I'd never owned a small-breed dog before Zoe, so, after we got her, I was surprised to learn that she had hair instead of fur. That meant she had to be clipped regularly (hair won't stop growing at a set length like fur), and, since hair doesn't insulate well, she needed cold-weather clothes.
Well, okay then. I found a place that sold discounted dog clothes and set out to persuade Jay that I had to buy them. But even after showing him copious amounts of hair vs fur data, he remained unconvinced.
He (slowly, as if I have difficulty comprehending English): She doesn't need clothes. She's a dog.
Me (earnestly): But because she was bred to have hair, she can't handle cold weather.
He (persistently): She's a dog.
Me (with a little tear): She shouldn't have to suffer because selective breeding ensured she doesn't have fur to keep her warm.
He (rolling his eyes at the little tear): She's a dog. I'm sure her 'hair' will keep her warm, even in the snow.
At this point, we could have argued until the most determined person wore the other person out. In this case, I knew that I was the most determined person (especially since this issue involved altruistic shopping), but since I don't like arguing with Jay, I decided to agree with him.
Me (relenting, with a sigh): You know, honey, you have a point. She is a dog.
He (gratified): Yes, she is.
Me (agreeably): And, maybe, in spite of the research to the contrary, her body hair will keep her warm in the wind, rain, and snow.
He (nodding with satisfaction at my capitulation): I'm sure it will.
(Long pause)
Me (brightly): You know, sweetie, I just remembered from High School Biology that the human body is entirely covered in hair except for the palms, soles, and eyelids.
He: It's not the same thing.
Me (firmly): Hair is hair. If her hair can keep her warm, then your hair can keep you warm. From now on, the only thing you need is a loincloth, no matter what the weather.
He: Now, listen---
Me (happily): Think of the money we'll save when you stop wearing pants, shirts, sweaters, and coats!
He (shaking his head, mumbling): Oh, no. What ideas did I just put in her head?
Me (humbly): Thank you, oh, wise husband, for setting me straight about this 'hair can keep a body warm in the winter' stuff. I was wrong; you were right.
(He rubs his face, groaning.)
Me (warmly musing): Think of how cute you two will look taking long walks in the snow--her in nothing but a bow, and you in nothing but skivvies.
He (throwing his hands in the air): If you promise that you won't donate all my clothes while I'm at work, then you can get her a couple of shirts or sweaters or whatever.
Which was a silly thing to say since I wouldn't have donated all of his clothes; I would have left him some undies for modesty's sake. But I do love a man who is willing to change his mind, so I let the comment go. Besides, I was already shopping!
Jay flatly refused to walk the dog while only wearing his boxers so I could take a photo to illustrate this post, so, sadly, I can only show you pictures of Zoe.
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Verse of the day: (Isaiah 61:10) "I delight greatly in the Lord; my soul rejoices in my God. For He has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of His righteousness..." Which is the best attire in all circumstances.
For more stories about Zoe (and/or Jay), click on Comical Cone of Contentment, But She Likes It!, and Pranking the Human.
For another story about when Jay abruptly changed his mind after I quite graciously agreed with him, click here.
Another thing puzzling about the South--you can't find your way anywhere without a native guide. Here's what directions sound like down yonder:
"Oh, sugar, it's so easy to get here. You go down Rocky River Road and pass Eddie's house. You remember Eddie with the old, blue pickup? Before you get to the Fire Station (Lord, bless those boys!), you turn right. After you pass that little church that gives the free hot dog lunches on Wednesdays (Those folks are sweet as marshmallow yams on Thanksgiving!), you'll see Lost Boy Road. (I wonder what happened to that poor, poor lost boy. Do you think they ever found him? Bless his heart.) Keep going until you get to that road that takes you to Bubba's Market. (Bubba's has the best pulled pork. Mm-mm, makes my mouth water.) Turn left. Then you'll get to a four-way stop of Hydrangea Church Road, Hydrangea Creek Road, Hydrangea Creek Church Road, and Hydrangea Hollow. You want Hydrangea Creek Road. After you pass the third magnolia tree, the name changes to Coonsville Road. Then you pass a big stump that looks like an owl scratching his armpit--that's where you turn in. The house is about a mile down. Now, there's only one lane, so if someone is coming, you have to back up to the main road. We won't get back until Henry John gets a deer, so, just let yourself in with the key in left boot on the front porch and make yourself at home. Just don't let the one-eyed raccoon in--he's charming as all get out, but he makes such a mess."
Just after Jay and I were married, my dad drove from the West to bring some of my things in a U-Haul and stayed a couple of weeks. Jay had to work on the first Sunday Dad was here, so Jay told us how to get to church. The directions were surprisingly easy to follow, and I was happy when we turned right off of Mallard Creek Church Road into our church's parking lot on time.
After church, Dad and I logically tried to reverse the directions Jay gave us. However, when we turned left out of the church parking lot, to our surprise, we weren't on Mallard Creek Church Road but on Prosperity Church Road.
Confused, I called Jay, but the firefighters were out on a call, so he didn't answer. Then I saw a sign for Mallard Creek Road veering to the left and quickly told Dad to take it. It abruptly turned into Odell Road and then into Derita Road.
Finally, Jay answered his phone and said, casually, "Oh, I forgot to tell you. Mallard Creek Church Road's name changes into Prosperity Church Road two-thirds of the way down. And it sounds like you turned on Mallard Creek Road, not Mallard Creek Church Road. You have to turn around."
We did. There were two intersecting signs: Mallard Creek Rd and Mallard Creek Ch Rd. Like people could remotely catch the "Ch" tacked on the end as they're hurtling down the road.
We got on Mallard Creek Ch Rd and continued home.
We were making good time until we tried to find Back Creek Church Road. No such sign existed.
After almost an hour of driving aimlessly (I say "aimless" only because I didn't want to admit that our aim was to find a road that apparently no longer existed), we got a hold of Jay again.
He replied, "Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you. Back Creek Church Road is called Pavilion Boulevard if you're coming from the other direction."
Seriously?
You might think that getting a GPS solved our location issues. Unfortunately, the South has driven our GPS (Michelle) to drink. Tipsy on moonshine, here are some directions she's given us:
"In 20 feet, turn right, turn left." Not even "Sorry. The truth is that in 20 feet I have no idea which way you're supposed to turn."
In the space of two seconds, she said, "Turn right, turn left, turn right," as we were driving over a bridge.
As we passed through a grove of tightly packed oak trees, she commanded, "Turn left now. Turn left now. Turn left now!"
Yesterday, we received a Social Security claim for our GPS Michelle citing disability caused by excessive and unjustifiable mental stress.
Bless her heart.
Verse of the day: (Isaiah 30:20-21) "As soon as He hears, He will answer you... Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a Voice behind you, saying, 'This is the way; walk in it.'” At least God's instructions are clear.
For previous stories about the South, see Bald Peanuts, Ready Set...Ready Again Set Again, The Mysterious "Poke Lawn," and Going Postal-Southern Style.
