes down to it, she’d rather please me than chew on a shoe.  And since I’ve been telling her “Leave it,” more often, she’s begun to leave the shoes alone, and chew on other things.

Heroes aren’t the dogs who never chew on shoes; they’re the dogs who say, “Okay, I’ll still eat shoes, but only when you’re not looking; and if it really bothers you, I can chew on the cat instead.” 

Okay, I realize something’s still not quite connecting with that analogy.  Anyway, my point is this: dogs are a good example of a willingness to give in, even just on the little things, to show that they care about others.   And while I don’t advocate a complete puppy mentality (not only because chewing on shoes creates bad breath but also because I recognize a person needs freedom to be his own person), I admire the willingness that mirrors that puppy-like openness and concern for the happiness of others.  It’s a willingness I’ve seen far too seldom, and I think it’s part of what gives dogs their “man’s best friend” charm.

Comments

From Sarah Fisher -- July 26, 2008

If only you could have been at my parents house to train our little Cerberus (RIP)! 

It's interesting to discover others' tolerance levels. I find I'm often too easily swayed to do what other people ask of me with little thought for whether or not I actually want to do so, and at other times I'm completely stubborn. A puppy mentality might be kinder in some cases...

From Rachel -- August 3, 2008

Good blog! The hero paragraph made me give my mum a hug!

June 28, 2008

Thoughts on Epiphanies

Lately I’ve been thinking about quite a few things, especially regarding my career, and I realized that I’m not the sort of person to have epiphanies.  I’m the sort of person who makes decisions gradually, who ponders situations for weeks and then eventually makes a choice.  And because I make my decisions so gradually, my realizations come gradually as well, in pockets of little revelations one after another.

I have also realized that a lot of the decisions I’ve made in the past have been made out of fear – fear of failure, fear of missing an opportunity, fear of giving up what I already had for the sake of pursuing something else.   To use a Yu-Gi-Oh term (please forgive me for that, but my friends used to play it!), I play with a defensive deck.  I hold my cards close and lay out a protection strategy – I wall myself in and hope that my defenses will hold.

All of this has led to a personal realization that’s as close to an epiphany as a non-epiphanous (is that a word?) person can come – the realization that if I ever want to achieve my dreams, my goals, I have to cast aside my protective gates and fences and barriers and actively pursue what I want.  If I ever want to be successful in my career, I have to stop waiting for opportunities to fall into my lap.  I have to be active.  I have to take risks.  I have to stop being afraid of failure and go after my goals, for better or for worse, because if I don’t, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what might have happened if I did.

This has been a life-altering sort of realization for me, though I understand I’m speaking in generalities.

However, it got me to thinking about the concept of epiphanies in general.  What exactly is an epiphany, and what makes them so – well – epiphanous?

I’ve always thought that epiphanies were these magical, light-bulb-over-the-head, I-can’t-believe-I-never-thought-of-this-before moments.   But now I’m wondering, what differentiates a sudden, in-the-moment realization from a gradual thought process culminating in a powerful revelation?  Is one an epiphany, and the other isn’t?  That hardly seems fair to people like me, whose minds are constantly going, and who feel as though they’ve never achieved life-altering epiphanies because they make all their decisions so carefully.

So I looked up the word “epiphany”.  According to Dictionary.com, “epiphany” has four separate meanings:

1.       A Christian festival commemorating the appearance of Christ to the Gentiles

2.       An appearance or manifestation, esp. of Deity

3.       A sudden, intuitive perception or insight into something, usually initiated by a commonplace experience

4.       A literary work presenting, usually symbolically, such a moment of revelation and insight

The basic idea running through all four of these definitions is that of a revelation – a sudden appearance of something that simply wasn’t there before, be that insight, perception, or even deity. 

Now, I’m not sure why I always thought that epiphanies had to appear out of nowhere – I suppose the definition of them as “sudden” accounts for that – but it occurs to me now that epiphanies might just as well have been years in the making.  After all, when Christ appeared to the Gentiles, it seemed sudden to them, perhaps, but it had been planned long before by Christ Himself. 

So then, is the key to an epiphany simply that the recipient is taken by surprise?  Does an epiphany require that insight or perception simply fall into a person’s lap or hit them squarely in the forehead?

If so, then I have had the most interesting epiphany of all – the epiphany to no longer wait around for epiphanies.  I have had the realization that I need to stop waiting around for doors to be opened or the future to unfold, and become an active pursuer of my goals and dreams.   I have realized that I need to be the active player in my own life, because if I want to help people, or write a novel, or work with dolphins, or do something “meaningful” with my life – if I want to do that – then I need to do that.  No one else is going to do it for me, and certainly no one is going to stop the clock on my life so I can catch up on all the things I always meant to do.  I’ve been waiting for the perfect opportunity, the right time to do things, only to realize that the right time is now, and it always has been. 

Epiphany or not, I’m not playing with a defensive deck anymore – after all, I sold my Yu-Gi-Oh cards a long time ago.

Comments

From Rachel -- July 3, 2008

I'm always glad when people use this line of thinking in every day life. I'm the same, I make day to day decisions and just see where I land. On a stranger note..this post made me happy, because me and my cousin have a game we started on a long journey where we try and find new 'epi' words. One more added to the list! :P

June 7, 2008

Comments

From Sarah Fisher -- June 11, 2008

That's beautiful Crystal, and I agree, I don't think I would have the strength to deal with that much suffering on an ongoing basis. But then, I'm the kind of sap who wants to cry every time I see roadkill. Heck, My Dog Skip had me weeping! There's something so pure about a dog - they're innocent.

You should post a picture of Lucy by this post when you get a chance!

From Crystal Crawford -- June 14, 2008

At your request, the photo of Lucy has been added!

May 17, 2008

Confessions of an English Major - Part Two: You Know You're an English Major When...

English majors are a varied bunch, coming from all backgrounds and engaging in all types of hobbies and activities. However, English majors tend to share at least one or two commonalities, not the least of which are (obviously) a love for language and literature.

Following is a list of criteria by which you can identify an English major. This could be useful if you're trying to decide what to major in (perhaps you're an English major at heart and didn't know it!), or conversely, if you're not an English major and are frantically trying to avoid running into anyone who will suggest that you reduce your use of gerunds or tell you that your verbal diction involves too many dangling modifiers.

(Disclaimer: The following list is a prototype only, and by no means attempts to encapsulate every characteristic of the very complex classification of "English major," nor does possessing one or more of the following qualities guarantee that the subject is, in fact, an English major. Furthermore, "English major" is not to be confused with "literature geek," "book nerd," or "grammar freak." Though all of the above may also be English majors, none of the aforementioned terms, in and of themselves, necessitate "English major" status.)

You Know You're an English Major When...

1. You mentally correct grammatical errors on street signs, packaging, billboards, and advertisements.
2. You catch yourself saying, "But that commercial just didn't make sense! It didn't have a clear audience, there was virtually no plot and definitely no clear thesis, and I hope they don't think they can persuade people just with sheer pathos..."
3. You get excited about being assigned to read The Sound and the Fury because it's one of those "classics" that you've always heard people talking about but never actually read yourself.
4. You see a 15-page research paper as an opportunity to learn more about literature rather than as just a tedious assignment.
5. You find yourself at a party singing "Happy Birthday" to Shakespeare.*
6. You look forward to writing a paper because it's a chance to really play with language.
7. You catch yourself referencing Faulkner, Conrad, or Shakespeare in everyday conversations.
8. You have the urge to correct others' grammar in conversations but (hopefully) bite your tongue.
9. You don't feel well-read until you've read all the Norton anthologies, plus all the seminal works from each author mentioned in the Norton anthologies, plus any book any friend of yours mentions as having been an assigned reading in literature courses; and then even after all those, you still keep a running list of books others mention that you haven't read yet.
10. Your summer list of "pleasure" reading includes Nabokov, Beckett, Woolf, or James Joyce.
11. You enjoy finding ways around comma faults.
12. You actually use the phrase "comma fault."
13. Your friends ask you to proofread their papers, and you do - replying with grammatical corrections and organizational suggestions, and even using Microsoft Word's "Track Changes" and "Add Comments" features to leave annotations on diction, suggested sources for citations, and points or sub-points that the writer didn't consider.
14. You've become so practiced in writing papers that it is actually possible to write a 15-page paper the night before it's due, with little to no time for revision, and still produce something that deserves an A- (or even an A).
15. You find yourself triaging your reading assignments and then multi-tasking, sitting in an American Literature class taking notes on a lecture on something you only had time to read part of, while reading a Shakespeare play from a book in your lap
16. You regret having to triage your reading - you really wanted to read A Passage to India and The Scarlet Letter - and you plan to finish them over the summer break.
17. You gain the ability to give spontaneous speeches on writing-related topics (the writing process, editing and revision, rhetorical approaches of writing) with little to no preparation; you can even draw the supporting visuals from memory.
18. You develop an obsession with lists and outlines (though you may not use them while actually writing).
19. You carry a book and/or a notebook (for writing ideas) with you at all times.
20. You are constantly looking to increase your vocabulary, and you use words like "ubiquitous," "inchoate," "bacchanalian," or "gestalt" in normal conversation.
21. You laugh at other people's grammatical errors and/or facetiously make grammatical errors in conversation and/or understand other people's facetious use of grammar.
22. Not content with arguing over semantics, you also argue over syntax... and grammar... and etymology... and when you aren't sure of the correct answer, you feel a compulsive need to look it up.
23. You start a grammar support group for your friends and attempt to make attendance mandatory.

Comments

From Erin -- June 13, 2008

Hilarious. That's all I'm sayin'!

April 26, 2008

Confessions of an English Major – Part One

Last night I sang belated Happy Birthday to Shakespeare.            

Seriously.

There was even a cake that said “To Eat or Not To Eat.”

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Every field of study has its peculiarities – engineers are known for their practicality and fondness for calculations; scientists are known for their fascination with analysis and figuring out how things work; English majors are known for – wait – what are English majors known for?

I have now been an English major for about 5 years – 3 years as an undergraduate and now going into my second year of graduate school.  As an undergraduate, my perception of English professors was shallow at best.  I saw them as well-read people who did nothing other than read and teach about what they read.  My classmates at that time were a widely varied bunch – some were English majors because it seemed like an easy major, some because they loved to read, some because they loved to write, and some seemed to have no idea why or how they even came to be English majors in the first place.   I came into the English major after a chain of other (mostly science-based) majors because I wanted to be a writer.  It wasn’t until my last 2 years of my undergraduate program, when I began taking fiction workshops, that I first felt a sense of community with my fellow English majors.

Now, in grad school, that sense of community has grown exponentially.  The professors are welcoming and supportive of my individual interests and goals; the other graduate teaching assistants share ideas and experiences; we communicate via e-mail and volunteer to work together on extra projects and meet to talk about our course readings and to study for our tests; we empathize with one another over how busy we are and exactly how difficult it is to grade 3 batches of essays after writing a 15-page term paper.   Gradually, I have come to realize the wonderful and unique sense of fellowship that comes from being among people who share the same academic interests and who have similar career goals, no matter how varied the rest of our lives may be.

And so last night I spent 5 hours at a study session/party for my Shakespeare class; we talked, we discussed the final exam – and yes, we sang belated Happy Birthday to Shakespeare, with a cake and everything.

I am an English geek, and I am not ashamed.

In fact, I am thinking of starting an English major rock band, complete with obscure lyrics that reference Shakespeare and Samuel Beckett.  We will change the stereotype of English professors as bookish, solitary scholars; we will glory in our literary geekdom and declare it to the world!

Then again, maybe we’ll just sit in our offices and grade student essays…

Meanwhile, in the spirit of embracing stereotypes in amusing new ways, check out “An Engineer’s Guide to Cats.” 

Stay tuned for next week’s “Confessions of an English Major – Part Two: You Know You’re an English Major When…”

Comments

From Rachel -- May 13, 2008

I watched that video when you mentioned it on your pleonast...and somehow I just ended up watching the whole thing again. Youtube will not be good for my exams results! I'm sort of the same way about Geography..I really secretly think it would be cool to come up with a really ground breaking theory on somthing most people are rather unenthused about! It's good to be a geek.

April 19, 2008

This will be the final episode in the “Things You Can Learn from Working with Animals” mini-series.

                In the previous segments of this series, I have tried to pare down some of the lessons I’ve learned over the years by interacting with and observing animals.   Animals have always been a large part of my life, and though they have their own ways of communicating which seem unintelligible at times, I’ve found that there is a certain level of innate practicality which animals possess, from which can be extrapolated many lessons to those of us who so complicate our day to day lives.

                Though I could go on for many more weeks, I feel this mini-series has run its course.  As such, I have prepared this, my final entry of “Things You Can Learn from Working with Animals.”  I hope you have found this mini-series worthwhile to read; next week will begin a new topic for this column.

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The fourth and final episode in “Things You Can Learn from Working with Animals”: 

Fragments from the Heart of an Animal Lover – Animals I’ll Never Forget

The one who taught me compassion – and loss:

My first pet was a small kitten named Patches, a grey and black patchwork runt of the litter in whom I invested my affections immediately.  He was huddled alone in the corner of the box, expelled from the fray of kittens bustling for their mother’s milk, alone, unfed, and shivering.  I bottle fed him when his mother, the calico, rejected him; I held him and cuddled him and wrapped him carefully in a blanket, watching over him with a maternal care.  I gave him every attention I possibly could, hoping against all odds that my tiny kitten was a fighter, that I could help him survive in spite of being frail and half-starved and shunned by his mother and his siblings.  He died a few days later – my first pet, and my first personal experience with death.  We buried him in our backyard.  I was four years old.

The one who taught me flexibility:

I own a pet prairie dog, a quirky birthday present from an old high school boyfriend who I’ve now had for eight years – the prairie dog, that is; the boyfriend was out of the picture years ago.  My prairie dog, Gimmick, has never ceased to amaze me, being unexpectedly intelligent (a rodent who knows his name, comes when I call him, and even begs on command), extremely social, and full of personality.  But most of all, he has taught me the importance of flexibility; he is unbelievably idiosyncratic, even for a prairie dog. 

They told me prairie dogs could be trained to walk on leads; when a lead is placed on Gimmick, he plants his bottom firmly on the ground and refuses to move.  They told me prairie dogs liked to walk in plastic balls; he abhors them, and instead of walking will dig at the bottom of the ball until his claws bleed.  They told me he needed a wheel in his cage for exercise; I put in a wheel and he refused to use it. I then put baby carrots in the spokes of the wheel and set him inside, hoping he’d eat one, walk to the next one, and so on, until he got used to the wheel moving.  Instead, he stubbornly stepped out of the wheel, stood on his hind legs beside it, and rotated the wheel with one paw, grabbing the carrots from between the bars as he turned the wheel.  He won’t be still; he’s uneasy with strangers; he has a fiery temper – but he’ll do anything for a peanut.

 And so it is that I managed to break him of his terrible habit of viciously attacking me when I put him back in his cage.  When he went to bite me, I stuck a peanut in his mouth and dragged him by it right into the open cage door.  It worked – he wouldn’t let go of a peanut for anything, and he couldn’t bite when his mouth was full. 

Eventually he no longer needed the peanuts; now he is the world’s sweetest prairie dog, he hasn’t bitten anyone in years, and he loves to cuddle up in my lap and be scratched just under his chin.   He learned to control his temper (he now gives a warning yip when he’s upset), and I learned to adapt training methods to his personality (I keep peanuts handy at all times, just in case). 

We have achieved a careful symbiosis which has proven to be quite a rewarding relationship.  There’s nothing quite like coming home to hear a prairie dog excitedly barking at the sound of my voice, or to hear his echoing “YIP” whenever I cough or sneeze, a greeting that takes the force of his whole body, flinging his front paws upward into the air and bringing him upright on his hind legs.   There is no pet quite like a prairie dog, but if I’d given up instead of deciding to be flexible, I never would have known just how sweet that vicious rodent in the cage could become.

The one who taught me to appreciate ferocity:

My first face-to-face encounter with a lion came during my internship rotations in the Veterinary Assisting program at my high school; I spent a week at Busch Gardens working with a variety of animals.  My time there was incredible, but the lions are my clearest memory. 

The male and female lion spent nights inside a concrete shelter, carefully divided from their trainers by a series of gates and fences, wherein the previous must be closed and locked before the next is opened.  All the precautions for safety are clearly understood in theory, but I felt their need to my very core when I first locked eyes with the male lion.  He was more enormous than I had ever imagined, each paw the size of my head, and as he paced the cage waiting for his meal his paws padded almost silently, with a kind of stealth entirely unexpected from so gigantic an animal.  His body was strong and solid, and his eyes were fierce with a wildness I’d seen only on Animal Planet or Discovery Channel, in the footage of wild feline predators stalking their prey.  

But then, the roar – I wish there were words to capture the feeling, the essence of that roar, when the trainer entered the room and called to his lions and they responded – an echoing, resounding roar that cut straight through me, which I felt vibrating in the walls and floor and in my stomach and chest and in the very air, a sensation I’ve only had previously when sitting too near the speakers at a rock concert, and yet so very different, emanating from sheer force of power of an animal standing not ten feet from me, separated by only a chain link fence.  If there is a power in the animal kingdom equal to that of a thunderstorm, it lies in the roar of a lion.

The one who taught me to respect instinct:

For years, I volunteered with the Bird of Prey show at the local zoo, working with hawks, eagles, owls, and vultures.  For over five years, I worked with the birds with no injury – until a couple of years ago, when I experienced my first owl attack.  The bird, a female barred owl, was going through a moody period and had become quite difficult to work with.  The lead trainer was out for the morning, but my husband had come in to help me with the birds, and trusting the moody owl to follow the normal routine, I weighed her and carried her outside to set her in the free flight enclosure. 

The enclosure required walking in with the owl, untethering her and setting her on a perch, and then exiting the cage.  I set her on her perch, untethered her, and turned to exit, when my husband called to me to “Look out!” I turned around and the owl lowered her wings immediately. 

“She was going to jump you,” my husband said. 

“No,” I said, “She’s fine.”  I turned back around to exit, and no sooner had I reached the door than I heard a flurry of wings and felt the gust of her downbeat just behind my head, then a heavy thud against the side of my face as her taloned foot struck me, grabbed my ear, and released. 

I dropped to my knees on the ground – owls search for the highest perch and I didn’t want to be it – and she veered off, flying up into a tree (where she waited until the lead trainer returned).  I pressed my hand to my ear; it was pouring blood.  

At first, I panicked – I had no idea how badly she had injured me; but once I managed to stop the bleeding some, I realized I was lucky.  She had gashed my ear open from just inside the ear canal out to the inner edge of my ear lobe, and had also left a cut on my neck behind my ear, but the cuts were shallow, just barely breaking the surface.   I realized then that she hadn’t attempted to hurt me – had she really tried, I might no longer have a left ear.  She had just wanted out of the cage, and I had been in her way. 

I learned that day to have a careful respect for animal instincts; they don’t follow human logic, and they don’t bend to human expectations.  I expected her to trust me, to abide by the rules of our normal routine; but she wanted out, I was in her way, and her instinct for escape outweighed any of my expectations.  Owls are independent animals; they don’t form social bonds; they are predators.  Working with owls takes a careful understanding of the balance between bird and trainer, reward and instinct, trust and fear, and a moment’s carelessness can be disastrous.

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The Reason I See Lessons in Animals (in other words, why I wrote this mini-series):

I am an animal lover.  My memories of childhood and adolescence are interwoven with memories of animals, of pets I’ve had, of my internships at vet clinics and zoos, of my time spent volunteering with the bird show.  

My track coach in high school once said that even when we left the team, running would always be a part of us – of our past, of our experience, of who we were.  I have found that to be true with running, but also with working with animals.  I may not be a veterinarian or a bird trainer; I may no longer spend my Saturdays carrying hawks, the smell of the leather glove wearing itself into my hand; but working with animals is a part of me, of my experience, of who I am, and it always will be.

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Check back next week for an entirely new column on an exciting new (and as yet undecided) topic!

April 12, 2008

(Part 3 of “Things You Can Learn from Working with Animals,” a Kaleidoscopic Contemplations mini-series)

One Poke in the Eye Can Ruin a Friendship

When I was very little, my mother and I spent an occasional Saturday at my great aunt’s house.  Visits to Aunt Francis’ house were dull – my mother and Francis spending hours talking about topics completely uninteresting to a four-year-old child – but she had a golden retriever named Teddy, whom I adored, and Teddy was the only part of the visit I looked forward to.  I remember, on many occasions, climbing through the wooden legs of the dining room chairs to join Teddy under the table, curling up against him, my child’s body just barely smaller than his, and weaving my fingers into his long fur.  I’d take naps with him that way, my head leaning on him and my fingers laced in fur, listening to him breathe softly and feeling the cold tile beneath me.

I loved that dog.  Teddy was a good and gentle dog, the perfect companion for a small child.

But one day when we came to visit Aunt Francis, Teddy had been put outside. 

“I wouldn’t go near him,” she told me, “the kids next door stuck him in the eye with a stick last week, through the fence, and he’s been growling at children ever since.”

I pressed my hands against the sliding glass door, my breath gently fogging the glass.  Teddy was curled up in a tight ball in the shadow of a large tree.  Not at me, I told myself, surely Teddy wouldn’t growl at me.

My aunt led me out into the backyard, urging me to move slowly, carefully; when we neared the tree, she told me to stand still and called Teddy over to her. 

But it was not my Teddy who approached; it was a different dog, though it looked like Teddy; it was a cowering dog, with flattened back ears and bared teeth; it was a trembling dog with its tail tucked in and its body shaking, a low but steady growl rumbling in its throat.

My Teddy was gone.

It was difficult for me to understand why Teddy couldn’t discern me, his friend, from the children who had treated him cruelly; and to my four-year-old sensibility, it was the greatest injustice in the world that one cruel child with a stick could destroy all the trust and friendship Teddy and I had built.

But then I guess it’s not so different in adult life, or in relationships with people.  One careless word can take years to smooth over, just as one poke in a dog’s eye can ruin a cherished friendship.

Comments

From Emily -- April 12, 2008

That was really sad!  But the point was well made.  I liked it

 very much :)



From Jason -- May 14, 2008


It can ruin more than a friendship.

 

April 5, 2008

Episode 2 in “Things You Can Learn from Working with Animals,” a Kaleidoscopic Contemplations mini-series:

Birds Don’t Need Calculus

It may seem odd for an English teacher to talk about Calculus, but I haven’t always been an English teacher.  In fact, at one point, I was – gasp!—a Biology major.  While this is neither the time nor place to discuss the interesting chain of events which led from Bio major to English teacher, I mention this as an explanation for how I ended up in a Life Science Calculus 2 class, with an assignment to “Write an equation which applies Calculus to the real world.”

Having always been more language-minded than math-minded, I was slightly overwhelmed by the assignment.  The project required that I find an expert in my field who could approve the project (confirm that it had real-life relevance), so I decided to utilize my experience with animals.  For years, I had been volunteering as a bird trainer at the local zoo’s bird show, so I decided to create an equation to plot the trajectories of bird flight paths, with the goal of figuring out when and where to release two different birds in order to have them meet mid-air at a certain location.

And so I began my project.  I will spare you most of the brain-bleeding details, but in the end, I completed the equation just before my brain imploded from exhaustion – it was nearly 10 pages.  10 pages … of math.

For those of you unfamiliar with Calculus, let me just say that it is not uncommon for a Calculus equation to be many pages in length.  They are very complex equations, with multiple steps in the process.  However, in spite of its normality in the Calculus world, when it comes down to it, my project was still just, well, 10 pages of math…which, for someone as right-brained as me, was a bit unsettling.

So then came the test – could it be applied to the real world?  

I took my project proudly to the lead animal trainer for the bird show at the zoo, and explained it to him.  He looked through it, very impressed, then said:

“This is wonderful, but we would never use Calculus for this.  We’d just use trial and error.”

In all honesty, I wasn’t very surprised at his response.  After all, why use a complicated Calculus equation when you can jump directly to the practical application?  The birds had been flying in the show for years without the aid of higher-level math.

In the end, he signed off on my project as “applicable to the real world,” and I turned it in to my Calculus professor, with full knowledge that my beautiful math might have been “applicable,” but not practical.

So what can be learned from all of this?  In my mind, this breaks down into 2 basic lessons:

1. Avoid overcomplicating things.

If a problem can be fixed simply, be thankful!  There’s no need to spend countless hours writing 10 pages of math to figure out a problem that could have been solved with 30 minutes of trial and error.  I think this applies to many things in life, from relationships to minor day to day situations; deal with the issue at hand, fix the problem however it can be fixed, and don’t worry about the “math” behind it.

    2.   Birds don’t need calculus.

Put simply, nature balances it itself.  If a bird needs to fly, it will fly.  Birds don’t need to understand the math behind their flight trajectories in order to learn a behavior and perform it correctly.  They learn the behavior because they get rewarded for doing so; they fly because they are designed to fly; and they never bother with understanding the physics or mathematics of any of it.   People, on the other hand, often suffer from the “Can’t see the forest for the trees” Syndrome – we get so stuck on details or analysis that we miss the beauty of simple application.

Don’t get me wrong, science and math are incredible tools for learning, and they can help us to understand so much about the world we live in.  But sometimes, we need a reminder that while we’re pondering the science of bird flight, the birds are out there flying.

Comments

From Graham -- April 5, 2008

Thank you for clearing up a simple problem I have with theAmerican version 

of English. You refer to 'Mathematics' (plural - a wordwhich you used near 

the end) but shorten it to 'Math'. The correctBritish shorten 'Mathematics'

to 'Maths', thus preserving the plural form.Your clarification came when I 

saw that you only did ONE thing. In UK schools we do many sums: add-ups,

take-aways, times and shares, during our lessons. You obviously sweat all 

lesson long just doing one. Well it saves the brain from overheating! Which 

is why America now leads the world; you don't wear out as fast as we do.

March 29, 2008

Things You Can Learn From Working with Animals

A “Kaleidoscopic Contemplations” mini-series

For the next few weeks, I will be focusing my entries on the theme of “Things You Can Learn From Working with Animals.” 

Having had a variety of experiences with species from hamsters to dolphins to komodo dragons, I find that there are many lessons to be learned from human-animal interactions.  This week’s entry will focus on the epitome of incompliance, the cat.

If You Can Teach a Cat to Sit, You Can Do Almost Anything

(Formerly titled “x 0020 fgt”*)

I don’t know how many of you have cats, but for those of you who don’t, let me provide a brief explanation of the nature of the domesticated feline.

Cats are, in general, stubborn, difficult to motivate toward any particular desired behavior, even more difficult to de-motivate toward any un-desired behavior, crafty, finicky, and usually fairly snooty.  I recently asked a friend to tell me in one word how he would describe a cat – he said, “Obnoxious.”

Yet for all their “obnoxious” qualities, I find that cats have a certain charm.  I’ve owned cats nearly my entire life.  I got my first kitten when I was about three years old, and I’ve had a total of 8 pet cats in my life, or about 20 if you count litters of kittens kept briefly and then given to good homes.   Why do I find cats charming?  Well, it’s true that they are independent, low-maintenance, useful predators (assuming they prey on things you want killed), and adorable whenever they choose to be.   But none of these reasons are why I really like cats. 

My main attraction to cats, honestly, is the challenge.  Unlike dogs, cats are resistant to nearly every type of training.   I think this is a fact which is sorely underestimated.

For some inexplicable reason, there is a leash law on cats in my neighborhood.  I don’t know if any of you have ever attempted to train a cat to walk on a leash (obviously the people who thought up this law never did!), but I have.  In fact, I tried it with three different cats.  The result?  One fat cat lying in the road stubbornly refusing to move, one cat which viciously attacked my hands any time I approached with the collar (maybe that’s where that mysterious scar on my hand came from), and another cat which came so near to choking itself by pulling incessantly at its collar (all the while also attacking me viciously) that my father actually called 9-1-1 for help.

Being the law-abiding citizens we are, we then decided to keep our cats inside so as to avoid violating the leash law.  Indoor cats are fine, if they’re used to being indoor cats.  Outdoor cats attempted to be made indoor cats are another story.   We put in a cat door which led out to a nice screened-in porch to allow the cats free access to fresh air; one cat actually ripped through the screen with his tooth -- one feline fang, straight through the metal screen.  If you’ve never seen a cat tear through something with one tooth, I recommend watching it sometime.  It’s a demonstration of sheer determination.  We then attempted to patch the screen… multiple times.   It was an effort in futility. For every patched hole, my cat made at least two new ones.  Eventually, a hurricane knocked loose part of the screen on a corner of the porch and we decided to just to leave it; now my cat goes in and out of the porch as he pleases. 

My current cat used to meow constantly: if he wanted attention, he meowed.  If he wanted food, he meowed.  If he wanted water, he meowed.  If he wanted to go out the side door instead of the cat door, he meowed.  If he brought in a lizard, he meowed… and so on.  You get the point.  Any attempt to scold him for meowing would be answered with – you guessed it – more meowing.

This is not a unique phenomenon.  Cats are, in a word, incompliant.

It is for this very reason that I take such pride in declaring that I have triumphed over the feline mentality; I have quelled the feline temperament and bested the beast!  How, you ask?  I taught my cat to sit.  On command.

That’s right.  On command.  My cat listens to me now!

How did I achieve such an unbelievable feat?  Well… let me tell you…. It took hard work, and patience, and gentle correction, and …

Those of you who have ever tried to train a cat are shaking your heads about now.

The truth is, it was a combination of pure luck, persistence, and a twinge of insanity that comes when you start talking to your cat as if it can understand you.  Oh yeah, and something I like to call the belly rub maneuver.

Basically, this is how it went down: 

First, I happened to land myself with a cat that has a genuinely good temperament.  He actually likes attention (imagine that!), and he responds well to praise.  In fact, he pretty much follows me around like a puppy (he’s a very uncatlike cat).

Second, my husband and I applied a very complicated training technique:  we ignored him.  That’s right; let those snooty cats have a taste of their own medicine!   Seriously, though… any time he meowed, we purposefully walked away or turned around and ignored him.  Cats are very clever, and they quickly figure out when their manipulation tactics aren’t working.

Finally (and this is the secret weapon of cat training!), I used the belly rub maneuver.  For those of you with cats, I recommend thinking very carefully about your own safety before attempting this.  The basic principle is to humble the cat; let it know who’s in charge!  You pick up the cat, and (gently!) roll it over onto its back in your lap.  You then hold the scruff of its neck with one hand, and pet its stomach with the other hand.  If your attempt is successful (meaning the cat doesn’t maul you before twisting away and glaring at you malevolently), the cat will understand that he has been placed into a position of submission.  With enough repetition, the cat will eventually renounce his claim as all-powerful ruler of your household, and settle into his new role as the obedient feline.

After that, the cat is fully prepared to receive any repetitive command training you desire to offer.  Combine vocal commands with specific hand gestures; repeat and watch the cat try everything it can think of until it stumbles upon the correct action.  Reward its success with some petting and catnip-flavored treats, and you will soon see the fruits of your efforts.

My cat and I have a wonderful relationship now.  He is affectionate and loving; he comes when I call him, he sits when I tell him (we’re still working on “lie down”), and whenever he wants water, he sits politely by his bowl and waits for it to be brought to him. 

I have achieved something rare – I have made my cat compliant.

So… what can be learned from all of this? 

Well, first of all, none of this would have worked if my cat and I hadn’t already established a basis of trust.  Had he not already been eager to please me, when I tried to teach him to sit, he would have just stared at me coldly in that way that cats do, and walked off with his tail twitching.  This likely has larger applications to life in general… I’ll leave you to figure that part out. 

Secondly, of course, it shows the need for patience in any situation.  As impossible a task as it seemed to train a cat to sit, through persistence it was accomplished.

Thirdly, it demonstrates that even the most stubborn of creatures can become a pleasant companion, if you can only figure out the source of the problem and find a way to deal with it.  In the case of the cats, this problem would be an annoying feeling of superiority.  Understanding the problem is half the battle.

But the main point, I think, is that if it’s possible to train a cat to sit, then surely it’s possible to do nearly anything.  Perhaps any situation in life can, like a non-compliant cat, be fixed with persistence, understanding, and a bit of belly rubbing.

-------

* “x 0020 fgt” was what the first draft of this column actually said – the result of banging forehead and hands on the keyboard in frustration.  I think I improved it a bit in revision.

Comments

From Arthur -- March 29, 2008

I wonder if belly rubbing would work with insane dogs too...
hmm...

Good article though! I look forward to the next installment.

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From Rachel -- March 31, 2008

Makes me want another pet soon!!

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From Sarah -- April 1, 2008

Things I've learned from my dog:

That the lowest you can get is to be despised by a jack russell.

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March 22, 2008

“Get Your Twitter Out of My Face”[1]:

An examination of the online status-update phenomenon

        “Lacy is feeling blue,” “Marvin is at the airport,” “Jen wonders where her left shoe is.”  It’s happening on Facebook and on blogs all across the ‘net: the online status update.  But what motivates people to post their moment-to-moment thoughts and feelings?  And what makes these seemingly inconsequential updates so interesting to read?  Let’s face it, the online status update is remarkably popular, both to the posters and to the readers.  In fact, it’s become so popular as to warrant its own website: Twitter.

          Twitter is a social networking site with a purpose similar to that of Facebook: to keep people connected.  However, unlike Facebook, Twitter doesn’t bother with complex profiles and add-on applications; Twitter has one primary function – to provide a forum for continual status updates.  On Twitter, you can update your status as often as you like, and you can set your account to be visible publicly, or only to those you choose to add.  Through Twitter, you can network with friends and family and stay informed as to what every person is doing at every moment.

         It’s undeniable that having such direct, immediate access to the events in loved ones’ lives provides a sense of connectedness; it bridges the gap of time and distance, making it feel as though everyday occurrences are shared experiences. 

        This sense of interconnectedness is one of the marvels and great benefits of today’s internet-dependent society.  I am astonished by the ability this technology has to bring families and friends closer together – that is, until I realize that before Twitter and Facebook, I may have actually just picked up the phone and called the person.  While I believe online networking sites like Facebook and Twitter do have great benefit, especially to those with hectic schedules, there still is something lacking in replacing a phone call or conversation with a maximum-140-character status update.

        However, my main concern lies in the underlying principles the online status updates of sites like Twitter seem to be communicating.  Twitter includes a “Find and Follow” feature which allows members to look up other people and add them to a “follow” list.  While there are safety features, including the ability to block unwanted followers, I can’t help but be startled by the whole vernacular of the thing.  It’s a bit of a “creepy” factor:  the very language used in “find and follow” evokes the idea of stalking, and brings to my mind images of shadowy figures with cell phones following behind me down the street, tracking my every move as I post updates on where I’ve been and what I’m doing. 

        I realize this is an exaggeration.  Most people, at least any with sense, would not post every move they make at any given moment.  But that brings me to my next question, which is: What do people use Twitter for?

       Unlike the picture I’ve painted above, people don’t really use updates for moment-to-moment occurrences.  Rather, they pick and choose events from their lives, carefully selecting which to post about so as to portray a particular image.  “I just saw an SUV get hit by an umbrella” makes a person’s life seem much more interesting than “I just ate a bowl of cereal.”

        One of my professors recently suggested having our entire graduate class register with Twitter and post hourly updates, describing exactly what we are doing every hour, on the hour.  Though I felt it would be a fascinating experiment, I can’t deny that the thought of sharing my hourly activities with a group of strangers made me anxious.  Yet I willingly post status updates on Facebook regularly.  What’s the difference? The difference is the freedom of selective self-depiction: I am free to choose when and what I post.  I am free to use my status updates to construct an online persona, filtering my everyday experience and presenting only what I choose to display to others.

         This is part of what makes status updates on sites like Twitter and Facebook so popular: the fascination of creating a tailor-made version of yourself for others to behold, and then viewing the depiction others choose to present of themselves.

         This brings up another question: Why do we feel compelled to present our daily events in the first place?  This question evokes the entire issue of blogging, of why people feel compelled to publicly post what used to be considered the private and personal.  I believe it all relates back to a desire for interconnectedness, to share our lives with others and to have others share their lives with us, to feel as though our lives are interesting and significant and worth others’ attention, be that friends, family, or even strangers.

         One last thing: in our world of wireless technology, the Twitter phenomenon is nothing new.  The public announcement of daily events to present a particular self-image has been going on for years with the help of cell phones.  Apparently, many people fake cell phone calls to draw attention to themselves and appear more popular or busy.  An April 2005 CBS News article states that many cell phone “yakkers” are, indeed, faking it.[2]  A New York Times article from that same month declares that one-fourth of a Rutgers University class admitted to faking cell phone calls when out in public.[3]  Wikihow.com even suggests that fakers have a “clever quip prepared” for when a person passes by to overhear the conversation[4]. 

         Apparently, the Twitter phenomenon is old news: for years, people have been employing whatever technology was available in order to create a more favorable public image, proclaiming carefully chosen statements, and throwing their “Twitter” in others’ faces; the only difference is that now it’s done online, to a much wider public.  (And unlike an annoying cell-phone talker we might be stuck in an elevator with, online updates allow us to pick and choose whose updates we “follow.”)

       The next time you see a status update online (or post one yourself), pause and ask: What image is being conveyed here?  Why this update, and why now?  I think there is a fascinating amount of information to be gleaned from an examination of what we post, when we post, and why.