Dogs Teaching Children to Read

Most of us agree that dogs are the best people in the world. But just when you think these little friends couldn't be more amazing, they can now help children learn to read!

According to today's story on CNN.com/living, therapy dogs are now visiting schools and libraries to help children read. It may not be all that shocking since anything can happen these days, but when you sit down and really think about it, dogs can't even read themselves. How can they teach humans?

Well, CNN seems to know. According to them "The philosophy is simple. Children who are just learning to read often feel judged or intimidated by classmates and adults. But reading to a dog isn't so scary. "

When did reading to humans become scary?

I'm not discounting that rotten feeling deep down in the pit of your stomach when you're 6-years old trying to sound out a sentence from If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. You're the center of attention in a room full of 20 other children, jaws clenched, hoping and praying that they're not chosen next. But even so, these little monsters are listening carefully to each and every syllable. Timing you, taking mental notes of anything and everything for an excuse to hate you for the day. When it's time for handball, you can be sure that Timmy will pull out all the shots (even slicies).

I'm pretty sure children need petrifying situations like these. Not only for literacy, but social development. Education is a combination of academic and social skills that may be learned by letting them scrape their knees and their gentle little children souls every now and then.

In no way am I blaming dogs for our less than stellar educational ranking in the world (18th, I believe). Dogs exist to benefit humans by making them happy, telling them when to cross the street and sniffing out cocaine in airports. They may quite possibly be the core of my own personal happiness. Every time I see one, especially when I'm alone, a noise resounds from the depths of my soul that only a dog can summon. This is an example of scary.

Learning to read is not scary. Being kidnapped is scary. Not knowing what you're going to eat the next day is scary. Being violently raped by rogue soldiers because you believe in democracy is scary. Earthquakes. The inability to receive health care. Big waves that pull you under when you're boogie boarding and you're not sure you'll come up for air in time. Car accidents.

Let's not confuse future generations about what is and what isn't scary. It only thickens this American bubble that I admittedly live in with everyone else I know. I'm upset that my pay has been cut and I can't take shopping trips with the gals every weekend. For this, I deserve to be smacked with a Forever 21 shoe made by someone's pre-pubescent daughter in Indonesia.

Hows that for spinning out of control?

In the end, of course dogs helping children learn to read is an all-around positive development. Let's just try not to raise a nation of scaredy cats.

Disclaimer: This blog is 100% biased and a result of my fingers regurgitating the doo-dah parade marching around in my brain. Nothing in the above should be taken as fact. The CNN story can be found here: http://www.cnn.com/2009/LIVING/10/22/dogs.irpt/index.html

Thanks Starbucks

...That's so kind of you to say

My Name is Rebecca and I am a Nail Biter

I started biting my nails again. After my 25th birthday I quit, but now five months later I'm back to gnawing on these poor little strips of protein because it feels absolutely wonderful. I pick a finger, grab hold of a brittle corner with my teeth and rip off as big a strip as possible. If any white is showing, any white at all, it must be annihilated. Then I look at that undeservedly ravaged finger and fantasize about being a dainty lady with long, strong nail beds and soft in-tact cuticles. I dream about having graceful hands with thin fingers and precisely manicured nails of the "square-round" shape that many sassy gals are sporting these days. If I had beautiful hands like them, I could do anything. It's my hands that are keeping me from following my dreams. My hands. My "Carry Bradshaw" hands. Maybe since we are hand twins I should move to New York and write about men while wearing fun outfits.

My hands have been compared to pickles and old woman hands. Also lizards.

And the thing is, I love rings! I definitely wear them anyway since they're the only type of jewelery I manage not to lose. I can always count on losing one earring and breaking any necklace that comes within two feet of me. But rings hold a special place in my memory and subconscious and they have a specific spot in my jewelery box (next to all the widowed earrings that I'm hopelessly saving should their other halves arise from the dead).

Acrylics are always a temporary solution to this problem, but they torture my natural nails, and it really hurts their feelings that I won't even try to give them a chance and just cover them up with super glue and chemicals. What kind of person just covers up a problem instead of dealing with it? Me. Because I'm such a horrible person, these acrylics have completely ruined my thumb nails, just adding to the unsightly appearance of these hands of mine.

It's as if there are 10 people in my life that I'd like to torture and kill, and my fingers are the voodoo dolls. My thumbs are under no circumstances permitted to have cuticles. They don't deserve them, and when I catch those sneaky thumbs with cuticles, they are gone in seconds flat (and definitely not with care). Who do these thumbs think they are, with their opposable qualities, helping develop my fine motor skills? These arrogant bastards have a bad case of short man syndrome and need to be put in their place, which is why I abuse them the most.

The other eight voodoo dolls don't endure as much abuse, and the pinkies tend to grow the fastest. They're the littlest, though, so I let them get away with it.

Another part of this whole addiction rigmarole, which has left me just absolutely flabbergasted, is that I quit smoking without a hitch. This must support my theory that my fingers represent people in my life that I hate, because you just suck on a cigarette and I certainly wouldn't want to suck on anyone I hate. I guess I just need to figure out who these 10 people are that I hate so deeply and inflict significant pain on them (physical and/or emotional). Then I will be sassy and dainty with enchanting and delicate hands, which will then directly lead to my success.

Birds in the Lights

The greatest joy of driving is noticing birds in traffic lights. While stopped at a red, if you're lucky enough, you'll see the silhouette of a chubby little bird nestled cozily against the lens. Taking notice of such an image in the morning oftentimes ensures a wonderful day ahead.

Good for those birds. Very resourceful. All the trees, telephone lines and 76 balls in the world are at their fingertips, but some birds choose traffic lights. These are the birds who want a little more from life. They want, no, they deserve, private apartments with the warmth of a bulb twice the size of their feathered little bodies. With three possible colors to choose from and a city view that can't be beat, these birds know what they want and make sure they get it.

There are three possible ways of seeing a bird in a traffic light. They can be seen in the red, yellow or green light, but not all at once. Never assume that the bulb illuminated at the time is the only one occupied, as these are multi-level dwellings and during times like these there probably aren't many vacancies. Absolutely no vacancies on rainy days.

Much is told about a bird's personality by which light they choose. It's easiest to notice a bird in the red light since this is when we stop and stare in hopes of it turning just a little bit quicker. Idling for more than a moment is a complete waste of time.

The red light bird has the penthouse suite, which forces all the world to stop for an average of 30 seconds. They ridicule our disdain for these frequent driving interruptions and enjoy the window of time to carefully choose their next defecation target. It can be safely assumed that these birds live flashy lifestyles and may not appreciate all else life has to offer, as say, the yellow light bird.

The yellow light bird is humble, unlike the red light bird, but still strives for the better things in life. This type of bird can be compared with middle class America, maybe living a little beyond their means, but enjoying it all the while. Who lives debt-free these days anyway? (Besides that family of 28 kids with bowl cuts)

The yellow light flashes for the shortest period of time, and from this we can see that these birds relish their privacy. They also get a kick out of witnessing the quick decision making process that goes with choosing whether or not to proceed through a yellow light. They scoff at the sweat upon the young boy's brow as he asks himself "am I gonna make it?". Lastly, they must have sick minds since they are likely to bare witness to accidents resulting in red light runs. Those are the ugliest.

Green light bird. Honest green light bird wants to live in a traffic light, but isn't finicky about the details. Green light bird doesn't mind that no one notices her as traffic rushes by. She's not picky about her defecation targets and doesn't take pleasure in the fact that humans are controlled each day by color-coated lights. Green light bird wants a warm, dry and charming place to live, but her priorities lie in other aspects of birdism. She appreciates the soothing effects of the color green and supports PETA and the Make-a-Wish Foundation.

It's the little things.