Homemade Entertainment

Yesterday when we got home from church, our toddler dog Max had outdone himself with his yard and porch bedecking efforts. An old blanket trailed partway up the porch steps where Max apparently abandoned it on its way to a resting spot on the porch. A partially obliterated boot box, scrubbing brush, the hard hat that came with the chainsaw, a deflated soccer ball, a possum carcass, several flower pots, the floor mat he chewed up, and other bits and pieces adorned the area around the porch and parking area. Where does he find these things? Max was very happy to see us however, and it's really hard to stay mad at an eager smiling dog.

This morning, while I was still in bed, I heard a grating, creaking sound from the open garage where Max sleeps, and I knew he was playing with the punching bag suspended from the ceiling. He stands on his hind legs and places his paws on it till it swings away and his feet drop. The motion of the chain hanging from the rafters creates a distressing sound I mistakenly identified, the first time I heard it, as a cat with a serious attitude problem. I wonder why I didn't think of Max and the punching bag first.

Hiromi laughs about Max's habit of accelerating just before he rounds the southwest corner at the back of the house. The cat dish is there, and he's already anticipating the fun of chasing whatever innocent cats he finds.

Silly dog, but resourceful and always in-the-moment--a good way to stay entertained.

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Yesterday after church my cousin Karen told me about the seven-year-old son who is giving her fits with his ravenous appetite for knowledge. He zips through his homeschool tasks, except when he is bored silly with doing reading lessons designed to teach slower students how to read, or math exercises he already knows cold. He reads very well and would like to be left alone so he can get on with the business. He wants to learn something new in math.

He dawdles with the dishes because he spends so much time experimenting with letting the soapy water drain "just so" from the strainer, and working the levers for the salad tongs. He regales the MCC Friendship Meals visitors with stories that embarrass his parents--running at the mouth, his mother calls it.

I didn't have a remedy for the running-at-the-mouth malady, but I urged Karen to do what I did with Joel when he was that age--introduce the new concepts in math, and let him skip the review, as long as he keeps getting 90% or higher on the tests he takes every five lessons. In reading, let him read, and skip the learning-to-read exercises. I recommended the same thing for my neice, Hannah, when she was that age, and her mother agrees that nothing much was lost in the process. The great gain was that she never lost her love for learning--something I think could happen easily with a bored seven-year-old.


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Last night at our parents' place, where Myron's and Lowell's families and Linda and I had gathered, I noted six-year-old Diana's efforts to stay occupied. She arrived with a long silky magenta scarf around her neck. That scarf became her salvation when she needed diversion. First she put it over her face and tied it in the back. Then she went around to everyone in the room and identified them by touching them. Even Fred, the elderly widower who was visiting--Noah, Rachel, and Jacob's grandpa--was inspected and identified. (I don't think that scarf was as opaque as it looked.)

Tiring of that, she tied one end around her mother's foot, elevated as it was on the recliner tongue, circled the other foot beside it with a knot and crossed the void in the middle of the living room to tie the other end to her dad's shoe, lofted in a manly, open crossing of his legs. This apparently pleased her, and it stayed there for a while. I visually isolated it as if seen through a camera lens, and was amused. Rhoda accused me of plotting a blog post when she saw me eyeing it. She's a perceptive woman.

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And now, on to working on that little greenhouse that arrived in a box last week by UPS. The frame is assembled and sits squarely in the lead-up to Max's cat-chasing corner. I can only imagine how he might amuse himself with the greenhouse plastic as soon as it appears--annoyed as he undoubtedly will be at his cat-access being obstructed by it.

I delight in the resourcefulness of children and overgrown puppies, but not that much. If he destroys my greenhouse, any blog posts about it will not be as cheerful and forgiving as this one. Homemade entertainment has its limits, and Max is about to learn about some of them. Dog kennel panels and water-filled barrels on the outside perimeter of the greenhouse--here we come.