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I Wish That Anything In Life Could Excite Me As Much As Squirrels Excite My Dogs.

~ Joanne Sarginson ~ 9 Comments

Autumn is an exciting time of year for my dogs, mostly because there is a significant increase in the number of squirrels running around in the park.

When my dogs encounter a squirrel, they experience a level of excitement beyond that which humans can cognitively process.

I could win the lottery, be offered a free luxury round-the-world cruise and discover the secret to eternal youth, all within the space of a single hour, and still not come close to scraping the surface of the excitement that my dogs experience when they see a squirrel.

Upon seeing a squirrel, my dogs become so excited that they are no longer completely in control of their bodies.

All they can do is run around, barking manically, their movements and actions controlled by the all-consuming power of their base instincts.

At this time of year, the squirrels are collecting food in preparation for winter which means that they spend a lot of time running around on the ground.

This puts them in direct visual range of my dogs.

Normally, my dogs can barely cope with the presence of one squirrel.

Seeing multiple squirrels sends their brains into overdrive and their squirrel radars switch to high alert.

This means that pretty much everything in the park has the potential to be a squirrel.

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If you enjoyed this post, feel free to check out some of my other posts. For more blog posts and drawings, you can also follow me on Facebook and Instagram.

I Should Not, Under Any Circumstances, Be Allowed More Than Two Alcoholic Beverages…

~ Joanne Sarginson ~ 22 Comments

I like to think of myself as a sensible, graceful, sophisticated human being and like all sensible, graceful, sophisticated people, I know my limits when it comes to drinking alcohol.

I don’t tend to go out drinking a lot so my tolerance for alcohol is relatively low – on average, I only have to consume two drinks before I start to feel the effects.

Once I have had two drinks, I usually recognise that I have reached my limit and my rational mind prevents me from ingesting any more alcohol in an attempt to preserve my dignity.

However, sometimes, I get cocky.

Sometimes, despite prior evidence to the contrary, I become convinced that my body can cope with a further two units of alcohol.

Sometimes, I have a third drink.

This is the first in a series of stupid decisions.

For me, the process of getting drunk starts with denial.

Whilst I am making my way through my third drink, my brain comes up with a series of excuses to convince both myself and the people around me that I am still the dignified person that I consider myself to be.

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Eventually, however, the realisation that I am, in fact, drunk hits me with the force of a life-altering epiphany.

At this point, the fact that I’m drunk becomes the single most important piece of information in existence and I experience an unstoppable urge to share it with everyone in the immediate vicinity.

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For a couple of hours, the feeling of being drunk eclipses everything, including a sense of shame or social dignity.

This means that I am much more confident and much less socially inhibited than I am in everyday life.

Normally, I am quite a shy person who can be slightly apprehensive when meeting new people.

For me, making friends usually involves finding a person with whom I have a lot in common and then building up connection and trust over an extended period of time.

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Unfortunately, at some point in the night, I start to sober up.

The confidence and bravado that alcohol had bestowed upon me suddenly dissipates and is replaced by an intense vulnerability.

This part of the night tends to be quite an emotional time for me.

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Having an emotional breakdown tends to leave me feeling quite drained and, once I have attempted to fill the emotional void with various types of fried food, any remotely flat surface becomes a viable place to sleep.

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If you enjoyed this post, feel free to check out some of my other posts. For more blog posts and drawings, you can also follow me on Facebook and Instagram.

The Thing That Bugs Me Most About Summer.

~ Joanne Sarginson ~ 30 Comments

I’m always secretly quite happy when summer comes to an end.

My dad is a redhead and although I did not inherit this trait, somewhere deep down inside of me there is a recessive ginger gene that protests whenever I venture out into the sun.

There also tends to be quite a lot of bugs around in summer and I don’t like bugs very much.

I understand that bugs are an important part of our ecosystems and that all life is beautiful and sacred and I am happy to appreciate their integral role in the circle of life… as long as they don’t come anywhere near me.

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I am aware that bugs have a vital role in natural processes such as decomposition but when a bug is buzzing around my head the only thing breaking down my ability to tolerate its existence.

The number of bugs present is proportional to temperature.

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So it makes sense that, as summer comes to an end and the temperature begins to decrease, so does the bug population.

In the past week or so, I have noticed that there are fewer bugs outdoors.

It is as if the bugs have sensed the impending drop in temperature and have migrated in search of a warmer climate.

Unfortunately, that warmer climate just happens to be inside my house.

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The other day, my room was quite stuffy so I opened the window to allow some fresh air to enter.

Half an hour later, it was as if Pixar had decided to use my room as a filming location for the sequel to ‘A Bug’s Life’.

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Having a load of bugs in my personal space made me feel all icky inside so I began to waft the bugs towards the window in the hope that they would go back out of it.

After a while, I was left with one stubborn insect who refused to leave.

I had an empty mug on my desk so I decided that the best way to deal with the bug would be to trap it under the mug and then transport it back outdoors myself.bugs_LI (2)

Once I had managed to catch the bug, I realised that I needed to slide a piece of paper underneath the mug in order to move it.

So I left the bug buzzing around inside the mug and went downstairs to get some.

When I came back upstairs, my room was silent.

I lifted up the cup and the bug was gone.

I looked at the empty space where the bug had been and almost immediately my imagination rushed to fill it.

Because I could no longer see the bug, my mind began to create scenarios to explain its disappearance.

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I became convinced that there were only two ways in which the bug could have possibly escaped:
1) The bug had sent out an SOS signal to its bug friends who had performed a rescue mission in my absence.
2) The bug had somehow managed to teleport out of the mug.

I didn’t know what was worse:
1) Dealing with a legion of vengeful bugs seeking justice for the capture of their friend.
2) Dealing with some kind of cyborg technobug, probably sent back from the future with the sole purpose of brutally assassinating me.

Logically, I knew that a bug not have the cognitive capacity to form strategic plans to bring about my demise.

However, in my panic, the rational part of my brain ceased to function.

I ran into my brother’s room and told him of my concerns.

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My brother’s complete disregard for my panic calmed me.

Maybe I was just being silly.

Maybe there was no reason to be worried after all.

For the next couple of hours, there was no sign of the bug and by the time I went to bed, I had forgotten all about it.

However, just as I was about to fall asleep, I heard a faint buzzing arise from the darkness.

I got out of bed and turned the light on.

The buzzing stopped.

I frowned and thought that maybe I had imagined it. Maybe my mind was just playing tricks on me again.

I turned the light off and got back into bed.

Two seconds later, I heard the buzzing again.

I got out of bed and turned the light on.

Once again, the buzzing stopped.

At this point, I realised that I had evidentially misjudged the situation.

There was no army of cyborg technobugs.

There was just one bug and it was engaging me in a much more intimate form of physiological warfare.

The bug was playing mind games with me.

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I couldn’t see the bug in the dark and I couldn’t hear it in the light, meaning that I was unable to pinpoint its position with any degree of accuracy.

As a result, I wasn’t able to locate the bug until the following morning.

When I finally found it, I felt like a heroic protagonist facing up to their arch nemesis.

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Except I looked a bit more like this…

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If you enjoyed this post, feel free to check out some of my other posts. I often have profound thoughts on important, life-affirming subjects such as dogs, social awkwardness and scary animals that freak me out.

For more blog posts and drawings, you can also follow me on Facebook and Instagram.

The Dog – A Loyal, Faithful, Devoted Companion That Will Almost Definitely Ditch You To Chase a Squirrel or Dive Head First Into a Bog.

~ Joanne Sarginson ~ 23 Comments

Just over a year ago, I wrote a post about my dog, Jessie.

Since then my parents have decided to acquire another dog.

When I say ‘decided to acquire’, I mean that I pressured them until their willpower broke.

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My family’s second dog is called Bailey.

Like Jessie, Bailey is a Labradoodle which means that, genetically, he is a mix of Labrador  and a Poodle but, physically, he looks like he is the descendant of a large teddy bear and Rowlf from The Muppets.

Bailey is 18 months old which means that he is now the size of an adult dog but still has all the raw enthusiasm of a puppy.

As a result, he carries himself with the grace and sophistication of a bulldozer being operated by a person who is not very graceful and sophisticated.

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Bailey’s main ambition in life is to catch a squirrel.

Unfortunately, his current technique of barking loudly and running directly at the squirrel in the hope that it will not see him coming has produced a success rate of 0%.

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In addition, his chances of catching a squirrel are not improved by the fact that sometimes the ‘squirrels’ he chases are not actually squirrels and are instead just generic small moving objects that happen to have strayed into his visual range.

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In fact, Bailey’s general lack of bodily coordination means that he often finds it difficult to catch anything at all, including inanimate objects, as his absurd levels of enthusiasm often significantly impair the accuracy of his attempts.

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Aside from squirrel chasing, Bailey’s other hobbies include pulling on the lead and howling.

When out on a walk, Bailey operates under the delusion that he is a member of a professional dog sled team but, since he is the only one on the team, he has to pull extra hard to compensate.

When inside the house, Bailey enjoys testing both the dexterity of his vocal chords and limits of my sanity by engaging in regular bouts of howling.

The howl is a noise that was designed to allow wolves to communicate over long distances.

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However, unlike wolves, most dogs no longer inhabit vast expanses of wilderness.

When this powerful form of communication is released within the confines of an enclosed residential space, it becomes amplified by the walls, creating what can only be described as a greenhouse effect of concentrated, ear-splitting sound.

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Dogs are well-known for their loyalty, a trait that has been documented in many films and books.

However, I think that there is a difference between the loyalty displayed by iconic dogs such as Lassie and Bailey’s tendency to cling to you with the adhesive qualities of a solid PVA glue.

Bailey tries his upmost to ensure that he is included in the majority of my daily activities.

EATING:

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WORKING:

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SLEEPING:

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Because of their loyalty, dogs are commonly referred to as man’s best friend, a title which they have held for hundreds of years.

You would presume that such a long-lasting relationship would be founded on a strong connection, a cross-species link, operating outside of verbal communication, that enables us to understand each other.

However, since we have had Bailey, I have begun to doubt the dog’s ability to understand humans at all.

This is because Bailey has an ongoing tendency to misinterpret the pretty much all of things that I say to him.

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Festive Eating – The Art of Consuming Enough Food to Find Yourself on the Verge of Exceeding the Physical Capacity of Your Stomach and Then Somehow Managing to Make Your Way Through an Entire Box of Chocolates.

~ Joanne Sarginson ~ 12 Comments

Christmas food is in a league of its own.

In the 21st century, there is increased awareness of the health risks of excessive eating and therefore the majority of people tend to exert a bit of control over what they eat.

Not at Christmas.

Every time we substitute chips with salad, deny ourselves a slice of cake or practice any other form of culinary self-control, a little bit of tension is stored within us.

All of this tension is released on Christmas day.

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The sheer mass of food present at Christmas is enough to intimidate most people.

Food is everywhere.

Some items of food are served within other items of food, like Inception but with calories instead of dreams.

People buy presents that are specifically targeted to further increase their ability to consume food and drink.

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It is impossible to escape from the near continuous torrent of food.

The abundance and accessibility of food induces you eat at a rate beyond that which you would have previously perceived possible.

Items of food are often actively brought to you by other members of the family who are  trying to offload them onto you in a desperate attempt to halt their own unstoppable consumption.

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It is likely that members of your family will have prepared dishes which they look upon with the same sense of pride that Michelangelo experienced upon the completion of the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling.

It is therefore hard not to experience a sense of obligation when they offer you a portion of their culinary magnum opus.

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Christmas day is a bit like Black Friday for your stomach in that it receives an unprecedented amount of business, all the digestive enzymes that work there get overly stressed and eventually everything implodes, leaving stranded you in a state of comatose on the sofa.

The physical consequences of this implosion normally manifest themselves when you attempt to dress yourself on Boxing Day and closing the zip on your jeans is the equivalent of squeezing said jeans, along with various other items of clothing, into an undersized suitcase before you go on holiday.

Once Christmas Day has passed, you are unsure if you will ever need to eat again.

However, on New Year’s Eve, the calories strike back in the form of alcoholic drinks.

New Year’s Eve calories are much more subtle than Christmas calories.

Not only is it hard to consider a liquid calorific, the more alcohol you ingest, the more intoxicated you become and the less aware you are of how calories work.

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Unless you possess an uncommonly high metabolism, it is impossible to consume vast quantities of food and without it exerting adverse effects on your waistline.

In order to counteract the calorific onslaught of Christmas day and New Year’s Eve, many people decide to take up running.

Running is similar to eating in that if you do for long enough it makes you feel sick.

When you first start running, it seems that everyone you pass doesn’t appear to be struggling as much as much as you are.

This may be because these people are just really fit.

However, it is comforting to imagine that a significant amount of people are just maintaining an illusion of fitness in order to appear impressive for as long as it takes to fully pass another person.

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