left biblioblography: Selective perception and the Napoleonic poodle

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Selective perception and the Napoleonic poodle

Due to recent circumstances, I’m currently staying at my mom’s condo.
Sitting at my computer, I look out and see the following tableau:

Two elderly women. One is holding a leash, and on end of said leash, a tiny poodle, snarling and barking at elderly lady the second.
And what, pray tell, is this 2nd woman doing? Talking baby talk to the vicious little shitter, “Oh, you’re so cute, yes you are, it’s okay.”
And I mean, the frickin’ thing is acting nearly rabid at her presence.

Rewind:

I know this little savage. Her name is Ginger. I don’t know elderly lady the 1st. Name, or anything.
That’s the way this critter acts towards everyone.

Trying to be a good son, I take out the newspapers, trash, etc., as my poor benighted mother isn’t charging me rent, PG&E, etc. So I’ve run afoul of this diminutive monster before. Every time I see her (the poodle), she goes into this apoplectic fit. And, I mean, the fucking thing is no larger than a football. I could punt her easily over the complex, no sweat.

I recall this vividly:

As a toddler, we’d visit my grandparents. They had this vicious little poodle. Name? Don’t remember. What I DO remember, is being (5? 6?), being under the table, trying to reach out to this vicious beastie, cooing my delight, and being rewarded with a goodly bite on my nose (the scars are still there, but barely noticeable). And I recall this also: even as Ma (and I think Nana) were tending to my wounds, even through my wailings, I could distinctly hear my grandpa beating the everliving shit out of that poodle.

Now, I love dogs, all sizes, and all shapes. Like I love people. Not scared of either.

But vicious is vicious, no matter what.

So, fast-forward some 40-odd years later.

Taking out the trash, ran into elderly lady the 1st, with Ginger in tow. She accidentally drops the leash. Lo and behold, Ginger, she of the salivating fangs and protective mien, just stands there, does nothing. We look at each other. Her owner picks up the leash, and 3 guesses to the response? Yep. Back to Rabid Pitbull mode.

Hey, she’s old. Probably only a few years left (dog AND lady).
My biggest kvetch here is Elderly the 2nd.  Old enough to know better. All she sees is the cute little poodle. Not the snarling, nasty fangs of some diminutive toy poodle with delusions of Cerberusian proportions, who’d gladly sink her teeth into a stranger’s flesh, just to feel good.

Bit nose teaches best, I think.

Anecdotal in nature, sure. But easily applied on a broader spectrum.

Some people live in their own little worlds, where bears are huggable, religion raises people above their primal natures, violence is the shortest distance between two points, and poodles are infinitely loveable despite their obvious distemper.

Gets up me nose, it does.

Some folk got no lick of sense whatsoever.



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7 comments:

HairlessMonkeyDK said...

Christ's snot!
This takes me back to Xmas Eve 1984. My half-uncle's vicious weinerdog tore a hole in my five-year-old face.
I was sitting on a chair, watching the beast, and it was staring right at me as well.
Then, after about 3 minutes of glaring at each other, the filthy critter threw itself through the air and munched on my cheek.
Merry xmas, indeed!
Trip to emergency room.
Never really understood what the suckin' shit was wrong with that hellhound. My guess: Pure Evil.

P.S. :
Relucty, I'm with ya on the whole analogy of this post.

Krystalline Apostate said...

Oh, wow, talk about synchronicity!
Had a situation w/a wienerdog, back in 1975.
I was selling Bicentennial decals door to door (& makin' a wee bit o' dough at it too), when 1 door opened, little wienerdog waddles out, I say, "Oh, how cute!" (yeah, a straight male saying somethin' like that: I was young), & bleedin' beastie leaps up, & good thing I was wearing jeans. Felt the teeth touch my...jewels. No scratch.
Owner says, "Well, guess I gotta buy something now, since the dog bit you."
Hoi, hope it didn't leave a scar.

HairlessMonkeyDK said...

"Felt the teeth touch my...jewels."

Guess that's why they're named weinerdogs!

udonman said...

guess i have always been lucky dogs seen to get all calm around me even some of the meanest dogs but i have been bitten by cats on more then one ocasion i feel for both of you guys hairy boy hope you dont have to bad of scar if any scaring and ra your lucky no bite in the sack

HairlessMonkeyDK said...

Udon... Nah, the scar on my cheek is hardly noticable now.
Plus, it ain't as if doggies harbor some specious-specific hatred for me.
One of my friends' halfwolf-halfdog hybrids never hurt my in any way.
I mean, once I put my whole fist and forearm into its maw and it just gently looked at me as if to say: " Don't ya worry, buddyboy,
I ain't gonna clamp down".
And it didn't.

udonman said...

well hairball thats good about the scar all i didnt mean dogs harbor hate for you or reluctant i just meant i never had a dog come after me i didnt know how that would affect you growing up

and ra if there is any thing you need man just email me you got my email address

say not to christ said...

GReat story and sooooo true! lol