Israel

Thousands of reservists are being called up for possible action in Israel following the breakdown of peace talks. Peace Talks that never existed. Remember; Israel always bargains in good faith but not so for them. They always have a separate reality being conducted under the table. They.
Maybe even 2 or 3 separate realities. You never know with them. And they have separate realities being conducted between each other; one for each separate relationship; between brothers, between cousins, working partners, what have you. But not with the women. Never with the women. If you remove their men from the situation; you could have a peace process evolve and stabilize between all the women.

Lilies and Cats Don't Get Along

'Tis the season for Xmas lillies. The first lilly toxicity is here at BNVC. Cat looks fine and kidney function parameters are ok and then 48 hours post ingestion everything crashes. Dead cat. But he's not dead yet. We're monitoring the situation.
The point of this story: Don't Get A Blinking Lilly for Xmas. Don't Give one and don't get one.

Make me a martini with all the right ingredients but hold that sugary bright red crap that you ring the glass with. A martini at the Keg in Brampton is awash with synthetic red dye that completely tarted up the whole idea of a martini which is to say a drink to be drunk languorously in the evening slowly savouring it listening to Cole Porter.
But the steak was great and the garlic mashed potatoes and all Mimi's mushrooms that she loaded on my plate.
The annual Bolton Xmas Bash at the keg.
The scene is the Brantford clinic where I work some nights. But it is a much much bigger place. Huge sprawling shopping centre with a grocery store attached to it. I made it to work in time and there are people waiting for me. The next patient is a middle aged lab X, brown in colour, panting and straining on her leash. She is heavy set and seems to be lurching towards the door like she needs to go out and pee. Someone mumbles that I am supposed to check her "tractor". I hate when people use cute words to describe common medical problems as if anal sacculitis requires a euphemism to cover it up, even if it's a cute word of my own invention in my own goddamn dream.
So goes the dream.
Unfortunately this dog, (was her name Lady?) belonged to a bunch of folks from a palliative care unit who were all dying of some horrible, unmanageable disease from cancer to cancer to cancer. They were waiting in a large glassed in waiting area; about 9 of them some of them standing and some of them reclining on their mobile guerney/beds. A lot of them in the same combination of outer clothes and bedclothes that you would see on any visit to an old folks home or chronic care place.
I walked in the room, one woman in particularI had noticed earlier, she was now hidden amongst all of these ragg tagg people; this one particular woman had facial deformities; she kept her face partly hidden which naturally drew my eye to her right away; this one woman had an upper lip partly eroded by a large growing mass which pushed upward and was also eroding her left eye. She was the advance man who came in with her spouse, I think, to make the appointment. Now I couldn't see her in this room full of people; she blended in to the others with masses and deformed bodies.
I could feel rain falling and I looked over; one woman on the side of the room was vomiting against the wall; everyone else was carrying on as if normal, but the vomitus came out in a spray and I could feel some of the droplets hitting my skin. I thought, my god, I have to stay reasonably clean to work, I've got to get out of here.
So I announced to everyone at large who were looking at me intently waiting for me to take care of Lady; I said; "my brother is here and he can help me; it would be easier and more convenient if I take Lady into the adjoining room and we will take care of her "tractor"". The adjoining room was in full view of the waiting area.
No sooner had I said this but another of these poor misbegotten souls started to vomit on the opposite side of the room, likely due to the visual stimulus from the first lady. She was vomiting something of a different colour and texture; rather than bright green, I think her vomitus may have been petroleum jelly gray.
So I beat a retreat and took Lady on her long EXTEND - A - LEASH, (God how I hate those things; everyone seems to have one and they are such a pain in the ass, dogs always managed to get in the door with the brake off; so the dog as I take it from the client is rambling all over the place while I fumble for the little button; which way does it move forward, backward?) Thank God this time I found the brake on the leash right away, I took her out of that room of perdition and out into the gray light of a wet, snowy, spring afternoon of the parking lot in my dream in Brantford for a quick pee before I take care of her "tractor".
Out in the lot; I see Lady has more than a tractor problem; she appears to be partly obstructed because she is straining, straining to urinate and the stream of urine is coming out in that partial stream under pressure that I know so well and it is pointed backward as if the obstruction is ventral in her urethra. She drags me over to the side of the lot against the building where stands a tall 30 gallon fish tank filled with water beside a tall steel rod with a parking sign on it. Lady walks around the tank and the sign and the next thing I know she has pulled her leash tight against the metal stand under the tank and I see that the fish tank is toppling forward. I run to grab it and I've managed to save it but the stand itself is partially collapsed. I am holding the tank upwards to keep it from falling; and the stand has collapsed into a single steel column that is just keeping the thing in the air; all 400 lb of water. (Remember 10 lb water = 100 lb) And Lady is lurking under the tank with her leash behind it dangerously close to getting crushed by the whole thing. I am yelling, screaming, HELP ME HELP ME HELP ME. And there are people milling around; going to their cars with their groceries, a big strong guy trucking shopping carts in a big long line to their repository in the lot. This guy looked at me and shook his head twice as if to say "FUCK you, you're on your own, bitch"
I'm amazed that I can keep the thing just balanced afloat but I figure the stand is going to buckle under the enormous weight at any moment. All I want is for someone to erect the thing, arrange the legs of the stand back in their proper position or at the very least take the dog away so I can let the whole thing crash without hurting anyone. But no one is moving. And for the first time in a lifetime of dreams; I can hear, really hear my voice, my scream in a dream.
I've been in this job way too long.

Taken from MySpace February 2008

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Florida Sucks
Category: Blogging


I need to vent; I've kept this to myself pretty much all this time and I've got to let it out. I think the people of Florida, for the most part, suck. SUCK. Mean, combative, greedy, stupid. It's a bad combination and bodes poorly for the future of the good old US of A. Silicone tits and collagen lips and nothing of substance going on between the two.

I went to Macy's for the first time in eons. I remember it was a pretty nice store with beautiful things and shiny polished floors. A far cry from the usual pedestrian venue of Walmart. I cruised past jewellery as I am wont to do in any retail outlet; I gotta check out the bling to see what's hot and what's not. I saw this amazing pendant in the cabinet. A small card said there was a sale on; "reserve your fine jewellery now". A lot of delicate, ornate jewellery made of yellow gold. Gold is so expensive now that to cut the cost of making the piece, filigree work and pierced designs are making a big comeback so that you get the Big look without the added weight and cost. There was this amazing pendant there. About 2 inches across with a lot of filigree and milgrain; it had fair substance and was covered pretty effectively with bead set small melee diamonds set in the fashion of stones close together to give the appearance of a larger stone. Don't know what that technique is called. So I looked around for a sales clerk and a woman came over at last and asked me if I wanted to see something. It was about 9 minutes to 9 o'clock; closing time. I said I wanted to see the fabulous pendant. I asked her casually where it was made. And she said in the coldest, disaffected haughty tone she had absolutely no idea except that it was stamped 14 ct gold. I said that a piece of that size and complexity should be stamped. And again she protested that they never know where the jewellery comes from. I said that a piece of jewellery of that size and cost ($4000) most assuredly should have some indication of where it was made and who the artist was. An initial, a hallmark, something. I was thinking; if I sold jewellery that was similar to that I'd pretty damn well make sure I knew something about the piece in order to sell it. Don't you think? I walked around a bit and then came back and said to her quietly, looking at her name tag (it said Elsie, what else, tall and blond and 60ish, she looked very dour and German) and I said, when you sell a piece of jewellery for $4000 don't you think it would help to know something about the provenance? I said that I would come back the next day with my own loupe and examine the piece for clues as to who made it or where it was made. So typical of the American mind, think nothing of the thing just acquire it and put it on a shelf and forget about it. I told her I've been too long in the US; I found just about everybody rude, combative, disaffected, grasping, greedy, aggressive, careless, just about scraping the barrel for adjectives to describe the complete loss of moral compass facing the US populace. Moreover, I've been here how many weeks and I haven't heard a word about anyone's personal contact with the Iraq war. Could the Americans be acquiring the disaffectation and hard outer shell that the Israelis have been so long masters at? Maybe. When I see my little Anoles running around the shed; I see God but when I look at the typical American in a mall or on the street in their stylish shiny Lexus I see the essence of death. It's true.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Florida Sucks
Category: Blogging


I need to vent; I've kept this to myself pretty much all this time and I've got to let it out. I think the people of Florida, for the most part, suck. SUCK. Mean, combative, greedy, stupid. It's a bad combination and bodes poorly for the future of the good old US of A. Silicone tits and collagen lips and nothing of substance going on between the two.

I went to Macy's for the first time in eons. I remember it was a pretty nice store with beautiful things and shiny polished floors. A far cry from the usual pedestrian venue of Walmart. I cruised past jewellery as I am wont to do in any retail outlet; I gotta check out the bling to see what's hot and what's not. I saw this amazing pendant in the cabinet. A small card said there was a sale on; "reserve your fine jewellery now". A lot of delicate, ornate jewellery made of yellow gold. Gold is so expensive now that to cut the cost of making the piece, filigree work and pierced designs are making a big comeback so that you get the Big look without the added weight and cost. There was this amazing pendant there. About 2 inches across with a lot of filigree and milgrain; it had fair substance and was covered pretty effectively with bead set small melee diamonds set in the fashion of stones close together to give the appearance of a larger stone. Don't know what that technique is called. So I looked around for a sales clerk and a woman came over at last and asked me if I wanted to see something. It was about 9 minutes to 9 o'clock; closing time. I said I wanted to see the fabulous pendant. I asked her casually where it was made. And she said in the coldest, disaffected haughty tone she had absolutely no idea except that it was stamped 14 ct gold. I said that a piece of that size and complexity should be stamped. And again she protested that they never know where the jewellery comes from. I said that a piece of jewellery of that size and cost ($4000) most assuredly should have some indication of where it was made and who the artist was. An initial, a hallmark, something. I was thinking; if I sold jewellery that was similar to that I'd pretty damn well make sure I knew something about the piece in order to sell it. Don't you think? I walked around a bit and then came back and said to her quietly, looking at her name tag (it said Elsie, what else, tall and blond and 60ish, she looked very dour and German) and I said, when you sell a piece of jewellery for $4000 don't you think it would help to know something about the provenance? I said that I would come back the next day with my own loupe and examine the piece for clues as to who made it or where it was made. So typical of the American mind, think nothing of the thing just acquire it and put it on a shelf and forget about it. I told her I've been too long in the US; I found just about everybody rude, combative, disaffected, grasping, greedy, aggressive, careless, just about scraping the barrel for adjectives to describe the complete loss of moral compass facing the US populace. Moreover, I've been here how many weeks and I haven't heard a word about anyone's personal contact with the Iraq war. Could the Americans be acquiring the disaffectation and hard outer shell that the Israelis have been so long masters at? Maybe. When I see my little Anoles running around the shed; I see God but when I look at the typical American in a mall or on the street in their stylish shiny Lexus I see the essence of death. It's true.

HORSE TRAINER WANTED

So you're tired of watching your yearlings go by the wayside; injured, lost to the mill of unwanted, worn out, wasted thoroughbreds. Can't bear to see another veterinary bill for two thousand dollars each and every time a horse gets entered in a race. So none of the explanations offered by your trainer make any sense and you're tired of trying to figure out the lingo and make sense of it all? Can't figure out why your investment of $25,000 in that filly from Kentucky can't make it to the races while the guy in the next shed only paid $2500 for his horse and it picks up a cheque every time it runs.
Tired of it not making sense?
Tired of the lingo?
Tired of hemorrhaging money?
Tired of the pain?
When you want a real trainer and a real manager of thoroughbreds, look my way. The veterinary bills will disappear. You'll keep your horse longer. And more important, and best of all; it'll all MAKE SENSE.

Lucky

Quiet night at BNVC last night. Saw nothing at all for about 7 hours. At 1:30 am, I went out to get gas at the local Canadian Tire; the roads newly frosted with crystalline snow. I stopped at the CIBC on Lynden Road but the drive through was closed; so I parked and went into the building. Not a soul around. Quiet as anything. A girl was walking along Lynden Road alone. Just finished her shift at the local McDonalds/bar-grill/Tim Horton's. Brantford's that small a town that a girl can walk along a lonely dark street at 1:45 am and not worry. I can't even do that anymore in Toronto. I've never been one to give in to paranoia; I've always pretty much done what I wanted but somewhere over the last few decades I've evolved into this person with a strong sense of self preservation and I just wouldn't do that today; walk along a dark empty street in the first snow fall of winter at a quarter to two in the morning.
I digress.
I did my chores and headed back to the clinic. Goofing around with Miranda. Then I lay down in the office on the folded futon in the dark and waited for sleep; one of the clinic cats tucked into my side. I figured I could get 5 hours sleep and i'd be fine for the drive back to TO the next day.
The phone rang at 3 am; and at 5 am a breeder of golden retrievers appeared at the door; he had a bitch that managed to whelp 9 puppies but one remained. They knew about the 10th because they had her xrayed and were able to count 10 small spinal columns. They had assisted her all along with oxytocin; why? because they're regular vet had said it was okay and had given them 3 syringes of it. Now they needed a 4th. The bitch was visibly contracting and straining but no pup was in the canal. A foot I could feel was peeping through but that's it. Well, I hate when vets give meds to their clients to administer (incorrectly, inappropriately) because we (the night people) have to pick up the pieces of wreckage afterward; the dead puppies, the puppies that can't be moved no matter what you do; the tears, the anger, the misgivings. And sure enough, that was the situation. A dead puppy bobbing in and out of the birth canal of this very nice golden retriever. Like a buoy in the lake that you reach for only it's always just out of reach.
So that's how it went; 2 more injections of oxytocin and ca gluconate produced no puppy; live or dead. I had to tell him; this puppy was dead and had to be removed at surgery. I wouldn't pull bits and pieces of the puppy out; it would be too traumatic for the female and the owner. So I let it lie.
No sooner than my attempts ended with the golden but another owner showed up at the door with another whelping bitch; only this was a hound rescued from a farm where there were a large number of dogs neglected. She was an emaciated polyparturient dog and the owner was actually fostering her until a good home could be found; she was a very nice dog. Not a puppy in sight; she was tight as a drum and had vaginal strictures from previous problem deliveries as well. This one I said needed a Cesarian as well, if indeed she was due to whelp. Which some how I doubt because she was so tight.
I finished all this by 8 am just in time to hit the road. tired. tired. tired. and nearly drove off the 403 a couple of times. Crawling up the 427 I looked to my left and saw DJV in his car beside me. I wonder if he saw me weaving in and out of lanes due to fatigue? But I had to get back to the track. I had to enter the horse. It's just a few days till the end of the meet. I have so much to do. Also had a dentist appointment in Niagara Falls for tonight. And lunch planned with Bev (which never materialized). How was I going to do all of this and dead tired to boot? I called the dentist and booked off; rescheduled for January 19 at 6:30 pm. Trained the horses; Howie did all the heavy stuff; mucked their stalls and saddled the black horse who is a nightmare dragon these days.
Drove to Bolton, picked up my cheque then made my way home. Almost driving off the road a couple of times. In the driveway I put the seat back and passed out for 5 minutes. Crawled into the house, crawled into the shower, crawled into clean clothes then lay down on my nice bed and passed out with James Bond "Never Die Twice" playing in my ear on the computer. What a wonderful thing it is to lay down in the middle of the day in a nice warm room; all safe and clean and cozy and sleep a winter afternoon away. How Lucky. How divine.