Mate and I are good analyzers. If something happens politically, we analyze the cause. If we have a disagreement about movies, we analyze our likes and dislikes to decide exactly what it was that turned one of us off and the other one on.
When I was in teacher school, Analyzation was a big deal. WE used to have KCAASE– A hierarchy of thought processes from easiest to highest. I know the acronym–and the emphasis–has changed in recent years, but it used to stand for Knowledge, Comprehension, Analysis, Application, Synthesis, Evaluation. (I think Evaluation has since moved down below Analysis, probably because it’s easier to say “I don’t like this shit!” than it is to say, “This is the reason that this shit I dislike!”)
Anyway– we receive the data, understand the data, analyze the data, apply the data, put the knowledge together with the application, evaluate whether or not it works, and then start collecting new data.
It’s how we process.
It’s how we deal with politics, literature, movies, math, education, child-rearing, career concerns, money– we analyze shit.
Sounds great, right? Two Libras, being Libras, analyzing the fuck out of things and making a measured decision.
Well, I could point out the flaws in our financial situation, but that’s just embarrassing. I could point out the flaws in our prioritization of adventure over home, but then I’d have to think about the ROOMS (plural) of my house that I just don’t go into.
But mostly, the place where this whole “analysis” thing has failed us the most has been the dogs.
We cannot figure out which one of them is dumber.
Mate has felt crappy all day– he pretty much has what I had a week ago. He was crawling into bed tonight and I was snuggling with him before I came into the living room and worked. While we did this, Johnnie tried to burrow under the covers. He kept missing, because I was on top of the covers and he would go in the tunnel between us, searching for “ultimate cave” of legs and blankets, and come out at the end. Then he’d go back up to our chins and start again.
Geoffie would come up, beg for pets, leap across the great divide between our bodies (it’s all of six inches) and go scurrying around us looking for A. the mouth of the cave, B. Johnnie, C. another chance to leap, ears sailing, tongue flapping, as she played around these fanTASTIC big lumps of human on her own personal jungle gym.
“OH my God!” I cried as Johnnie’s going cave cave cave…
“What?” Mate mumbled–through a head full of mucus, poor man.
“The fuckin’ dogs!” Whee!!! Geoffie panted, as she cleared my hips.
“Yeah, I know. Me neither.” cave cave cave
“You either what?” Whhheeeee!!!
“I can’t figure out which one is dumber!” cave cave cave
“Do they do this shit when I’m gone?” I ask.
“Hell no.” Wheeeeee!!! “When you’re gone, they go sleep with the kids.
“They do not!” cave cave cave
“Yeah they do!” (And now, for variety, they start to tussle, making Snoopy Auuuughhh! sounds as they play.)
“They don’t sleep in here?” I am flabbergasted– they follow me to the bedroom whenever I walk down the hall, looking for an excuse to get in bed.
“Nope.” Auuuughhhhh!!! “And every time a car goes over a puddle, they run to the door and howl, hoping it’s you.”
“I’m sorry.” Wheee!!!
“Why?” cave cave cave
“I seem to have brought perpetual chaos into the house.” Auuuuuughhh!!!
“Yeah– I just wish I could figure out which one is the smart one. Right now they’re both driving me bugshit.”
I roll out of bed. “Well, I have to go work. Maybe if they leave you alone you can figure it out.”
I walk down the hall and the dogs follow me, sounding like a herd of elephants on the wood floor. I get to the computer and start dishing out dog treats to get them to leave me the hell alone. My MO is pretty simple– I put a pile of treats in the corner of my desk, and whenever one of them whines at me or tries to get my attention, I feed them a piece of Pupperoni.
And it’s not until I’m plowing pretty steadily through a new bag that it occurs to me.
Hey… maybe it’s not the dogs that are stupid…
