Pets vs. potted plants
When I read this prompt the first time, I laughed out loud, but then I started thinking about it, and apparently I have lots of thoughts on the issue.
The short answer: pets all the time.
I’ve owned many potted plants in my life, but they tend to die a lot: they just aren't active enough in their pursue of life. They stay there in their flowerpots, and don't make themselves noticeable. That works well for a while, but then one day, I wake up and realize that the poor plant is no more. For a couple of days, I keep telling myself it's just pining for the fiords, and giving to it in one day the water I should have given to it during the last month will bring it back. Sooner or later, though I have to look the truth in the eye and admit that I now own an ex-plant. At which point, my former potted plant is thrown away, and I remain the proud owner of an empty flowerpot. As I type, a shameful glance to my right shows four empty flowerpots and one orchid who refuses to die, and has by now adapt itself to desert-like conditions. I’ve owned it over a year, and somehow it seems okay with this.
Pets take a more active roll in their continuous survival, and for a scatterbrain like me, this is very important. My dog has me well trained: at 7:00 pm sharp he starts calling attention to himself, starting with subtle cues that increase in strength the longer I ignore them. First are just gentle licks or taps with his nose. Later he places his front paws on my legs, and when everything else fails, he goes for gold and puts his paws on my keyboard at which point I tend to go: "Oh, is it that time of the day again? What didn't you say so earlier?"
And then there's that soulful dog look that makes Shrek's puss in boots bow down and want to take lessons.
This entry was originally posted at http://forestgreen.dreamwidth.org/121059.html, where it has
comments.
The short answer: pets all the time.
I’ve owned many potted plants in my life, but they tend to die a lot: they just aren't active enough in their pursue of life. They stay there in their flowerpots, and don't make themselves noticeable. That works well for a while, but then one day, I wake up and realize that the poor plant is no more. For a couple of days, I keep telling myself it's just pining for the fiords, and giving to it in one day the water I should have given to it during the last month will bring it back. Sooner or later, though I have to look the truth in the eye and admit that I now own an ex-plant. At which point, my former potted plant is thrown away, and I remain the proud owner of an empty flowerpot. As I type, a shameful glance to my right shows four empty flowerpots and one orchid who refuses to die, and has by now adapt itself to desert-like conditions. I’ve owned it over a year, and somehow it seems okay with this.
Pets take a more active roll in their continuous survival, and for a scatterbrain like me, this is very important. My dog has me well trained: at 7:00 pm sharp he starts calling attention to himself, starting with subtle cues that increase in strength the longer I ignore them. First are just gentle licks or taps with his nose. Later he places his front paws on my legs, and when everything else fails, he goes for gold and puts his paws on my keyboard at which point I tend to go: "Oh, is it that time of the day again? What didn't you say so earlier?"
And then there's that soulful dog look that makes Shrek's puss in boots bow down and want to take lessons.
This entry was originally posted at http://forestgreen.dreamwidth.org/121059.html, where it has
comments.