ALL ABOUT CONSEQUENCES

Bali and Grump

“Consequences. That’s what it’s about.” We were on the daily drive to school, and my Rug rats were listening to me attentively....I hoped. I glanced in the rear-view mirror at Bali, the wild five year old. He had been throwing temper tantrums everyday when his mommy would pick him up from school; wicked tantrums out of the blue, for no evident reason other than that, with his mother, he knew he could get away with it.

“Do you understand what Mémère is saying, Bali?” I asked him now.

“I do!” interrupted Nalou, the oldest boy. “If we’re nice, we get treated nice. Those are good consequences. If we aren’t nice, then the consequences are not so good.”

“That’s right.” I answered him. “And you have the choice. You lads are pretty lucky. It’s rare any of us tell you no when you want something. But respect works both ways. If you don’t give any, you won’t receive any either.” I looked at Bali again. Was he getting it? He caught my glance in the mirror and flashed his sunny smile. What a charmer this boy is! I asked him again if he understood.

“Yes,” he replied, and repeated nearly word for word what his older brother has just said. But did he mean it?

“So what about the tantrums?” My voice wasn’t scolding, it was questioning. There was silence from the back seat. We stopped at a red light, so I was able to turn around and look straight at him. I waited. He fidgeted a moment before he shrugged, but he didn’t look away. I lifted an eyebrow.

"So? What’s the reason, Bali? Why the tantrums? Are you angry at mommy?”

“No.”

“Then why? Does it make you happy when you do that? Do you like being scolded every evening, or not being allowed to play your favorite games?”

“No.” he said again, but further explanation was not offered. I shrugged as I turned back to continue driving.

“Ah, well,” I said casually. ‘You’re the one paying the consequences. Don’t try it with Mémère though. It won’t work. And Mémère’s consequences are far worse than Mommy’s. You know that, right?” I saw him nod in agreement. Compared to their parents, I’m a harridan!

Ten minutes later we had arrived at the school. I got out of the car and opened the back door to help Bali from his jumper seat, then picked up his schoolbag and lunchbox. I was slipping the straps of his bag over his shoulders when he looked up at me, another grin on his face.

“I won’t do it anymore, Mémère.” He declared.

“No more tantrums?” I made my tone excited, happy.

“Nope. Then I’ll have good consekences!” His pronunciation was off, but his meaning was not lost.

“Alright, man! Give it here!!” I held my hand out for a high five. We slapped palms twice; he grinned at me again and ran off into the schoolyard.

This took place two weeks ago. Since then my boy has been true to his word. The first thing he does each night on arriving back from school is to run in and tell me that he had been good, that there was no tantrum. I congratulate him, and we high-five. It goes without saying that he is finding the evening’s activities more to his liking, as does the whole household.

A lesson learned. He proved it the other morning when his two year old brother deliberately threw the sipper cup of milk from his high chair onto the floor.

"Don’t do that, Tao!" Bali warned. “That’s not good for consekences!”

He looked up at me and I winked in approval, and we both SMILED.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

CONCLUSION OF THE STORY

I stumbled through the trees, following the noise. Suddenly the noise stopped. I could hear the drunken neighbour still calling...then, closer by, a low growling. I waved my flashlight frantically in that direction. My light picked out shadows – four of them frozen in place, not moving. There was supposed to be five. A dog was missing! My heart was in my throat; I knew that Smooch, my huge awkward puppy, was the most vulnerable of the bunch.

Another thrust through branches and I was behind them. With relief I saw Smooch, his back to me as he stood watching the other three. The neighbour’s black male was in the center, looking straight ahead, and Grump and Louka were on each side of him; their faces close to his, menacing, growling each in turn. He stayed still; if he moved they would be on him and he knew it. His sister, the brown female, was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey!” I said loudly. Duh! The only excuse I can give is that I was as hyper as the dogs at that point.

That’s all it took. The black male made a break for it, heading home, and my three (Louka is practically mine anyway) were right after him. I started to run again, yelling at them to stop.

I broke into the clearing at the neighbour’s house to find the idiot standing on his gallery, hanging onto the old, grey mother of his killer dogs. She was snarling wildly – she had tortured Louka from puppyhood and we all know they are sworn enemies. I watched in horror as Louka and Grump changed direction and headed up the stairs to attack her. The poor old thing did what she could to defend herself. Her master certainly wasn’t helping; he had stepped back and was still crooning (yes, CROONING) “Bien non. It’s okay, it’s okay.”

His panel truck was parked by the stairs. I saw an aluminum shovel lying in the back and I grabbed it, then raced to the skirmish, screaming as loud as I could. I brought it down with a bang on the wooden floor beside the three biting, snarling dogs, yelling Grump’s and Louka’s names – telling them to STOP! To GET OFF! My ever obedient pit let go of the old one’s throat and, surprisingly, Louka desisted too.

When they both backed off, I glanced around for the other animals. The large brown female was limping badly, and Smooch was following her around in the yard, his tail going a mile a minute. He though he was playing – there was no danger there. The big black male was cowering by the bush; he was done too. The old female was trying to right herself from the gallery floor without much success – she was hurt. Louka and Grump, although snarling, were following orders and staying behind me.

I focused on the drunken sot in front of me. The shovel still in hand I advanced towards him.

“You let your damned dogs out again!’ I said through clenched teeth. “And my little grandchildren are playing in my yard!! They came and attacked my dog, you stupid old beep!!”

“Bien non, bien non.” He was still crooning. “Everything’s okay.”

“Look at your dog!! You did nothing! You could have shoved her into the house!! You did nothing, you drunken shit! And you let your other ones run loose again. How many damned times do we need to tell you they’re dangerous?? ”

My aggressive tone finally got to him, and he told me to puck off, I had no business there, and it got worse from that moment on. I won’t go into details; and, yes, I know there is no earthly use arguing with a person that drunk, but my fear had now turned to anger. I wanted to pound the dude to a pulp.

When he advanced toward me, I pushed him in the bare belly with the shovel, then threw it at him. It landed at his feet, much to my chagrin. He swore at me and advanced again; I shoved him. Hard! Thank heavens a lawn chair was in the right place; he went flying back and fell to sit on it instead of taking a header off the gallery, which is high enough to injure.

A sudden disgust for the whole episode swept over me. I also remembered that I was on HIS property now. Enough was enough. I turned and walked down the stairs, calling to my three dogs to come. Don’t ask me what he said next; I don’t remember exactly, except it was vulgar. All I know is that I felt the cold rage start in my stomach and rise up - and I turned around, and he had the shovel in the air.

“Don’t you DARE throw that at me, you beep beep beep!” But he did.

The fierce, menacing rumble stopped us both short. Drunk as he was, the neighbour froze, his eyes widened in terror as he stared at Grump. I swung out my arm out just as the pit sprang at him.

“No!! No, no Grump! Come!” This time it took a moment before Grump obeyed, but obey he did. There was no bite, but his gaze was fixed on the man. It wouldn’t take much for him to jump again. Still touching his collar, I repeated the call to Louka and Smooch; they came to me immediately.

“Take care of your dogs, you A-hole!” I managed to spit out. “They’re hurt, all because you’re a pucking idiot!”

My dogs beside me, I stomped through the bush toward home.

The rug rats were still at the top of the hill, calling down to me, worry in their voices, asking if I was okay. For shame; they had heard everything. I had just shown my grandsons a perfect example of what NOT to do.

I answered that yes, I was fine. When I joined them, I was still raging inside, now as much at my own stupid reaction as at the carelessness of the drunken idiot neighbour. I didn’t even realize that I was limping until the Nalou inquired where I was hurt.

A week has gone by and my foot is still swollen and painful. It’s twisted, and the only thing to do is to stay off it. Try doing that with 3 rug rats, 3 dogs, 2 cats and a bird!

The injury to my pride is worse; I believed I had a cooler head, a certain sang froid. I console myself by attributing it to the frustration of a seemingly hopeless and frightening situation. There have been repeated warnings from all his neighbours, more than one visit from the police...yet those dogs are still let loose when he goes on his binges. It’s a shame for the animals; it’s not their fault, but that of a master too ignorant to even own a canary!

I did tell the town vet about it when I went in with Grump; a sort of precaution if ever I do have to shoot the dogs before we get the fence up around my property. She agreed that, God forbid, they would probably have attacked the children if my dogs had not been there to distract them; their mentality has become that bad. She was also quick to tell me that I could be proud of my own canines; they are not killers, because they stopped when told. They were only protecting us, as good and loyal dogs should.

For a couple of days, imagining my hand slapping that bugger silly was the only thing to bring out my SMILE.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec

THE STORY

We went out into the night, the five of us; my two oldest rug rats, Grump and Smooch and me. I had the flashlight (the boys were looking forward to playing cops & robbers again), and Nalou had the squeaky balls for the doggies. Grump had already disappeared into the dark, headed for the side bush where he does his needs.

Wait! I heard a voice. Ah, no! It was the neighbour and I could tell he was drunk. And he was calling his dogs.

“Nalou, don’t throw the ball.....”

But it was too late. The ball was gone down the hill, with Smooch sprinting after it.

“Stay right here! Don’t move” I yelled at the boys. I flashed the light ahead of me as I began to run, fear coursing through me....with good reason.

Not even halfway down the hill and I saw them come out of nowhere and jump on him. He was intent on the ball, and looked up just as they hit him. They are both bigger than him and seasoned fighters...they have already killed two dogs in our area. In spite of his size, Smooch is still a puppy. He went down hard, not even a yelp; the only thing to be heard was their ferocious growling and my screams as I raced toward them.

From the corner of my eye I saw a steak of white float from the bush, then another passed me from behind; Grump and the beautiful Louka! I watched as they threw themselves into the fray – now the noise was wild! A dip in the driveway made me stumble. I dropped the flashlight, and by the time I picked it up all the dogs and the fight had already moved out of sight into the bush between my place and my neighbour’s. That terrible growling and then howls of pain, and ...oh God, who is getting hurt??? I ran as hard as I could, gasping for breath, heart in my mouth and still hollering “Stop!! Git home!! Stop!! Git!”

To be continued

RAGE!!!

I’m limping. It’s painful.

It could be worse; I could be fighting assault and battery charges.

Or worse still, trying to rescue my loyal Grump from the terrible mess which follows when a dog, especially a pit-bull, attacks a person.

I’m nearly over my rage now, so will be able to write about it without excessive ranting. But not tonight.

After supper, Mommy and the rug rats and Wigi left to sleep over at her house. She noticed that I badly needed a break. They’ll be back for an early breakfast.

In the meantime, this wounded Mémère is going to finally gobble a couple of pain killers and will not pass go, but will go straight to bed. No ‘Get out Free’ card required.

By tomorrow I should have my SMILE back.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec

CRIME THAT DOES PAY

The policewoman hunkered down in the chill of the autumn night, being as quiet as possible. She had heard noises near the third vehicle parked a short distance behind her and had her flashlight pointed there, waiting to power it on. She didn’t want to give away her position too early.

Her older dog’s attention to that same spot convinced her that she was right. Slowly she crept in the targeted direction, then stopped when two shadows appeared from behind the car’s trunk.

“Hands in the air!! Don’t move!!” The thieves, caught by the torch held in the cop’s hand, straightened to do as ordered – the biggest one immediately, the smaller one a little slower. The latter turned and scowled at his partner in crime.

“You said we wouldn’t be seen in the dark!” he accused.

“You guys never had a chance!” crowed the cop. “I got me two smart police dogs!!” At that precise moment, one of the dogs pranced into the light, throwing a ball up into the air before scurrying after it, and paying no attention whatsoever to the thieves standing there. The giggles rang out and the arms came down and the pleading started.

“Come on, Mémère – one more time. Just one. And this time you can’t use the dogs to catch us.” Nalou watched as Smooch came barreling toward us again, still with the ball in his mouth. “Well – you can use THAT dog if you want,” he added. Another round of giggles.

“Bedtime, guys.” said the cop firmly. “Tomorrow’s another day.” And the race was on to see who could get to the top of the stairs first. (The dogs won.)

How long has it been since I’ve played cops and robbers? Hmmm...let me count the years. Then again, let’s not. One thing I will tell you is that the thrill of it is still there.

Kabu’s post about her childhood and the love of a family not so rich in material things, but very affluent in “caring” comes to mind. The electronic era has many good things about it (i.e. Blogit), but it can separate us as much as keep us together if we are not careful. Maybe playing a video game with your child can bring the two of you closer, emphasis on the word ‘with’; the child playing alone is just that...alone. But, at the risk of sounding like an old fogey, I find there is nothing quite like being outdoors, especially after dark in the crisp air, playing imaginary games such as cops and robbers. I’d be willing to bet that the kids sleep much better too. Fresh air and exercising the body are way ahead of just stimulating the brain.

Oh – and not only the children sleep better. The “cop” proved that by being in bed shortly after baths and snacks and hugs. I’m sure that when Morpheus joined us, we were all SMILING.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec

THE YO-YO.

Because she has been staying here for the past month or so, Mommy had very little food at her own house. I prepared soup and sandwich fixings, put the makeup in the bag, picked up the youngest Rug rat from daycare, and made my way there to join her and the two oldest boys. They would have time for a quick meal before doing the rounds on Halloween night.

When I arrived, it was to find the five year old Bali and Mommy in distress mode, with maternal grandma looking on.

“He threw a tantrum when I picked him up from school,” Mommy informed me. “I have no idea why. I had been telling my mother that he has been so good, since both you and I spend time with him – and now this! He was screaming again!”

I knew the child was listening, but he didn’t look around to see my reaction. I said nothing other than “Hmmm”. Things have been going well with him lately, but there are no overnight fixes for something like this. I suspect that he’s still not quite used to Mommy putting her foot down, but I didn’t say so within his hearing. Mommy and I would talk this weekend. All of us were just too darned tired at the moment.

Not only is Bali in the middle (oldest gets privileges, youngest gets babied), but he is also very small for his age. His stature bothers him greatly; it frustrates him to no end. Last year while at the town amusement fair, he was barred from certain rides when his younger, but taller, friends were allowed to participate. That hurt!! He expresses his pain with pure rage, lashing out, getting carried away unless stopped immediately. Still, there is such a brave heart in that little body. I’m certain that by channeling the energy he uses for his tantrums into something positive, add some well-placed discipline, together with his already present charm, his fierce determination, and his fearlessness, one could not ask for a better young man. It will, of course, take time, but I am positive it will work.

Last night again, when his Mommy warned him there was no candy if he didn’t eat his supper, Bali picked up his plate and threw it back on the table. He hadn’t noticed that I was standing behind him, and my light finger flick on the side of his head startled him.

“Pick that up and put it down right.” Without a word he did as I said, ducking his head as children do when they are caught out. “You heard your Mom,” I added. “If you want candy, you eat supper. If you don’t want to eat supper, that’s okay, but there’s no candy.” He picked up his fork and started to eat again. Nothing further was said about it, and he did get his candy when he was finished. He was still chewing on the sweet when he came to lean on my knee; my grinning boy holds no grudges. I hugged him close to me, wishing that I could find a miracle, a quick solution; that we could stop this sort of good-cop, bad-cop scenario his mother and I seem to have created.

All this to say that those we love sure can play yo-yo with our emotions. On the drive to school this morning, Nalou, the oldest Rug rat, was telling me about the different planets; he’s into astronomy, and stumps me every time!

“And we have the best planet,” he stated. “Earth.”

I agreed, telling him that Earth had everything we needed to live happily. There was a short lapse in our conversation, then he spoke again.

“I love my life now.’ He said, his voice serious. ‘I’m really happy.” Surprised, but thrilled, I glanced over at him, then in the rear view mirror at his brother, who was listening from the back seat.

“What about you, Bali? Do you love you life too?”

“Yep!” answered my wild grandson, his eyes sparkling back at me. “I’m really happy too!”

I felt the yo-yo ascend once more as we all SMILED.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

WAFFLES...OR NOT

My Halloween Rugrats


Nalou, the oldest rug rat, was the first one to call down to me this morning; it was 5:15 AM. Even if I had already been working for an hour, I still wasn’t willing to shatter my alone time.

“Go back to sleep,” I answered him in a loud whisper. “It’s not 6 o’clock yet.”

“But I’m awake NOW,” he insisted.

“So lie down and rest. Or think about ...whatever...and don’t wake the others!” I warned. “You know you don’t come downstairs before 6 AM.”

Even as I said it, I suspected that he would wake the others. Both older boys have discovered that once two year old Tao is up, attention is pretty much guaranteed. Tao, after all, is still too young to understand the 6 o’clock rule.

Sure enough, not even 15 minutes later, all three voices were audible. Hmmm...Nalou was NOT going to have a good morning.

Tao is a terrible tease, and very rambunctious. He is also very aware that Nalou is not allowed to hurt him, and he will play on it without mercy. Leave the two of them in a room alone together for more than 10 minutes, and you can bet your life that Nalou will be loudly complaining about his little brother’s antics, imploring adult intervention. This morning it didn’t even take that long.

“Mémère! Tao is awake now.” Nalou was standing at the top of the stairs.

“I know. You woke him. You all are staying upstairs until 6 o’clock anyway.”

“But he won’t stop jumping on me!” came the predicted whine.

“Too bad. You woke him, you put up with him. None of you are coming down. It’s too early. You have half an hour to wait.” My voice was firm; it brooked little argument. His “But...” and “He won’t...” and “I don’t like...” entreaties faded into the background when I walked into my office and closed the door. I heard the thumps and bumps on the floor above, but was determined that, short of an injury, they would NOT be coming down before the allotted time.

When the half hour was up, I put on the kitchen light and called “All’s clear!” Down they flew, Tao jumping into my arms for his morning cuddle before his lift into the high chair and breakfast. Nalou’s expression was sheepish; he knew he had disobeyed and that a scolding was in order. Instead I reminded him to put his little dog, Wigi (correct spelling!) outside. He reacted as he does every morning when required to do the task.

“It’s too cold, and it’s wet. I’m hungry now.”

“Dog first. Food after.” said his mean old Mémère. His Mommy usually relents and does it for him.

“But his leash is all wrapped up at the bottom of the gallery!”

“That’s right. You didn’t unwrap it last night when you brought him in, so you have that joyful task to do this morning. Before breakfast.”

“But I’m not dressed,” he continued. “And I’m hungry. Wigi can wait.”

“Now!” I stated.

“But I don’t feel like doing it now!”

I turned from the toaster and waffles to stare at him. “Now!” I repeated. ‘Wigi is your responsibility. He needs to go pee. It’s cruel to make him wait. Now!” I handed him the flashlight. It was still dark out there. Dragging his feet, he slumped away to reluctantly do as he was told.

When he showed up Wigi-less ten minutes later, his brothers were already eating.
“I don’t have any waffles, Mémère?” He inquired, studying the empty place where his plate should be.

“Did you ask for some?”

“Yes!” he replied. “I asked before I put Wigi out.”

“Hmmm. I guess I didn’t listen to you then.” I kept busily wiping the counter. When he saw I still hadn’t made a move to prepare his waffles, he stalled a moment, then broached the subject again, his tone uncertain.

“Are you going to make them now?”

“Make what?” I asked airily.

Again he hesitated before saying “My waffles.” He’s a smart lad. I knew it wouldn’t take him long to get the picture.

“I don’t know. I’m wondering if I should listen to you now. Or not.” I turned to look directly at him. He gazed back at me, then visibly came the ‘Aha!’ moment. He ducked his head before responding.

“Yes – you can listen to me. I’m hungry. Please.” His eyes lifted to look into mine. “And I’ll listen to you next time too.”

“We’ve got a deal.” I confirmed, holding out for a high-five.

“A deal!” repeated this handsome grandson of mine, and he slapped his hand into mine.

My wink contained a granny-load of love. He saw it for what it was, and we both SMILED.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.