Of Poodles and Hats.

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These last few days we’ve been getting hassled by one of our neighbours: a small French Poodle or some similar type of canine. Her name is Maya and she’s just given birth to three puppies, one of them still born. Ever since she seems to have completely lost all common sense and engages in weird digging activities under our bed and in the corners of the room. She has also lost all control of her generally very well-behaved attitudes regarding human food. Her voice has changed, too, and basically she’s become a serious nuisance. I found her still-born the next day in one of the very few existing public rubbish bins across the road. Our landlady had made one of her tenants discard it for her. He’s a native, he can do such things.

Apart from that, the days are arising and passing as ever, thankfully with relative speed, and Christmas announces its twisted head through the unignorable appearance of woolly red and white Santa Claus hats at every street corner! We find ourselves near the equator, at the edge of the Amazon rainforest should anyone have missed that. Woolly hats aren’t exactly what people need around here. But given the fact that Father Christmas is a radically European figure with no relation whatsoever to Andean-Amazonian local traditions, it is no wonder that the hats peddled in his name are all the rage.

Since the solstices at these low latitudes are hardly noticeable, Christmas seems an even greater Christian imposition than it does up North. The economically downtrodden position of most inhabitants of this area, however, spares us from witnessing the seasonal and nauseating consumption of everything that can be bought. I don’t know if “fortunately” is the word I am looking for in this context. It is easy to see subsistence farming as righteous and dignified when you cannot help but feel acute and stabbing pointlessness in the roles and activities modern capitalism has to offer to even its most benign participants.



3 thoughts on “Of Poodles and Hats.

    colono said:
    Thursday, December 14, 2006 at 00:13 (050)

    It’s a Dog’s Life, no doubt about it, it’s a dog eat dog world, to be sure, but it seems most pertinent that I come to moral rescue of Maya: she has not simply lost the plot, men hun gaar dog i hundene, she is simple confused. Three times did she blurp out off-spring, three times did she lick a whole, full creature, three little birds on my…, sorry, puppies on my doorstep. Then came the confusion caused by humans: you have built your nest in the wrong quarters, my friend, you have to move.

    All settled into cardboard box land, on an old red towel (dry, though!), with two, 2, puppies: “Hey, there is one missing?!?!?”

    The next morning she came to my bedside and wept like a baby, went under the bed where shehad given birth (and from where we evicted her – after all it is not our dog!), dug around, crawled in despair and turned around herself. She’s been looking for the third baby ever since, poor thing.

    yucca said:
    Sunday, December 17, 2006 at 13:09 (589)

    “her name is maia” gave raise to some nostalgia within the yucca’s intestine (yes, yuccas have intestines too, if not feelings).

    hope you two dont mind me saying

    merry “christ”mas

    New Life. « colonos said:
    Tuesday, January 2, 2007 at 21:09 (923)

    […] Colona wrote earlier about our immediate neighbour, Maya, having children. They were born under our bed and the transformation and suppression by own caring instincts that […]

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