Torture the Little Children
What are they teaching kids at school these days?
My 10-year-old #1 son told me a tale on the way home from
school. He babbled on about a story he read in a school library
book. A car hit a deer on the highway. A boy who was doing
community service at Jackie's Wild Seattle, a wildlife rescue and
rehabilitation center, ran down to the road and found it. With the
instructions of an adult worker, who had an arm injury and
couldn't do it himself, the kid cut a fawn out of the dead deer's
belly. The fawn survived. The car's driver was a newspaper
reporter, and wrote a story on how the kid saved the fawn.
"And he was in trouble before, kind of a juvenile delinquent,
Mom."
"What did he do?"
"Well, there was this stray dog, and he hit it on the back with
a stick, and accidentally broke its back."
"That's sad."
"Well, after he broke its back, it wouldn't stop whining, so he
held it underwater in a creek until it drowned."
"Mr. Teacher told us about pets he used to have. He had a bird
named "Elvis." He kept Elvis in his cage, in the kitchen. One day
his mom was cooking something in one of those non-stick pans.
She forgot about it, and all the water boiled out, and then that
stuff on the pan started to burn. They were all in different parts
of the house, and smelled the smoke. His mom turned off the stove,
and they all got out. They had to air out the house for a long time
with all the windows open. They had forgotten all about Elvis.
When Mr. Teacher remembered, he went in and found Elvis
dead in his cage."
"Are you sure that's a real story? It sounds kind of like one of
Mr. J's stories."
"No, Mr. Teacher really did have a bird named Elvis."
"So it's like the canary in the coal mine thing, where the canary
is very sensitive to gas, and if it dies, the miners need to get out?"
"No. That must be a Mr. J story. We didn't talk about a coal mine".
"Oh, and Mr. Teacher didn't have good luck with pets. He had
this little dog named Troubles. His dad let her out one night to go
to the bathroom, and then forgot to let her back in. So she was
out all night. It was winter, and she froze to death."
"Did they find her huddled up against the door, trying to get in?"
"No, she was under the car, trying to stay warm. Unsuccessfully!"
"What kind of dog was it?"
"A chihuahua, I think, or a poodle. She was 13 years old."
"Was she stiff?"
"Haha. I don't know. He didn't say."
"Was he sad about his pets?"
"I guess he was then. He said he would never get over his Troubles,
but he was laughing when he told the stories."
Hmm...#1 son is very tender-hearted about animals. Not like
#2 son, who put #1's kitten in the pan of drinking water right
after we got him. I asked him, "How could you put a cat in the
water? You know cats don't like water." And he replied, "It
wasn't my cat."
So anyhoo, #1 didn't seem too perturbed by these tales. That's
good. He cried when another kitten died, and he couldn't watch
his dad bury it. He asked that HH wrap the kitten in the blanket
that it slept on, and not to get dirt on its fur. After it was buried
and a stone marker put in place, he went by himself to "say a few
words."
He's got to grow up sometime, I guess.
RIP, Troubles.
RIP, Elvis.
My 10-year-old #1 son told me a tale on the way home from
school. He babbled on about a story he read in a school library
book. A car hit a deer on the highway. A boy who was doing
community service at Jackie's Wild Seattle, a wildlife rescue and
rehabilitation center, ran down to the road and found it. With the
instructions of an adult worker, who had an arm injury and
couldn't do it himself, the kid cut a fawn out of the dead deer's
belly. The fawn survived. The car's driver was a newspaper
reporter, and wrote a story on how the kid saved the fawn.
"And he was in trouble before, kind of a juvenile delinquent,
Mom."
"What did he do?"
"Well, there was this stray dog, and he hit it on the back with
a stick, and accidentally broke its back."
"That's sad."
"Well, after he broke its back, it wouldn't stop whining, so he
held it underwater in a creek until it drowned."
"Mr. Teacher told us about pets he used to have. He had a bird
named "Elvis." He kept Elvis in his cage, in the kitchen. One day
his mom was cooking something in one of those non-stick pans.
She forgot about it, and all the water boiled out, and then that
stuff on the pan started to burn. They were all in different parts
of the house, and smelled the smoke. His mom turned off the stove,
and they all got out. They had to air out the house for a long time
with all the windows open. They had forgotten all about Elvis.
When Mr. Teacher remembered, he went in and found Elvis
dead in his cage."
"Are you sure that's a real story? It sounds kind of like one of
Mr. J's stories."
"No, Mr. Teacher really did have a bird named Elvis."
"So it's like the canary in the coal mine thing, where the canary
is very sensitive to gas, and if it dies, the miners need to get out?"
"No. That must be a Mr. J story. We didn't talk about a coal mine".
"Oh, and Mr. Teacher didn't have good luck with pets. He had
this little dog named Troubles. His dad let her out one night to go
to the bathroom, and then forgot to let her back in. So she was
out all night. It was winter, and she froze to death."
"Did they find her huddled up against the door, trying to get in?"
"No, she was under the car, trying to stay warm. Unsuccessfully!"
"What kind of dog was it?"
"A chihuahua, I think, or a poodle. She was 13 years old."
"Was she stiff?"
"Haha. I don't know. He didn't say."
"Was he sad about his pets?"
"I guess he was then. He said he would never get over his Troubles,
but he was laughing when he told the stories."
Hmm...#1 son is very tender-hearted about animals. Not like
#2 son, who put #1's kitten in the pan of drinking water right
after we got him. I asked him, "How could you put a cat in the
water? You know cats don't like water." And he replied, "It
wasn't my cat."
So anyhoo, #1 didn't seem too perturbed by these tales. That's
good. He cried when another kitten died, and he couldn't watch
his dad bury it. He asked that HH wrap the kitten in the blanket
that it slept on, and not to get dirt on its fur. After it was buried
and a stone marker put in place, he went by himself to "say a few
words."
He's got to grow up sometime, I guess.
RIP, Troubles.
RIP, Elvis.
posted by Hillbilly Mom at 6:02 PM
5 Comments:
I've had very little luck with pets in my life. They either run away (probably out of self-preservation) or die.
Jules,
I'm like that with plants. Except for the running-away part, of course.
Hi Hillbilly Mom,
You have given me an idea for a post. Thanks. Now all I need to do is remember to post it at some stage.
HooRoo
Rebecca
No true redneck kid would ever buy a story about Elvis being dead!
Bec,
You may remember it, but will Blogger let you post it?
Miss Ann,
You've got a point.
My kid stayed after school for math club (NERD!), and when he came out to see if I was in the parking lot to pick him up, the door locked him out. Luckily, his teacher was tutoring a kid, and heard him yell through the window. They let him in, and my kid said, "I was locked out, and all I could think of was your little dog, Troubles!"
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