Wednesday
1678: Ein klein Karl
You know, sometimes my heart is actually pained by the amount of love I feel for this man/robot. I feel strengthened by this love in the way some people find through their religious faith the will to endure life's miseries. And, like them, I want to spread the "good word" like a grinning, proselytizing and bizarrely undeterred Morman missionary on your doorstep. I want to tell you about Karl's love, which is actually more like a cruel indifference but whatever. He may not have human emotions but he's got a little bear.
If anyone deserved such a thing, it would be my brother -- the hardest working man in the history of people who work really, really hard. Besides, he's already got the outfit.
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Tuesday
1677: "MAGIC!"
This one's for Jon. And our friendship... OF MAGIC!
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Monday
1676: I cannot wait for this.
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Sunday
1675: On the phone with Mom
Ashley: We saw Tropic Thunder.
Mom: Oh... and we had such high hopes for you.
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1674: Rescue Ink
"Heaven's Angels"
Caroline Dworin, New York Times, 8/24/08.
They met on the local hot rod scene. They saw one another at tattoo conventions around the area, comparing bikes. They looked like heavies, a band of Hells Angels, with nicknames equally tough: Mike Tattoo, Big Ant, Johnny O, Batso, Sal, Angel, Des.
They meant no harm. Clad in leather, inked to the hilt in skulls and dragons, with images of bloodied barbed wire looped about their necks, they shared something else — a peculiar tenderness for animals, and the intensity needed to act on the animals’ behalf when people abuse them.
“I’m a vegetarian,” said Mike Tattoo (real name Mike Ostrosky), a former bodybuilding champion with a shaved head, great arms covered in art and a probing clarity in his blue eyes. “And Big Ant has in his backyard three guinea pigs, a couple of rabbits, birds, cats — and fish everywhere. But just because a person has tattoos, they wouldn’t come running with us.”
The group became a little larger over the course of about 15 years, with various animal-loving, tattooed bikers in the New York area joining the conversation. One member, Angel Nieves, a 47-year-old retired city police detective, grew up in the projects on West 125th Street and remembered taking in strays from the streets as a boy, as did many of his cohorts. He owns a tiny, white bichon frisé named Cris.
Having run in crowds where animal abuse was rampant, often involving pit bull fights, the men volunteered at shelters and the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty Toward Animals, and they tried to solve cases of missing or abused animals that other organizations had neither the time nor the resources to address.
Click Click here to read more.
Click here for Rescue Ink's official site.
And here's a clip of Rescue Ink visiting the Islip Animal Shelter:
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1673: Chuck Jones' "Feed the Kitty"
I don't remember what made me think of it this morning, but this is one of my all-time favorite Merrie Melodies cartoons...
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Saturday
1672: More bunny trouble: Update #2
So, we saw the vet today about the lump I found on Dewey's stomach. It's an abscess of some kind but we won't know whether it's related to any form of tumor until it's removed. It appears to be quite superficial, which I take as a good sign. The vet said it could have been caused by virtually anything -- from a cut to a hair follicle. Had he been living with another rabbit, it could have been from a little scratch-fight. It's possible it's a tumor but, again, there's no way to say at this point.
I hadn't noticed him fussing with it, but he'd evidently picked at it and it had scabbed at some point since I initially discovered it. Whether the fur missing around it is the result of his own grooming of the wound or simply a function of the wound itself, I don't know. The abscess will be removed on Thursday, and he'll be under general anesthesia and kept overnight after the surgery.
He's in good spirits and has a great appetite; you'd never know something was wrong with him unless you saw the little wound on his tummy. When he was being examined, I nearly burst into tears and however Pete has tried to distract me with tacos and Tropic Thunder, I still find myself thinking about Dewey.
When he was taken out of his rabbit carrier, the vet looked at him and said, "Oh, I remember you. You're beautiful. You're like a velveteen rabbit." And he is! I wish I had more photos of him but he doesn't photograph well, at least not when I'm the one behind the camera.
As Pete points out, we're doing everything we can for the little guy and he'll be in excellent hands on Thursday.
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Friday
1671: Mahabharat
Walking from the office tonight, I was struck by a sudden and swift desire for Indian food -- and I honestly can't stop thinking about it. At first, I thought I was just hungry but now I realize that if I don't ingest curry in some form soon, I'm going to PASS OUT.
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Thursday
1670: "You scared me!"
Thank you, Stephanie -- and everyone who's asked about Dewey's health. We won't know anything until Saturday (at the earliest) and given how healthy Dewey seems otherwise, I'm doing my best to not worry about the lump. Nevertheless, I'm always cheered up by the combination of Amy Sedaris and rabbits!
Growing up, I was allowed to help with the redecoration of my bedroom. Naturally, I made it as pink as humanly possible -- pink carpet, pink and white furniture, pink and white wallpaper. I do sort of miss it. To be fair, it's really the only thing I miss about those awkward 'tween and 'teen years -- they might have been a little easier to bear if I had a rabbit for a companion.
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Wednesday
1669: More bunny trouble: Update
We're scheduled to see the vet on Saturday about the lump I found on Dewey's stomach, and hopefully get it biopsied to see... well, man. I don't know, I have a terrible feeling about it.
He's in good spirits. His appetite is great, his energy is great, and he seems totally oblivious to the grape-sized lump in the middle of his little, white tummy. Since scheduling the appointment, I'd been taking Pete's advice to curb my worrying as much as possible. Things happen to animals, he tells me, and I know that's true. Whatever happens to Dewey, I've given him a great life and he's always been loved. Worrying about this won't actually change anything. As Dewey doesn't seem to be in any immediate danger (as he was when he stopped eating a few weeks ago), all we can do is exactly what we are doing -- which is seeing an expert and figuring out, based on her evaluation, what's the most humane thing to do, if anything. Worrying doesn't cure Dewey, but I can't stop myself.
Amazingly, I happened to catch the same subway as Chris tonight. Naturally, he asked how Dewey was doing and I admitted that I'd been avoiding touching the lump until we go see the vet.
Part of me (irrationally, I know) feels like if I don't feel it, I can pretend it's not there -- at least until it's time to confront it with the vet. Dewey's unchanged behavior makes it easy to feel like this. I could see that this struck Chris as sad -- both Dewey's situation, and my desire to pretend it wasn't a reality. I don't really know what else to do. I reached underneath Dewey a little while ago, felt that the lump was not only real but slightly firmer than it had been, and have been crying nonstop since.
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