The World of Dragonfly

Tonight is Basenji Beauty Night at our house.  We bathe them, brush their teeth, clip their nails, and trim any longish paw-pad hair.  Honestly, it’s like a spa night for dogs.  However, Wallace and Aspen usually don’t view it that way, Wallace more so than Aspen.

First, the bath.  Understand that basenjis hate water.  It usually goes like this.  Steve gets into his swim trunks because on occasion, there’s lots of splashing water.  Then he snags one of the dogs, usually Aspen since her curiosity overrides her caution.  While he’s scrubbing her, I go in search of Wallace.  He usually lurks underneath the dining room table.  What ensues is my chasing him around the table.  He threads his way through the chair legs like a champion agility dog and then takes off into the other room.  Finally, though, he sees that the end is near and runs up the stairs into our bedroom, essentially trapping himself.  Once they’re finished, an all-out slam session to rival the WWE happens.  Wallace chases Aspen.  She chases him.  They bite each other on the neck.  He slams her onto the carpet and holds her for the count.  I’m wondering if he’s expecting us to give him three points like in a typical wrestling match.  Then they tear around the downstairs some more, finally dashing outside.  Knowing that there’s exposed dirt out there, I cringe.  But somehow, they avoid rolling in it.

At last, they calm down.  It’s like throwing a switch.  One moment it’s Slam!  Crash!  Pow! as they play.  Then it’s ZZZZZZZ!  That’s the perfect time for our next phase, the nail trimming.  Aspen’s great about it.  She allows us to trim all sixteen digits without a problem.  Wallace, on the other hand . . . You see, he’s our firstborn doggy son.  When he was a puppy, we clipped his nails and cut one too short, quicking him.  Since then, it’s been a trial.  Once more, it’s like WWE, except this time, it winds up with me practically lying on top of him.  Steve shines a bright light on him to see his quick (We ‘av vays of making vou talk!), and we fight to clip each nail.  Finally, we finish.  Everyone’s chest is heaving from pent up stress, and Wallace skulks away to sulk in private.  One time, he literally stole the nail clippers and hid them in the living room.

However, all of that is changing tonight.  We actually bought something from the television called Peticure, which is like a Dremel tool to grind down their nails.  We did a test run a couple of nights ago, and it worked!  So a new era is starting.  Gone are the struggles, the thievery, the skulking (at least for nail clipping).  It’s a new dawn out there, and I’m looking forward to it.

Last is the teeth brushing.  Well, it’s more like gnashing on a toothbrush with doggy toothpaste on it, but the dogs enjoy it.  It’s also necessary since basenjis, who in their native Congo usually don’t live past the age of six, could feasibly lose their teeth at age six.

All in all, it’s a great night.  The dogs smell good.  Their nails are shorter.  Their breath smells better. And we sleep well that night.  Such it is for Basenji Beauty Night.

I work for the State of North Carolina. I love my job, and I applaud efforts by the government to move us in the direction of efficiency. In one such move, they changed our timesheet management system so that everyone across the state will utilize the same system. It’s a great move in concept, but not as smooth as all would have hoped in reality.

Our big move happened on April 1st, and I’m still trying to figure out if the powers-that-be meant it truly as an April Fool’s joke or if it was just a sheer, though somewhat painful coincidence, that they implemented BEACON then. Needless to say, it’s been, well, interesting. The support teams have been great at striving to work out the kinks, and yes, it is getting better.

But one thing that’s not gotten better, at least for me, is the amount of time that it takes to enter my time. This is how it goes. It happens at the end of the day. I pull of the Web page that sends me to the portal. It starts spinning the hour glass around and around. I stuff the water bottles and coffee mug that I’d brought from home into my bag.

My login screen pops up. I enter my User ID and password. Once more the hour glass does its spin. I stack my papers and straighten my desk. The home page pops up. I click on the icon to go to the time entry system. Now, a two little circles, one blue and one gold, start forming and keep forming over and over again. I go to the restroom and come back.

Now the timesheet entry home page is up. I click on the link to enter my time. The circles again appear. Staring at them, I’m mesmerized. I blink and pull away before THE MACHINE tells me to go and sell all I have to the widget maker.

The timesheet screen pops up. I click on the day and row for the time I want to enter. The circles start going again. I jump up, refusing to be taken in by their schemes. I wander the hall and talk to a coworker or two. I return to my office. The circles are still going. Suddenly, they stop. I can enter time!

The actual time entry to that one cell takes three seconds. I click on another row for some more time. The circles start again. Time slows in a time warp. At last, I can enter the remainder of my time and log off. By this time, I’ve about lost my sanity. I log off, which takes even more time.

All in all, I’m now late for my after-work activities. But at least I made it out alive. BEACON hasn’t taken my sanity–yet.