It has been one day since I chipped molar #15, as identified using the Zsigmondy System which was created by Hungarian dentist Adolf Zsigmondy back in 1861. All it took was a little downward pressure on a small, rounded and salted pretzel. The same amount of pressure used to crush a grape. A baby bite if you will. By the way, I am curious, let’s say you were a Hungarian tuber farmer back in 1863 and had a cavity in molar #15 from eating too many of those delicious candied Hungarian white fish tarts, would you go see Dr. Zsigmondy for your wood filling? And I always thought dentistry wasn’t invented until 1934 in the back of a broken down Chevy truck in Overbite, Indiana. Well, looks like yours truly was wrong. At the end of the day, here is some advice, when looking for a morning munchie in the office vending machine, check the date on the package. I am convinced that the aforementioned pretzel must have been baked in a clay pit somewhere in Pennsylvania Dutch country back in 1882. And before I rant on, I just want to make a quick, yet belated shout out to the late Ms. Zephirina Leopold, Lancaster County’s Pretzelmeister from 1880 – 1884 and also to her clay pit from hell. Thanks for the soon to be implanted crown on molar #15.
So, I got to the train station at regular time today, got my coffee and a buttered roll from Lorraine. Have you ever met someone who really meant it when they said “good morning darling, how are you?” If not, go to Ridgewood, NJ and get a coffee at Lorraine’s breakfast nook inside the Ridgewood train station. Regardless of how you may have started your day, Lorraine will always find a way to brighten it up.
During the summer, I started a very hot and humid Monday morning by stepping in a pile of thoroughly digested Senior Plus Chicken and Rice Alpo left at the end of my driveway by my neighbor’s 16 year old Jack Russell Terrier named Radar. Old Radar, that blind in one eye, completely deaf and incontinent palindrome should be chewing on oversized cow femurs in canine heaven. The poor dog walks like a crab with a limp and bumps into bushes and curbs when turning right. My neighbor’s wife keeps thinking that he is going to live forever. Hate to break the news to you honey, but poor old Radar figuratively died in 2003. All that is left is a frizzy haired, tri-colored muppet that breathes, eats and relieves itself in my driveway.
Don’t get me wrong, I love dogs.. can’t you tell. I have one myself and she is as much part of my family as are my children. However, pets by nature don’t last a human lifetime. We all come with expiration dates. That’s life and that’s being a realist. It is just that dogs have a shorter expiration and I believe that in all cases that quality of life for your pet is very important. It is never an easy decision deciding to put down a pet and it is hard to say good bye to that lovable ball of fur that chewed and shit out your $80.00 leather Birkenstocks back in 1989. I cry every time I have to make that trip to the vets. Hey, look, it’s better than being the family guppy that is in a constant race to out last the jug of 2% milk in your fridge. By the way, my money is always on the dairy product when it comes to aquarium life. Have you ever really looked into a fish’s eyes to see what’s going on? Not much there? Especially in the guppies. After eating another fish’s crap and spitting it out ten times an hour and bumping into the filter now and then, they don’t bring much to the table… but an icy glass of cold chocolate milk does, especially 5 days before expiration.
Well, I eventually removed the last remnants of Radar’s feces from my naked foot and headed back in the house walking on my heels to the bathroom so I could disinfect my sole and keep the hard wood floors free from fecal destruction. By the way, you are probably asking yourself how I knew it was Radar’s feces when it could have been some stray dog or maybe a fox. Well, Radar’s deposits are quite unique. As a matter of fact, Radar’s piles can be classified using the Bristol Stool Scale developed at Bristol University in Bristol, England. Radar was easily a 6 on the scale but it was the color that made it unique. I am convinced that his 16 year old doggy digestive track had a can of Krylon orange spray paint resting near the colon spritzing every log before it hit daylight. I bet if you shook that dog up and down, you could hear that little ball bearing bounce around in his body.
I got to the train station on time with perhaps the cleanest feet I have ever had and as I opened the door to go inside, Lorraine was already pouring my coffee as she had seen me on my way down the parking lot. “Good Morning, Darling!” I smiled and said good morning and continued to tell her the abbreviated story of Radar and his orange pile of crap he had left me 100 feet from my house. Did I mention that Lorraine could brighten up a day.
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