I started offering options. Do you want to take Barley for a walk? Do you want to go shopping? Do you want to play outside? Go to the park? Launch rockets?
No, no, no, no, and no.
Is there something you want to do?
Yes.
But the first thing she names is something too expensive.
Then I ask, do you want to go to the Bass Pro and see what they're hiding? Look at boats and fishing crap and guns?
Yes!
So we do.
It's something new. Sort of. It's basically Cabella's with less ambitious taxidermy and no pine lath.
And it's fine. Not that we need anything from such a store. I enjoyed fishing one time, when my brother took me sight-fishing for trout at Bennett Springs. Every other time I've tried it, I get about three casts in before I remember how much I hate fishing. I might try it in the ocean someday, given the chance. Maybe it's only dull because I can't hook anything bigger than me.
Camping, I can enjoy that but it's not like something I crave. And hunting? Never tried it. I like game meat, so it's nothing I'd be averse to trying, but it's not like I've ever gone out of my way to see what it's like. Sitting in a blind is not for me, I can figure that out on my own, but walking about well armed and blasting whatever moves, maybe I'd dig that.
There is something I have an eye out for, though. A Diastat holster. Because I realize when we get there I don't have the Diastat with me, again.
This is a rectal syringe of Valium to arrest grand mal seizures that go past five minutes. It's not something you need every day, but when you need it, ya do.
Problem is, the plunger is way too easy to accidentally depress, and then it's a new trip to the pharmacy. A $50 copay on my last employer's insurance, not sure about my new insurance yet, but I know it's over $300 retail with no insurance.
The trick is to find a carrying case stiff enough that it won't get accidentally deployed, small enough so it's not too bulky to car around, and preferably with a way to hook it on a belt so you can have it wherever you go.
A belt holster for a small hunting scope would about do the trick.
Alas, it seems that's one item hunters have not yet found a need for. Go figure. I could get scope cases, no problem, but they were all bigger than the pencil box I'm trying to get away from.
Meanwhile, Mo grew fond of these squeaky ducks. And fish and whatnot.
The giant trout pillows as big as her I thought she'd dig, but these damn ducks are what she falls for.
They're like $5, and I think they're supposed to help train a dog to be worth a shit at hunting or whatever.
We go and check out the boats, and Mo has fun pretending to drive them and all, but she wants to visit the ducks. Which we do.
And again.
This third time, she takes the fish version of these squeaky toy and puts it in my hand.
I'd been about to buy the damn thing for her just because I could tell she was digging it hard. But when I started to say 'I don't know,' a whining fit commenced and that pushed things the other way.
No, whining will not get you what you want.
Which lead to bellowing and tears.
I put on my happy Dad face and walked her out. Down the elevator, through the various outdoor gear and clothing and I don't know what-all, and out. Occasionally I'd say, 'No, whining doesn't get us what we want.'
Normally, I'm insensitive enough that I really don't notice when people stare, but this time...Mind your own fucking business, people. I have bigger problems than to try and prove to you that this isn't the result of me being a shitty parent. Remember what month it is, assheads?
1 comment:
April brings Mo showers.
Mmmhmm. It's great you can find fun wherever you go if you look hard enough.
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