Richard and I have decided to initiate a program at home designed to encourage, and reward, good behavior among the four pawed population of our homestead. (Okay, Richard is going along with the idea as long as he doesn’t have to do any more work and it doesn’t disturb his rest.) We call it the Pet-of-the Quarter. It is designed after the Employee-of-the-Month program that many businesses have been using for decades to coerce their workforce into acceptable performance modes.
The program is simple. One week before the end of the quarter, we accept nominations from the floor (and countertops) for the soon-to-be prestigious honor. Each family member may nominate one family member who bears fur. They need to give a short presentation, not only mentioning who they are nominating, but also why they are nominating said darling creature. Then Richard and I will contemplate the nominations for a week and the two of us will put our heads together and come up with the winner of the Pet-of-the Quarter. The winner will get extra treats, a paw massage and other various and sundry rewards. We discussed a special parking place, but thought that was a tad over the top.
Max was the first to nominate someone. He nominated himself. He claimed that his superior hunting prowess had garnered him the respect and admiration of all his housemates, and he had obviously saved lives by catching and destroying a disease-infested mouse two months ago. (Authors note: the mouse was still attached to our computer when Max caught it, and there is no conclusive evidence that it had a virus.)
Spike, being more humble and retrospect, took his turn to nominate his big brother, Ralph. He pointed out that Ralph had never stepped on him and taught him all he knows about drooling. (Pound for pound, Spike is one dynamite drooler. Ralph taught him well.)
Trixie just shook her head and muttered something about “another ridiculous idea put out by the Bourgeoisie designed to keep the fur-bearing masses in line.” She then snorted and lay down, her disgust obvious.
Ralph was just watching his co-horts with a touch of amusement, and then we watched his eyes light up. He nominated Maxine. (Maxine is Alix’ wiener dog. They both stayed at the house when Richard and I were in Europe.) Ralph was quick to point out that not only has Maxine caused no problems around the homestead this quarter, but apparently while house-sitting she actually bit Max. The other kids still laugh and tell jokes about the incident. Unless Max is around, then they are eerily quiet.
Neither Richard nor I could come up with a candidate. We stared blankly into space.
So, for the fourth-quarter of 2008, the nominees are:
Max, the hunter
Ralph, the graceful teacher
Maxine, the trouble-free comedienne
Do we honor the computer accessory killer, the teacher of drool or a biting outsider? It will be a tough decision.
The program is simple. One week before the end of the quarter, we accept nominations from the floor (and countertops) for the soon-to-be prestigious honor. Each family member may nominate one family member who bears fur. They need to give a short presentation, not only mentioning who they are nominating, but also why they are nominating said darling creature. Then Richard and I will contemplate the nominations for a week and the two of us will put our heads together and come up with the winner of the Pet-of-the Quarter. The winner will get extra treats, a paw massage and other various and sundry rewards. We discussed a special parking place, but thought that was a tad over the top.
Max was the first to nominate someone. He nominated himself. He claimed that his superior hunting prowess had garnered him the respect and admiration of all his housemates, and he had obviously saved lives by catching and destroying a disease-infested mouse two months ago. (Authors note: the mouse was still attached to our computer when Max caught it, and there is no conclusive evidence that it had a virus.)
Spike, being more humble and retrospect, took his turn to nominate his big brother, Ralph. He pointed out that Ralph had never stepped on him and taught him all he knows about drooling. (Pound for pound, Spike is one dynamite drooler. Ralph taught him well.)
Trixie just shook her head and muttered something about “another ridiculous idea put out by the Bourgeoisie designed to keep the fur-bearing masses in line.” She then snorted and lay down, her disgust obvious.
Ralph was just watching his co-horts with a touch of amusement, and then we watched his eyes light up. He nominated Maxine. (Maxine is Alix’ wiener dog. They both stayed at the house when Richard and I were in Europe.) Ralph was quick to point out that not only has Maxine caused no problems around the homestead this quarter, but apparently while house-sitting she actually bit Max. The other kids still laugh and tell jokes about the incident. Unless Max is around, then they are eerily quiet.
Neither Richard nor I could come up with a candidate. We stared blankly into space.
So, for the fourth-quarter of 2008, the nominees are:
Max, the hunter
Ralph, the graceful teacher
Maxine, the trouble-free comedienne
Do we honor the computer accessory killer, the teacher of drool or a biting outsider? It will be a tough decision.
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