04.09.09
Posted in Uncategorized at 9:31 am by Oscar
Hi — Oscar here,
Just want to give you fair notice. My person (the doctor) is about to launch a rant against mistreatment of cosmetic clients in the Delaware Valley. He was fuming about it this morning — tried to calm him down — but when he gets irate about how others are mistreated nothing will stop him.
Yeah, he’s usually warm and fuzzy (not as fuzzy as I am) but he really does have your best interests at heart.
Keep an eye out for it!
Time to watch my birds and bark at them through the window.
Keep ‘em in line, ya know.
Later,
Oscar
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04.02.09
Posted in Uncategorized at 5:11 am by Oscar
Oscar here,
Yep — it’s true. My person (the doctor) “tickled trout”. Clearly, you need an explanation.
Recall he grew up in rural Canada. ”Rural” here means a little farther drive to the Mall. “Rural” in those days in Canada meant … nowhere to go … nothing to do … unless you were self-creative and happy with what you created.
The other thing you need to know is Canadian boys often were quite taken with North American Indian culture and devoured all they could learn — especially survival techniques (all cool stuff).
My person would leave the house before dawn and be ‘gone’ all day. His parents’ only admonition was to be back in time for supper. So what in the world was he up to?
Exploring the fields, forest (Canadians call that “the bush”), and wild trout streams. If he wasn’t tapping sugar maples for sap to make maple syrup in the spring he went fishing a lot … but that wasn’t enough — he had to do it the hard (read “Indian”) way.
He “tickled” them.
He would spot a trout behind a rock in the stream in the Big Meadow full of clusters of milkweed (where days before he collected Monarch butterfly chrysalises for his terrarium to wait for their emergence) … and then sneak up on it … until finally, flat on his belly, he would ease his arm — palm up — into the water, imperceptibly moving his hand on the pebbly stream bed closer and closer to the trout finning away behind the rock.
Finally, his hand would be under the trout and gently he’d start stroking its belly with his fingers, gradually mesmerizing the fish until it settled into his hand.
Then all hell would break loose.
In one swift motion he’d golf the fish out of the water onto the bank. He’d then take a picture of the flopping fish … pick it up and hold it gently (head into the current so water would flow through it’s gills and give it oxygen) and when the trout was fully aware of its surroundings it would swim away … no doubt wondering in its fishy way what the heck just happened.
The whole exercise was simply to nail one more thing he’d read was a way Indians fished — enough for him.
It’s how he taught himself patience.
What’s this got to do with cosmetic medicine?
Absolutely nothing! Just thought you’d like to know who your doctor really is and what he did when he was a boy. 
Now, all this talk about fish has made me hungry — gotta go check out my bowl.
Later,
Oscar
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