A Day in the Life of Snickers

Hello, my name is Snickers. I have just recently acquired a new family. So far I like them, especially the one they call "Rizzo". I am mostly black, with a golden belly, and beautiful golden legs. My paws are quite huge (if I do say so myself), and my ears flop just right. But enough about me, let's get to the start of the story.

One day I was with all of my brothers and sisters, happily playing away, when this strange lady walked into my home. She carried a cardboard box with a towel in it, and I sniffed it. It smelled like nothing I had ever smelled before. After exchanging greetings with my family and our masters, she picked me up and put me in the strange box. I was too busy sniffing the inside of the box to know that I was being carried away from my home. By the time I had found all of the smells in the box, I realized I was in a strange moving thing. It scared me, so I lifted up my nose and howled. I howled for a long time before the moving thing stopped. Then the strange lady picked up my box, and carried me into a strange place. Four other small people were in the strange place, and they picked me up and cuddled me. I liked that. I licked their faces, and the strange lady's face too. The strange lady buckled a red collar on me. It is very pretty, and I look very nice. Then the small people put me in a wire house. There was a pink rope in it, and a small bone. I was very happy. Then, the Beast came!

The Beast was a large dog, like my mother, only bigger. At first he did not know who I was, and so he growled at me. I was scared, so I howled. The strange lady got very mad at him, and I was quiet, knowing that I was protected. The Beast was very penitent, and sniffed me very meekly. I snapped at him, because I did not want him to growl at me again. He licked me, and then we were friends.

Since then I have learned that the strange lady's name is Mom. Four of the small people are called Brittany, Chrissy, John and Suzy. A few days after I came to this strange place, a medium person came. Her name is Betsey. She is very nice, too. I am also hearing talk about another person, whose name is Daddy. How many people are in this family? Every day as soon as I wake up, one of the small people takes me outside. Then I come back in, and chomp on my breakfast. I get to go outside lots every day, and sometimes I am allowed to go see the strange birds that are fat and make funny noises. I am glad that I am not a bird.

One of my favorite games used to be that I would pick up my water bowl by the side, and drag it all over the floor. It made a big mess, and was very fun. Then the medium person gave me a shiny bowl that can't tip. It is not so fun, in fact I do not like it.

I have learned that the Beast is called Rizzo. He and I are great friends. He lets me climb on top of him, and jump on his side, and run with him. His nose is an excellent chew toy. He likes to steal my toys out of my mouth, but it is only because I am tired of them. Everywhere we go, Rizzo and I wrestle together.

I dearly love to chew, but the people do not like it as well as I do. There is a delicious piano leg that is my favorite, but every time I chew it, my people get very mad at me. So I think I will stop. I also like to practice my howl. It is coming along very nicely. My people do not like it very much, so I try to howl quietly.

This is my life so far, and I love it. There are big hills in the back of my house, with lot of trees and promising smells. My people say that when I get bigger, I can go there, so I am growing just as fast as I can. Oh my goodness, Rizzo is here! I must go now. Bye!

Snow!

Mom and I had just finished a chick flick late at night, and we decided to take just one last look at Facebook. (Famous last words, right?) One of her friend's status was about "it's snowing, and I wouldn't have known had I not logged on to good ol' FB". So we were like hmmm, let's take a look outside. Sure enough, the deck was covered and lacy snowflakes were still falling. Racing back to the computer we typed in "Ditto! That just happened to us!!".
So the next morning, sleds were unearthed, patched up, and filled with air. Coats were buttoned, scarves wound around necks, and boots pulled onto feet. At the last minute, I couldn't find any gloves that would fit me. The only ones that were left were a very small glove and a big pink glove. And the Great Glove Fight began. Each person explained in depth why they of all people could not give up their gloves; then they all questioned why couldn't someone else give up their gloves; at the same time bemoaning the fact that today of all days I couldn't find any and was I sure I had looked hard enough; you get the picture. Eventually we arrived at a solution: Suzy gave John one of her mittens in exhange for the small glove I had found; John gave me one of his gloves; I gave Britt the big pink glove in exchange for one of her gloves, and we were all happy.
The next two days were spent racing down the tracks, giving Bob the snowman a makeover, and screaming at the top of our lungs. The only thing that slightly marred our enjoyment was Rizzo. He never could figure out that we were having fun; he kept trying to catch us and stop us when we were sledding. Silly boy, but what else can you expect of a dog who dips his nose in the snow, then licks it to get a drink? He did look magnificent against the white snow, though.
A funny incident happened when I was sledding down the hill. Britt pushed me off before John could get out of the way, so I shot down the hill and bumped into him. Naturally he fell down, and by some weird reflex clutched the handle. I continued on my merry way screaming, with my arms flailing, and John dragging behind. He held on all the way to the bottom. Later Britt said it looked like I was dragging him by his head.

 The three younger ones walking down the "shortcut". A pileup!

Weird huh? The snow kept blowing up in my face when I slid down the hill.

Suzers!

 My three-year-old puppy.


Bob the snowman

Suzers

Today's featured family member is.......Suzy! Affectionately known as Suzers, SuzyQ, Suzybelle, and Suze. A little blonde-headed pixie, she bounces around creating sunshine for us all. Her laugh is the most infectious thing ever, and she is extremely ticklish. She and John are buds, and oftentimes she will condescend to let me hug her. For Christmas she gave me a story that she had written herself, entitled "Betsey and her puppies" complete with illustrations. She loves the first grade, and is super smart, getting all A's in everything. Her fashion sense is rather interesting; she never wears matching socks, and the colors of her clothes must never match (except for church). 

For the first two years of her life, she and I shared a room together. It was an awesome deal for me, since I got most of the room to arrange as I pleased, and only had to put up with her napping schedule. I was a very callous big sister, always sleeping through her cries; Mom had to come soothe her. As Suzy got older, she would occasionally sleep in my bed with me, which was very pleasant. (One time though, I woke up to her throwing up everywhere; that was not so pleasant.)

Suzy has recently "discovered" reading, and likes to read aloud to herself. One time, I was reading with a bowl of pretzels in my lap, (there's nothing better than yummy food and a good book) and Suzy would get up, (still reading) walk slowly over to my chair, grope in my lap for a handful, then go back to her own spot. Eventually, the bowl was emptied, and I set it up on the table by my chair. So Suzy came over, and groped around for the pretzels. After about thirty seconds she finally looked up from her book and discovered that there were no more pretzels to be had!

Daddy calls her his "medicine", and when he is grumpy, a hug from her will do wonders! Altogether, she is a little "package" of joy and fun.

Adventure with Contacts

"So, young lady, how are you with sticking stuff into your eyes?" asked the doctor.
"Uuuuuum, I'm not really sure," I answered nervously.
"Well, I think you're gonna love them." He ushered me into a tiny room, more of a closet really, and pointed to the sink in the corner.
"Wash your hands."
While I busily swished and scrubbed, lathered and rinsed, he pulled down flat trays, thumbing through little blue-and-white packages. Apparently what he was looking for was there, for he tossed two little blue-and-white packages on the counter.
"Here you are, and the ladies will be right in to help you with those," the doctor said.
After pointing me to a chair, he left the room/closet while I pulled out miles and miles of white paper towels--not real ones, just those cheap, thin excuses for paper towels--to dry my hands. I had disposed of the excuses for paper towels, and seated myself in the chair, when a lady in a white lab coat walked through the door.
After the usual pleasantries, formalities, and how-do-ye-dos, we settled down to business. She pulled up a magnifying mirror, and I took one look.
I am supposed to stare into that thing while I put contacts in? I thought. You've got to be kidding. I can see all the way up my nose! I am going to die.As it turns out, I wasn't going to die. Not yet, anyway. The lady told me to open my little blue-and-white packages. There was a little white arrow in a corner of each, which obviously meant to pull the wrapper up there. I pulled, and it wouldn't open. So I stuck my nail under the wrapper, and it still wouldn't open. Not because of the wrapper, but because of my violinist nail, which is really not a nail at all. (If that makes any sense at all.) Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I was able to open up the package, and was staring down into a little tub of water with what seemed like the top of a jellyfish inside. The lady told me to take off my glasses, and I obeyed. Then she told me to take out the little top-of-a-jellyfish-that-was-really-a-contact and place it on the tip of my finger.
"What contact?" I asked.
"It's right in there, can't you see it?"
"No," I said.
The lady then told me to put my glasses on, take the contact and place it on the tip of my finger. I put my glasses on, so far so good. I then tried to take the contact out of the solution and place it on the tip of my finger. No go. Mr. Contact wanted to stay in the solution, and when I got him out, he wanted to stay plastered to my finger, and not raise up in a nice little bowl. Or he wanted to pretend he was a flying saucer and tilt lopsidedly all over my finger. I finally ended up giving Mr. Contact a nice little talking to, and then he settled down.
Then the lady told me to take my fingers, pull my top eyelid up, take my other hand and pull my bottom eyelid down, and place the contact in my eye, creating a gruesome spectacle.
My goodness, I thought, I've got to make myself look like that and do all those things at the same time? Oh well, the price of beauty, I guess...
So, for the price of beauty, I endeavored to make myself look like that and do all those things at the same time. And, guess what, it did not work. Big surprise! I mean, who on earth expects a person to make themselves look like that and do all those things at the same time on the first try? Absolutely no one. Except, of course, perfectionists. Who are really disillusioned people. But that's getting off subject.
So I tried again. And a third time. And a fourth. And a fifth, and a sixth, and a seventh, and an eighth, and a ninth, and so on. After about the fifteenth try, the lady suggested I try the other eye. So I did that for about twenty tries, and then switched eyes again. During this time I had received lots of helpful advice from the lady, my mom, and the eye doctor. I had also received a couple of "whoa, you look wierd"'s from my middle sister. Not to mention I had used up about fifty tissues in dabbing at my tearing eyes and running nose. I had also sprinkled about five gallons worth of contact solution all over the table, and on my face. But I was not going to give up. We Karakos may be a sinful lot, in fact we ARE a sinful lot, but we are not quitters. So I kept pulling, and poking, and blinking, and rubbing, and finally I managed to pop one contact in my eye.
"Whoa," I exclaimed. "I can SEE!!"
"All right," said the lady, "See, that wasn't so bad. Now we just have to get the other one in."
Being able to see a little bit, even if it is only out of one eye, helped a lot. I got the second contact in after about fifteen tries! New record! Fireworks, confetti, skywriting, parades, and general happiness prevailed. I was ecstatic. I could see EVERYTHING!! There was no line around my vision that dictated the boundaries of my sight. There was just clearness everywhere. I mean, sure it felt like I had flexible frisbees in my eyes, and the world was focussing like a stuck record, but I could see. That is the main point of this whole story. It's like, DUH, if I can't see, it's end of story. In fact, there would be no story.
In the midst of my celebration, I heard this voice penetrate the mists of happiness:
"Now, we just have to see you take them out."
"I'm sorry, I think I heard you incorrectly. Did you just say I had to take these OUT???"
"Mm-hm."
"But, but, but, but, but, I just worked so HARD," I wailed.
I was informed that I would still have to take them out, so it was no use pretending I was a broken boat motor. So, with a sigh, I sat back down and prepared to undo all my hard work.
And, staying with the usual trend of this story, it took about forty tries on each eye before I was able to pluck a contact out. I had received advice from everyone listed above, with the addition of a new lady, and a couple more "whoa you look wierd"s. And then I had to put it back in, so I could at least walk home without tripping over the floor. Fortunately I succeeded after about three tries that time. After I had collected my little bottle of solution, my purse, my former eyes, and all my various paraphenalia, I staggered out of the door, and into the great big world. For the first time in 10 years, I was walking in public without my glasses on, and able to see. So, doing what any normal person would do who had been unable to wear them for ten years, I headed straight for the sunglasses department. I picked out a pair of big, white, sparkly sunglasses without looking at the price tag, and bought them. Then I strutted out of the store, a new person.

And so, dear readers, the moral of my story is that if at first you don't succeed, try try again. And always remember that no matter how much it may seem to the contrary, YOU are the boss of your contacts.

The End

Note: This event occured in early August.