Entry #42

Entry #42

Monday, February 13

9:00 a.m. Izzie looked particularly interested in watching the Grammys last night. What was it about Bruce Springsteen’s performance that was so riveting to our dog? Turns out it didn’t have anything to do with Springsteen's charisma, vocal power, or even the decibel levels. It was simply an array of floating, pixelated lights in the background that kept Izzie's eyes glued to the television.

6:00 p.m. Aidan got up at the crack of dawn this morning to practice archery, only he was so bleary-eyed, he forgot to actually put an arrow on his bow, causing something to go awry upon release. I told Aidan that we could get his bow repaired after school, so we went to the Academy, a sporting goods store here in The Woodlands.

We had to be escorted from the entrance to the hunting section (bows apparently are included in the same category as firearms). When we arrived, two men looked at Aidan’s bow and mounted it to some Mr. Fixit gadget. They observed the bow as though they weren’t sure it could be repaired, which was nerve-wracking, considering the fact that this bow wasn’t cheap and that Aidan has had it for only a few days. (Aidan has a particular talent in this area—he would be the ideal poster boy for Toughskins, if you remember those.)

I decided to wander around looking for targets, since Aidan has taken to aiming at pieces of cardboard with circles drawn on them and could use a real target instead of destroying countless boxes. All I could find were targets with deer on them, complete with illustrated organs, so I ambled back. When I returned, Aidan was already practicing shooting in the small in-house target range.

It took awhile to adjust the bow (newfangled varieties are much more complicated than the simple wood-and-string contraptions), so while Aidan practiced I just hung around, watching him take aim. I asked the gentleman helping us if he did a lot of archery, too.

“I hunt exclusively with a bow and arrow," he said adding, "I’ve killed every animal except for six: Grizzly bear, polar bear...” “You’ve killed a polar bear?” I asked nervously. “No,” he said, “That’s one of the six I haven’t killed.” Thank God. Polar bears, as you may know, are now an endangered species. Seems he’s killed virtually every North American species throughout his 37-year history of bow hunting.

We found out that out of his kids, three of them are bow hunters, too, though his daughter prefers her rifle. He shared a story about being nearly touching distance to a black bear while in Ontario, aware that all it would take was one swipe of the bear’s claws to die. However, when the bear stepped back a few feet, he aimed and killed the bear with one arrow.

“Did you eat the bear?” I asked, hoping that at least he put the animal to good use. “Yes, but bear is really greasy. You have to know how to prepare it.” “How big was the bear?” I asked. “About 400 pounds,” he said. “You ate 400 pounds of bear?” I asked. “No, I shared a bunch of it with the natives,” he said.

Before leaving, the gentleman motioned for us to wait a minute while he went to a drawer behind the counter. He brought out several photos with rounded corners, which made me think they were probably taken awhile ago. They were photos of his collection of taxidermy, including countless deer, elk, caribou, a black wolf and beautiful mountain goat. While we were assured that he he did eat whatever he killed, I can’t imagine him eating the completely in-tact wolf.

From my description of this carnivorous bow hunting man, one would think he’d be a pretty gruff dude. Turns out he was exceedingly kind and patient with Aidan, a sincerely nice man.

Ironically Noah is wearing his “Vegetarian is an old Indian word for ‘bad hunter’” shirt today. Too bad he didn’t come into the store.

Tuesday, February 14

10:00 a.m. Happy Valentine’s Day! Here in The Woodlands, people like to decorate during the holidays—any holiday—and that includes Valentine's Day. Our next-door-neighbor has been hanging a heart flag outside for the last couple of weeks, as well as some twirly heart banners. Another neighbor has a shimmery heart-shaped wreath, while another has an array of pink and red balloons along the front door.

On a walk down Mellow Leaf Road this morning (an actual street name), I saw three connected plush hearts dangling from the front door. Izzie would have a blast with those—she loves ripping out stuffing. “You rip my heart out,” however, would not be a winning Valentine’s Day message.

2:00 p.m. Because I was right next door from Izzie’s vet’s office, I thought I’d just walk in to make an appointment rather than call. After being handed an appointment card, the receptionist reached down into a bucket and handed me a white carnation. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” she said.

Izzie was quite pleased with this flower, or rather the flower’s shadow. I realized this shortly after going outside, noticing that Izzie was chasing something on the ground. The long-stemmed bloom bounced as I walked—who knew it would make such a great toy? The flower itself garnered little interest, however. 


Izzie would love the opening scene of Peter Pan, maybe as much as she enjoyed watching the Grammys.