Happy Easter Meets Fatal Attraction

We lived out in the country, and anyone who has lived near a farm, or near farming hunter types, knows that animals in your neighborhood don't usually have long lives. Indeed, at the passing of an animal, you rarely hear things about good lives and times to go and the like.

No, it's usually some tragic, often horrific and untimely end. Cars hit your cats, dogs eat your chickens, the slaughter truck pulls up at the cow farm across the street. Dump trucks cut the neighbor's dog in half, cats die from eating rats that have been poisoned and are then found during your birthday party, your dad accidentally backs over family goat. Parakeet kills two mates, lays an egg months later and dies - that was weird and still unexplained but a totally different kind of story. Still, all true.

Anyway, as a kid, you have to get used to the carnage. What you don't have to get used to, but what makes you popular with the other country kids, is a mom who - god knows why - freezes dead animals in the basement freezer along side the summer berries and Popsicles. On any given day you could usually find an animal from each species: a salamander, a chickadee, a snake, and/or turtle and/or cat, fish, whatever. That was the decade of the little old lady asking, "Where's the beef?" and believe you me, that's what we were asking, too.

All this leads me to my Easter story. My mom might have been a crazed Ms. Hyde in the freezer, but she was a genius Dr. Jekyll when it came to holidays and birthdays. We had themes and events and games and you name it. For some reason Easter was a particular favorite, and I know to this day, at the ages of 32 and 38 (holy crap, Josh, 38?), were we to live near my mom we would still not only get baskets, but would be sent on an egg hunt as well. So there I was, seven or thereabouts, big Easter party planned, families and kids coming over, and my parents decide to barbecue rabbit. And there I was, seven or thereabouts, and I thought nothing of it. Wouldn't most little girls have cried? Perhaps yet another cat had recently died and I was all out of tears, or maybe it was just another in a long line of dead animals, but it didn't phase me one iota. I suppose I just thought, "Bunny. It's what's for dinner."

Happy Easter, everyone. Enjoy it for it's true meaning: chocolate, candy and egg hunts.

Code Cameron

Lost Cam at a store in the mall the other day. Mitch and I were taking turns watching him, he was right with us, and then he was gone. Gone about 50 feet from where we'd been standing, DOWN THE ESCALATOR. Suddenly, people, exits, riff-raff were everywhere.

Very truly, I thought I'd never see him again.

We fanned out across this store, yelling for him. Nothing, obviously, because he was downstairs. I found his sippy cup about 15 feet away. It was minutes of not being sure if I should vomit, keep looking, scream to everyone to look for him. Fortunately, a shopper saw him head down, passed him off to a shop worker, who brought him back up.

I started sobbing when I saw him. It was awful. Got to the car, sobbed again. I've never been so scared in all my life. Some of the moms I have met here have been kind of envious he's so confident, but the kid is a nightmare. He just goes and doesn't look back. I've got the harness, the wrist strap, he likes to hold hands when we go places...we turned for seconds. It was a lesson learned that you can't trust the little turd for nothin'. He's in serious lockdown now, though. Any thought he had of public freedom is so history. Henry the 8th history. Magna Carta history. Neanderthal Man history.

After telling the story to a friend, she said it's hard because you want to remain calm and not be that person who freaks out. I said, I was that person. It took me about three seconds to know something was seriously wrong, and I was screaming through the store and shouting at workers. It's been about two weeks and thinking about it still upsets me.