Here’s a story that ends tragically (because Gigi finds those types so appealing…)

May 14, 2013 by misstori123

Dear blog readers,

I believe I have prepared you enough. It is time for you to know my history with animals.

FIRST you must hear tale of the furry frog with ears. Yes. It does exist.

One beautiful summer in the rising sun of 2000, I awoke to a scream. My mother, emerging from the foggy bathroom, had discovered what she described as a “FURRY FROG WITH EARS” on the floor. Eyes wide, but head still cloudy, I peaked out of my room to see what all the fuss was. My dad batted me away–he had just arrived at the scene. Bent double with laughter, he barely managed to quiet my endless questions with “It’s just a bat!” Not a furry frog with ears after all.

But how could a bat get into our sealed-off bathroom? Why would a bat be in our house in the morning? Why wasn’t trying to fly away? WHY WOULD MY MOTHER CALL IT A FURRY FROG WITH EARS?

They never did let me see said bat. My dad captured it in a hole-ridden tub and set it free at a local park. But it has become a running joke to this day. Who could ever mistake a bat for a frog? I mean, perhaps there are some similarities in the mouth area, but honestly? And “Ears”? I think the most prominent feature would be the WINGS.

When frogs fly…

Furry frog with ears? I prefer the name “Purple rat with wings,” personally.

Do I look like a bat to you?

NEXT comes the chipmunk…

Nearly a year later, I sat on the chaise lounge chair in our basement, reading. My mother worked out in our garden (weeding or talking to her plants or something) while my father read the comics upstairs. (My brother didn’t exist at this time.)

Done with her gardening work, my mother opened our side door and entered the house. She soon discovered that an adorable little chipmunk had followed her. Chased down the stairs by her screams, it began to run laps around the chair I had been reading on. I jumped up and stood on the top of the chair, joining my mom in the chorus of screaming. My dad dashed downstairs with a broom, laughing while attempting to get the chipmunk out of the basement. My mom calmed down enough to steer herself next to me and assure me everything would be alright. I replied with “DON’T KILL THE POOR LITTLE CHIPMUNK!!!” Even in my terror, I could not bear to see an animal hurt.

Somehow, my father managed to fight his laughter and nudge the chipmunk all the way through the side door.

A YEAR AGO, we nailed this sweet bird nest to our patio out back. A couple of chickadees moved in to start their family. They were successful, and reared six beautiful baby birds. My family loved watching the birds grow older and take their first flying lessons. We even draped this bird feeder from a nearby maple tree in celebration. We knew that the birds wouldn’t be the only ones snacking on the seeds–squirrels are hungry little creatures, too. But that night, we didn’t get birds or even squirrels. No. We got a RACCOON.

And do you know what raccoons like for dessert? BABY BIRDS.

In the middle of the night, we woke to a terrible symphony of squawking and growling as the mommy and daddy chickadees fought the vicious raccoon to save their baby.

They lost. Our lovely baby birds all died at the paws of a hungry raccoon.

I share all this with you because just yesterday morning my dog killed a rabbit. He did a pretty clean dissection, too, tearing the skin off and all that.

But I’m not one for biology, so the giant bunny wound up in our trash can.

Rest in peace, fellow mammal.

Yours truly,

Miss Tori

P.S.– Gigi: Get better soon!

A Theory

April 22, 2013 by misstori123

I have this theory. Liv has already heard it…

Frequently, my dog stares out our front window and barks at absolutely nothing. This occurs in the dead of winter, too, when there are no squirrels or birds or anything else that may spook him.

Some may call this proof of the existence of ghosts–ghosts that we can’t see, but animals can.

I call this proof of the existence of mythological creatures.

Suppose that my dog is not going crazy, and rely on your common sense to know that he is not barking at a ghost. What could he possibly see that I can’t?

A MYTHICAL CREATURE.

Something allows the animal kingdom to see beings like unicorns and mermaids that the average human cannot. These beings are actually all around us, strolling up and down our main streets and subdivisions. They live beneath our cars and in our ponds and along the corners of our attic that we refuse to venture into. That door that always opens even though you’ve closed it? Those blinds that opened up even though no one touched them? Not wind. Not even phantoms. FAIRIES.

And now it all makes sense. All we have to do is look harder for the magic around us to catch sightings of unicorns, fairies, mermaids, loch ness monsters, and phoenixes.*

I just solved the greatest mystery of the universe. BOOM.

*Please understand that I do not actually believe in this theory. I’m not insane. Really.

I went for a walk today.

April 21, 2013 by misstori123

I went for a walk today.

Yep. A walk.

I know you’re probably marveling at my ability to get off the couch and enjoy the cold and sunshine. Admittedly, I refused to part with my dear couch until I finished the 512-page conclusion of the Matched trilogy.

After reading the last page, I didn’t really know what to do, so I ate a cheese stick, some brownies, and some fig newtons. Then my dad suggested I go for a walk. When I say “suggested,” I use the term lightly. It was more of a verdict.

At this point, I decided that I should finish my homework. I told my father so and he actually let me off the hook. Then I had an obligation to actually DO the homework…

But it was no good. My dog had heard the “W” word. He was running laps around our kitchen table. As soon as I finished my homework, I had no choice in the matter.

So, I went for a walk today.

Let me catch you up…

April 11, 2013 by misstori123

In case you’re reading this and are seriously intrigued by my life (HOW?), let me catch you up on what happened the past two weeks.

1) I went on vacation to a beautiful island in the Caribbean. You’d expect me to come back either tan or burnt, right? NOPE. I’m still as pale as Tom Sawyer’s fence. But that’s okay–I’m still sticking to my belief that pale will come back in season any day now. And how do tan people get pale again? “Spray-on white” doesn’t exactly exist.

2) From said island, I bought souvenirs for my friends and family. I bought a little drum for my younger brother, as he plays the drum. It’s constructed from carved wood and an animal pelt. My brother’s in boy scouts, so I figured he wouldn’t mind the animal pelt. What I didn’t consider was my dog. Yep. My brother put the drum on a shelf in his room. Now, my dog spends his days sitting in said room, staring up at that animal pelt with wide eyes. He was completely spooked by me for the next two days, and tried to avoid me altogether, as though he believed I had killed that animal myself, and would not hesitate to use him for the same purpose.

His behavior has improved very much. He’s even eating his dry dog food without human food bribery.

3) I watched the new Les Miserables movie (with Anne Hathaway) in my french class–SO GOOD. Now, days later, the songs still play on in my head. “I’M JEAN VALJEAN.”

4) My school got a new web filtering system. It won’t allow students to access tumblr, pinterest, or WORDPRESS. WordPress! I’m in shock. And now, it allows us to access some sort of “clean youtube search” website. But here’s the catch–we can’t watch the videos. The district is just torturing us, now. If we were dogs, they’d be holding a bone just out of our reach.

Yeah. I think that encompasses my past couple of weeks pretty well.

Civil Disobedience

March 12, 2013 by misstori123

My dog, Milo, is already getting one of the healthiest dog foods available (and also one of the most expensive).

Now, he is exercising civil disobedience by refusing to eat his food unless we toss a piece of ‘human food’ in with it. He prefers cheese and milk. Yep. Milk.

He eats his dog food like we eat cereal.

I must say, though, that he is doing a fantastic job with his boycotting. Before he began this mission, he was known for his ability to scarf down three cups of dog food in thirty seconds flat. Now, though, when I place the bowl of food in front of him, he stares at me with this expression like “Really? You’re going to feed me this?? I know what you ate for dinner last night… and you have leftovers.” Then, even when I leave the room, he remains there, refusing to even glance at the bowl of food. Then, at our next meal, when he still hasn’t eaten anything, he puts nose in the air to sniff what it is I’m eating (like he really cares… honestly, he’ll eat it as long as he knows we do). He stares at me with huge, brown eyes, totally pulling off the puppy-dog face. It takes a very dedicated dog to exert that much self-control.

And, yes. His mission is successful. Now, you may scold me for submitting to my dog’s adorableness, but it’s not just his cuteness that gets me to feed him–what would you do if your dog refused to eat? Precisely. I won’t let him faint or throw him in jail for his civil disobedience. No, I’ll give him what he wants.

I’m happy that he’s using a Thoreau-style tactic, anyway. Maybe I’m rewarding him human food out of admiration for his dedication and use of a historically efficient strategy.

And things could be worse– at least he’s not using violent tactics!

My Dog is peculiar

February 9, 2013 by misstori123

I have a very peculiar dog. And his name is Milo.

He is peculiar for several reasons. First of all, my dog is a cat.

When he stands up after a long period of sitting down, he stretches his arms like a cat and then proceeds to arch his back in a purely cat fashion.
He doesn’t bark. He yodels.
He likes to curl up on our laps… but he weighs 60 pounds.
He itches and grooms himself like a cat.
He’s obsessed with milk. He has come to recognize the sound of me removing the gallon of milk from the fridge, and puts on a big show of yodeling to beg me to pour him some.
He prances.
He likes to sit on the highest place in the room.

It doesn’t just end there, though. He has several odd habits…

-Every morning, when my father goes to take a shower, Milo jumps up onto his bed and begins to flip his pillow over again and again, and, when he believes it is thoroughly coated in his saliva, he will promptly push it onto the floor.

-Each night, Milo scrambles under the bed sheets- comforter and all- to the foot of the bed. He spends the whole night there.

Milo also has odd phobias. He fears the vacuum (especially our roomba), my camera, the broom, the smoke detector, the door of my brother’s room, hair dryers, and school buses.

He loves ice cubes, he steals our blankets to lay on, he can eat three cups of dog food in 30 seconds (I counted), and he always lays down in what we call his “Superman” pose. When Milo was a puppy, he would lay on his back with his legs sticking straight up.

He often chases his tail (even though he is now two years old), and when he catches it, he stands there for a solid minute, wondering what to do now. This is usually when he comes up to one of us with his squeaky toy (why on earth did we get him that?) and squeaks it constantly until we acknowledge him. When he’s in an especially playful mood, he will do laps around the couch in our basement– not chasing anything and with nothing chasing him. And when the yard is coated in snow, he will run with his tongue to the ground, trying to consume as much snow as possible.

He also functions as a great guard dog when we best need one, efficiently scaring both door-to-door salesmen and my grandmother away.

Yep. I love that dog.