Tiny kitten takes over my home

Young Daughter wanted to get a pet. Her oldest brother had a series of hamsters when he was young, and she wanted a pet of her own as well.

Einstein was the first rodent I have ever welcome into my home and lived to the ripe old age of just over two years, which is pretty good for a little furball.

He was followed by another hamster, Fiona, which was the meanest, nastiest most hostile mouse wannabe I have ever seen.

At first my son tolerated the beast because he wanted a pet and missed his old pal Einstein. But when the hamster from hell took a bite out of his finger, she had to go. First we took her to the SPCA, but they said they would not take an animal with social issues.

She wasn't an alcoholic or anything, just grumpy, but either way they would not take her. I suggested we put Fiona in the backyard with our other pet, Gilbert the cat, and let nature take its course.

It would have been a tough scrap, but I was confident Gilbert would have won, although not as mean as Fiona, Gil was a cat and only in cartoons does a rodent beat a cat.

However, the Missus would have nothing to do with using the cat as a hired assassin, so we ended up taking the stupid rat to the vet to be whacked, er, I mean, humanely put down.

“For an extra $40 we can have her cremated and put her ashes in a box,” said the nice lady at the vet's office.

I paid less than $10 for the hamster, I am already kicking out $30 to have her put down and I really don't want the ashes of a violent rodent in my house, so I think I will pass. Thanks.

We got my oldest son another hamster that lived for a couple of years in peace and harmony with the world around him.

During all of this, my middle son wanted a pet so we got the aforementioned cat. We had a dog who passed, so we got another canine: the now-famous Murphy the Wonder Dog.

Young Daughter was not too crazy about any of the critters, so I was surprised when she wanted a pet of her own. She did not want a dog – she really does not like dogs – she didn't want a rodent, fish were about as fun as a pet piece of tape, so the type of critter she was interested in was pretty much narrowed down to a cat.

But she was not too fond of Gilbert.

“Keep Gilbert out of my room” was heard echoing through my home on many occasions, but the more she thought about it, the more she wanted a kitten of her very own.

I am not a huge cat person, and we already had Gilbert, but it was not fair she did not have a pet so it was off to the SPCA we went.

After looking at a few kittens she settled on a tiny, little black and gray bundle of cuteness that she named after her stuffed toy from when she was a wee child.

Sessa-Lisa, or Lisa for short, came home with us that day. Because Gilbert is the mellowest cat in the world he could have cared less.

Murphy the Wonder Dog was doing some wondering of his own. He was wondering what the heck had invaded his home now.

She weighs less than two pounds, but Lisa put 20-pound Murphy in the run from the moment she showed up.

With a hiss, growl and a smack on the nose Lisa unleashed the fury only a nine-week old kitten can – and it worked because the past few days Murphy has been as nervous as a mouse at a cat convention.

Lisa is also living in Young Daughter's room she is thrilled to have her.

So now I have two cats and a dog living under my roof. I am glad I do not have anymore children because I do not want anymore pets.

Mind you there is this cute little puppy for sale...

Copyright 2015, Darren Handschuh

I'm not going to be stumped by this challenge

I have a new nemesis.
It is not an evil villain type of nemsis or even a human nemesis: it is a tree stump nemesis.
When we bought our home 15 years ago it had five crab apple trees, which, in my opinion, are the most worthless trees in the world because you can't eat the fruit. I guess you an make jam out of it, but who wants to?
And those millions of tiny little apples mean the tree has to be sprayed as if it were a real fruit tree, which is a pain in the posterior.
It also pains me to spend good money on something as worthless as a crap, er, I mean crab tree.
So within the first year, three of the infernal wooded growths fell to the chainsaw, but the other two I left in.
I spent years pruning the one in the backyard to grow along our fence line so it will block out the school that is directly behind my house and I am happy to say I succeeded quite well.
It is still a stupid crab tree, but at least it serves a purpose.
Sitting in the front yard of my humble home was another crab apple tree. True, it looked beautiful when in full bloom, but that only last a couple weeks and then it is just a useless, growing lawn ornament.
I left it in for all these years because my kids and their friends liked to clumb on it and who am I to deny a youngster the age-old thrill of climbing a tree.
However, the kids are older now and have no interest in climbing the tree, so I finally had the chance to convert it into firewood.
That left a stump in the yard from what was once a 30-year-old apple tree.
No problem, I have pulled many stumps in the past. Growing up, my parents had two acres with lots of trees and I can remember spending the better part of a summer digging out five poplar trees that were at least 50 years old.
That meant they had massive roots, so I spent hours digging with a shovel and chopping with an axe. Digging, chopping, digging, chopping...
My dad always warned me to wear leather boots for such work, but one day (when he was not home) I decided running shoes would do just fine. I took a mighty swing with the axe only to have it bounce off the root and sink into my foot.
I froze and waited for the pain. I waited...and waited but no pain came. I pulled out the axe and realized the blade had gone perfectly between my toes and embedded into the sole of my shoe.
After that, I always wore my work boots.
Anyway, the stump I am dealing with now is just as evil, with roots the size of an elephants leg. Well, maybe not quite that big, but those are some very large roots.
Junior needed gas money (what teen doesn't) so I traded him some money for a bit of time hacking away at the stump.
He quickly learned digging out a stump sucks.
He worked hard on it for a couple of hours, but the stump would not even wobble let alone fall over.
It is good for a young lad to do some old-fashioned physical labour and it is even better for dad to let him do it.
Having earned his gas money, he vacated the job mumbling something about a chainsaw and couple sticks of dynamite, which meant it was once again my turn to tackle the  stump from hell.
A lot of hacking, digging and the occasional bad word has gone into removing this stump, but so far it refuses to release its grip on Mother Earth.
But I am stubborn and will not stop until the stump and its evil root system are vanquished.
It is me or the stump and the yard ain't big enough for both of us.

Copyright 2015, Darren Handschuh

How parenting has made me ready for the circus

Who would have thought being a parent would give me the skills needed to be in the circus.

There is a whole bunch of circus-related duties I could perform, all from the skills I picked up as I helped the Missus raise three adorable children.

They really are good kids. They are not perfect little angels (like their father was at that age), but they have good hearts, mostly stay out of trouble and have high morals and standards.

But like all young adults, the teen years brought moments of great challenge for their parental charges and it was during those tumultuous years I honed my many circus skills.

I could be a clown. Ask pretty much any teen what they think of their parents and they will agree mom and dad are qualified to wear a red nose, funny wig and outlandish make up.

All teens seem to go through a phase where mom and dad are an embarrassment, old fashioned and don't know anything. It is amazing the 'old people' can walk and talk at the same time they are so incompetent.

Of course, I never thought that of my parents. Just like I never copped an attitude, thought I knew everything or considered them an embarrassment. It was always, 'Yes, mother' and 'Yes, father,' 'What ever you say father.'

No, really, that is how I was as a teen, honest.

Anyway, circus clown is more of a title bestowed upon parents by their children than one they have to work for.

But there are other circus jobs parenting is a perfect training ground for.

Lion tamer. Who has not walked into the lions cage – a.k.a. a teenagers' room to 'discuss' something only to come face-to-face with a ferocious beast.

Sticking your head in a lion's mouth is kiddie play compared to dealing with a hostile teen.

But the good thing about a teen, especially a teen girl, is if you wait a few minutes, their mood will change and the danger will pass. However, as all parents know all you have to do is wait another minute and a new mood will emerge, and so on and so on.

Such it the life of a parent.

When the kids are younger, parents develop skills as a juggler. My wife pretty much mastered the skill of holding one child and chasing another while carrying an armload of groceries.

If a professional juggler really wants to impress me – do all that fancy stuff they do while looking after an ankle biter or two, now that raises the difficulty level to extreme.

Another circus skill is tightrope walking. I am currently in the learning process of this one as I deal with a very emotional teenage daughter.

When it comes to dealing with a young lass who is being assaulted by a hurricane of hormones as she makes the transition from child to woman, walking a tightrope is a must-have skill.

I am quickly learning you have to achieve just the right balance between discipline and freedom.

If the discipline is too heavy handed, you aggravate the situation and said daughter throws up a wall of teenaged anger and defiance and things escalate from there (see lions den.)

Too much freedom and they could get into trouble, but not enough freedom and they feel repressed, spawning that anger and defiance I was talking about.

So it is a fine line, a high-wire balancing act of majestic proportions to find just the right amount of parenting and the right amount of letting them make their own mistakes and figure things out themselves without getting into too much trouble.

So being a parent has developed many skills that are applicable to becoming a carnival performer, and believe me, more than once I have thought about running away and joining the circus.

Copyright 2014 Darren Handschuh

Shake it off, it's only a head injury

There is a lot of emphasis on sports injuries lately, specifically concussions.

When I was a young lad playing hockey, no one was ever concussed.

There was no such thing as a concussion. Instead of a medically proven head injury, we had our 'bell rung.'

That is the old-school term for getting clobbered. I had my bell rung several times growing up and not once did I see a doctor for it.

Why would I? It was just part of the game. At some point or another everybody had their bell rung. It was just an accepted part of playing sports.

You would spend a few minutes on the bench before the coach would send you out again – even if you thought his name was Susan and you were Princess Eggbert of the Flibber People.

You shook it off and kept playing, everyone did.

I have lost touch with most of the guys I played hockey with so I do not know if they are experiencing any long-term consequences from having their bells rung. I hope not.

We used to play with all sorts of injuries – sprained knees, sore back, sore neck, cranial disharmony from taking a shot to the noggin.

At the time, it seemed very important that we play, no matter what.

I didn't really understand why. This was minor hockey where even if you are the best team in the league all you get is a little trophy and some bragging rights.

Not a great trade for a lifelong nagging injury.

It just goes to show how competitive some people are, even on a minor league scale. They are willing to risk permanent injury just to win a game.

The coaches were also willing to risk my permanent injury just to win a game, but being young and not too bright, you wanted to keep the coach happy because you looked up to him so you played regardless of what hurt.

Looking back, it seems kind of stupid.

Perhaps if you have a shot at the pros it would be worth it to play through the pain, but really, when you are 15 years old playing tier one hockey, the NHL is a long ways away but the injuries are immediate.

I don't have a competitive bone in my body, but I played hockey for many years because that is just what you did. Everyone I knew played hockey – so I played hockey too.

And I got hurt and I played through the pain – just like everyone else.

Now that I am older and wiser I encourage youngsters to take the time to heal. So you miss a few games or practice sessions, big deal. At least you won't be hobbling like Quasimodo when you are 50.

I tell that to all the pups at my martial arts club as well, but like most youngsters they are full of machismo and don't listen.

I didn't listen to 'old people' when I was their age. Why would I? I knew everything there was worth knowing and I knew the pain I felt would soon go away and it was no big deal.

And I was right. It was no big deal, until the years started to pile on, then all those injuries I ignored started to become problems.

But all my physical woes can not be blamed on the stupidity of youth. I made some pretty stupid choices for many years as a full-grown, mature adult for which I am now paying the price.

Hey, I never claimed to be the brightest in the bunch.

Now if you will excuse me, I believe the Flibber People are calling.

Copyright 2014 Darren Handschuh

Junior is done with high school, now the expensive part begins

Junior graduated from high school last week and I couldn't be prouder.
It took a lot of hard work to get the amazing grades he pulled down. He made the principal's list every single semester of high school.
I made the principal's list only once, and I still maintain my innocence noting there was not enough evidence to convict me or they would have...um, er, ah anyway, back to Junior.
He made the list in a good way and he deserved it.
Of course his mom and I helped out a lot, well, his mom helped a lot.
Don't get me wrong, I did my part: I turned the TV down so they could concentrate better on that trigon-whatcha-callit stuff.
Math is not my specialty and when you throw a few letters in there, I am more lost than a certain Senator trying to remember where he lives.
I did help where I could, which I must admit was not in very many areas.
I took a quick look at one of his math text books and knew I made the right decision to pursue a career that used words and not numbers.
One of the questions in the book was something like X + Y x K = ? I'll tell you what it equals – a headache and a feeling of intellectual inadequacy.
However, Junior is like his mom and just understands how numbers work so trigonometry (I can spell it, I just can't do it), algebra and other forms of numeric torture were right up his alley.
The only pie I can figure out is apple and lemon meringue (I knew how to spell that too, sort of).
The last few years of school, Junior was grooming his courses to help him become a civil engineer and now all he has to do is four years of university and he is there.
Unless he keeps going with his long-term goal to become an architect, then he is looking at a total of seven years. I don't know how much all that education is going to cost, but I am pretty sure I will have to sell a kidney to help cover the bills.
It was not easy for Junior to get such good grades and many was the evening he would be hunched over a stack of books while his friends were working on a stack of empties. I am sure he would much rather have been with his buddies, but he is focussed and driven and that is something you just can't teach someone.
Some of his buddies are going to northern Alberta to make their fortune aiding in the destruction of the environment, a.k.a. working in the oilsands.
But not Junior, he is an eye-on-the-prize kinda guy and at the age of 18 he already knows that while his friends will be making big money immediately, in a few years he will be an engineer making even more money without having to live in a work camp half the time.
Like I said, he is a smart kid; definitely gets that from his mother.
I had no such foresight when I was in high school. School was such a horrendous experience for me, all I could think about was getting out.
I nearly quit a few times, but toughed it out and graduated with a solid C average. I showed them the meaning of the word mediocre.
It was not exactly a glowing report card, but it was enough to get me out of high school, which is all I wanted to do.
When I finally did get around to a post secondary education, I had a B+ average – who knew.
I can not help but brag a little about how big Junior's brain is and about how focussed he is on his long-term goals.
As a dad, that's part of my job. The other part is to help him pay for university. Anyone want to buy a kidney?

Copywrite 2014 Darren Handschuh

A 'bubble' TV is just fine with me

It drives Junior crazy.
'It' is the ancient TV I have in the living room. It is one of those old 'bubble' TVs and Junior was horrified when we brought it home.
We had a flat screen, but it died so when I spotted an even bigger TV for free in a classified ad, I jumped on it.
Sure, it is at least 10-15 years old, but it does have one very important quality that won me over the second I saw it: it works.
And it was free, so I guess that is two things that won me over.
I am not a high-definition kind of guy I guess. It is just not that important to me, but it is to Junior and he has a high-def TV hooked up to the Xbox and is always ranting about the quality of the image.
Did I mention the bubble TV was free and lets me watch TV programs?
But being a teen, he is smitten by the latest and greatest. His older brother would settle for something that simply does the job.
When I was Junior's age, I wanted the best sound system money could buy for my car, but I had to settle for the best sound system my money could buy, which was pretty far from top of the line.
My first car's 'sound system' was a single-speaker boom box that sat in between the two front seats and ran on batteries. It was just slightly louder than a flea fart.
I eventually purchased a tape deck – yes, I said tape deck – with a built in 40-watt booster and my listening pleasure increased dramatically.
But it was still not good enough, or should I say loud enough. However, having a car to pay for, clothes to buy and bills to pay I had to get creative in building a sound system that could be heard from outer space.
I bought a tape deck from a friend of mine who upgraded to a state-of-the-art model, and hooked up a second-hand 80-watt booster to it.
It was loud, but for an 18 year old, it was not loud enough.
That is when my best friend stepped in with a solution: house speakers.
Not just any old set of house speakers, but house speakers with 14-inch woofers, tweeters and midrange that you could literally hear several blocks away.
Now that was a loud car stereo.
For those of you shaking your head and saying “Dumb kid, you could hurt your hearing” you will have to speak up because I was a dumb kid who hurt his hearing.
Of course at the time, we never thought about hearing loss due to excessive music volume, we just wanted excessive music volume (and excessive it was.)
I can honestly say I had one of the loudest sound systems in the city, and the whole thing cost me less than 200 bucks.
And it was not just loud, it was clear and we loved cruising through town blasting AC/DC at a volume typically reserved for landing jumbo jets.
It rivaled systems that ran into the thousands of dollars.
It did what I wanted it to do and I did not have to break the bank to do it. Which brings me back to the bubble TV.
The main goal of having a sound system was to crank rock and roll at a volume loud enough to wake the dead. The main goal of my TV is to watch programs, which the 'bubble' TV does.
It does not need to have the clearest picture in the world, it just has to show the picture. Besides, my eyesight is not that good these days anyway.
Someday I may upgrade to a LCD or plasma TV, but in the meantime I am enjoying driving Junior crazy with the bubble TV, and did I mention it was free?

Copywrite 2014 Darren Handschuh

My little girl is not so little anymore and I don't like it

I guess there is a double standard.
When my boys were younger, I had no problem with them growing up. Older sons meant more help for me around the yard (well, that was the theory anyway.)
It meant they could take on more responsibility, be more independent and with each passing day they were one more step closer to striking out on their own and forging their personal path through the world.
It is inevitable that they become masters of their own domain. It is repeated constantly throughout not only the human kingdom, but the animal world as well.
In certain animal clans, sons are eventually considered a threat to the papa and he 'encourages' them to leave the pack. Some animals take it to an extreme level.
If a papa bear finds another male in their territory, woe be to the invader. He will go after the other male with all the ferocity he can muster, no matter the age of the other bear and even if it is his own offspring. Momma bear will step in and defend baby bear. And papa bear better watch out because hell hath no fury like an angry mom.
We humans tend to be far less aggressive in encouraging our young ones to venture out on their own, but when they come home and find all their stuff in boxes, that is usually a pretty good sign it is time to go.
I have not done that (yet anyway) because I want to support my kids through post secondary schooling and other challenges, but rest assured there will come a day when I will go papa bear on them if they decide living in the parental den is easier than creating their own.
I may be human, but humans are mammals and mammals are animals and animals eventually kick their offspring out into the unsuspecting world.
So I had no problem with my sons soaring through their teen years. I had no problem with my boys becoming men. I looked forward to it on many occasions.
So what does this have to do with a double standard? I also have a daughter and for some reason there is a whole different outlook for 'daddy's little girl.'
I don't want her to grow up and become a teen and act like she is all grown up. I certainly don't want her to look like she is all grown up.
Some of what I am feeling may be because she is the baby of the family and it is hard to watch your youngest grow up, but a lot of it is she is my little girl.
It struck me like a freight train the other morning when she was heading off to school that my little girl is not so little anymore.
What was that stuff on her face? Make-up! What! She is not old enough for make up. She is barely in high school.
And what do you mean you and your friend want to meet a couple boys at Timmies? Boys are icky, remember? Boys are gross.
At one time, her room had pictures of fairy tale princesses on the walls, then it was teen heart throbs (such as what's-his-name, you know, that Beaver kid.)
Then one day she took down all the posters and asked if we had any spray paint. Um, OK, feel free to express yourself, it's your room. She invited me to look at her 'new' room and it was the bedroom of a full-blown teenager.
Posters had been replaced by groovy spray-painted drawings, there was not a dolly in sight and her music has gone from Veggie Tales to the latest pop songs.
I know my little girl is not a little girl anymore, but that does not mean I have to like it.
Now if you will excuse me, I have to put on my martial arts uniform and sharpen my collection of knives – one of those icky boys is stopping by.

copyright 2014, Darren Handschuh