I’m thinking about the word docile this morning; not that I want to be docile, but I’m just considering the word, which generally is defined as compliant, obedient, submissive, unassertive, accommodating, malleable and so on. I am not docile, but rather contrary, defiant, insubordinate, obstreperous, recalcitrant . . . you get my drift, right?
I got to thinking about the idea of being docile for two reasons. First, I was trying to coax Sam off the couch so I could take him outside to pee and he was somewhat obstreperous (love that word!). I got to wondering if I should train Sam to be a little more docile. He’s more amenable to control when I have a treat in my hand.
Secondly, a relative of mine, a beautiful and fairly moral woman, posted a picture of herself wearing toy devil’s horns on Facebook. I have observed the tendency in her to hide her mischievous side behind religious platitudes so I remarked to her that I thought she was fighting a battle with her good side versus her bad side.
The world likes us to be more docile you know? What’s that Japanese saying about a nail sticking up gets pounded down (or something like that)? The need to be docile is extremely prevalent if you work for state government. I found that out working for the State of California many years ago and most recently while working for the State of Washington. In fact, I made the mistake of remarking one time in my Washington job that I was frustrated about something. Boy did that word set off alarms. My supervisor called me into his office and lectured me about becoming frustrated. In other words, don’t rock the boat.
Sometimes I think I’d like to be more docile but I don’t think I was born docile. Since I’m the oldest of seven children I tend to lead by grabbing the bull by the horns and charging forward. Life might be easier if I could just learn to go along with things, you know, don’t worry be happy. But although I’m not a Type-A personality, I am about a B or B+.
I had an eye surgery Monday - for cataracts and something called (I think) a vitrectomy (no! not a hysterectomy). The V-thing meant I had a wrinkled membrane behind my eyeball. Gross. The doctor had to scrap that wrinkled thing off my eye - even grosser.
Now, I’m forced to be docile for a few days. I’ve written a few blogs ahead (this one included) so I won’t strain my eyes at the computer. I’ll have to limit TV time. But here’s the real kicker. I’m not supposed to bend over for a few days. My stitches could tear loose and my eyeball might fall out (?). Anyway, I don’t know how I’m supposed to bend over and pick Sam’s poop up in the park. I can just see me doing that and my eyeball falls out and starts rolling across the grass and Sam gives chase. Before I know it Sam’s got my eyeball in his mouth and won’t give it back because he likes to play keep-away.
I suppose I really should teach Sam to be more docile because sometimes he jumps up on people too and they don’t like it. On the other hand, this guy who came to the house the other day didn’t mind and in fact, spent several minutes playing with Sam. Boy my little pooch loved that! His little eyes were just dancing with delight. I’d hate to take that kind of joy away from him.
I know I shouldn’t think this way, but becoming too docile reminds me of the idea of receiving a lobotomy. Three bags of poop on that!
I got to thinking about the idea of being docile for two reasons. First, I was trying to coax Sam off the couch so I could take him outside to pee and he was somewhat obstreperous (love that word!). I got to wondering if I should train Sam to be a little more docile. He’s more amenable to control when I have a treat in my hand.
Secondly, a relative of mine, a beautiful and fairly moral woman, posted a picture of herself wearing toy devil’s horns on Facebook. I have observed the tendency in her to hide her mischievous side behind religious platitudes so I remarked to her that I thought she was fighting a battle with her good side versus her bad side.
The world likes us to be more docile you know? What’s that Japanese saying about a nail sticking up gets pounded down (or something like that)? The need to be docile is extremely prevalent if you work for state government. I found that out working for the State of California many years ago and most recently while working for the State of Washington. In fact, I made the mistake of remarking one time in my Washington job that I was frustrated about something. Boy did that word set off alarms. My supervisor called me into his office and lectured me about becoming frustrated. In other words, don’t rock the boat.
Sometimes I think I’d like to be more docile but I don’t think I was born docile. Since I’m the oldest of seven children I tend to lead by grabbing the bull by the horns and charging forward. Life might be easier if I could just learn to go along with things, you know, don’t worry be happy. But although I’m not a Type-A personality, I am about a B or B+.
I had an eye surgery Monday - for cataracts and something called (I think) a vitrectomy (no! not a hysterectomy). The V-thing meant I had a wrinkled membrane behind my eyeball. Gross. The doctor had to scrap that wrinkled thing off my eye - even grosser.
Now, I’m forced to be docile for a few days. I’ve written a few blogs ahead (this one included) so I won’t strain my eyes at the computer. I’ll have to limit TV time. But here’s the real kicker. I’m not supposed to bend over for a few days. My stitches could tear loose and my eyeball might fall out (?). Anyway, I don’t know how I’m supposed to bend over and pick Sam’s poop up in the park. I can just see me doing that and my eyeball falls out and starts rolling across the grass and Sam gives chase. Before I know it Sam’s got my eyeball in his mouth and won’t give it back because he likes to play keep-away.
I suppose I really should teach Sam to be more docile because sometimes he jumps up on people too and they don’t like it. On the other hand, this guy who came to the house the other day didn’t mind and in fact, spent several minutes playing with Sam. Boy my little pooch loved that! His little eyes were just dancing with delight. I’d hate to take that kind of joy away from him.
I know I shouldn’t think this way, but becoming too docile reminds me of the idea of receiving a lobotomy. Three bags of poop on that!
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