Part 2 of "How to train your Muggle"

Continued from previous post...

So there we were, me coaxing Muggle all the way to obedience training by feeding her the treats I was told to bring for training, and trying to stop her from having an absolute nervous breakdown on the way.

That's when the fuckwit skipped the red light, and almost ran her over.

(Allow me this quick aside. I'm an avid people watcher, and since we've been here, I've watched quite a few road rage incidents with great fascination. Firstly, let me just say that very few Canadians have what I thought would be the Canadian accent. Not many of them say, "I'll be oot and aboot 'ey!". Even if you ask them nicely. Especially if you ask them nicely. Which is a huge pity. Most of them sound disappointingly American. So I studied how they insult one another in traffic, which came in very handy during my exchange with the fuckwit who almost ran over my dog).

Picture the scene:

Fuckwit brakes just inches from Muggle who is crossing a major intersection.
Muggle has the nervous breakdown I'd been trying to avoid.
I storm up to the man's car, wanting to lean in his window, but get stopped short by the lead I'm holding onto. Muggle is a dead weight and refuses to budge from the middle of the road. I settle, instead, for pounding on the man's bonnet (which is called the "hood" here), and I start yelling in an American accent, while waving my arms around a lot:
"Hey man! What the fuck's your fucking problem? Waddaya think yer doin' ? Are you trying to kill my dog? What are you? Like some kind of dog hater? Is that your problem? Are you a dog murderer? Do you want me to kick your ass? Is that what you want? For me to kick your lily livered, yellow bellied, dog murdering ass? Because I will! I will kick your dog-hating damn ass!"

I think I did a fairly good emulation of the road rage incidents I'd seen, because he gave me the finger which is mandatory, but it lacked menace. I could see he wanted to get the hell away from the crazy dog lady, but Muggle was still lying in the road. I swaggered away in triumph, but the effect was kind of ruined by me having to lift up a 30kg dog, and drag her across the intersection while she gnawed on my wrist.

After ten minutes and another bag of treats, we were able to start walking again, and finally got to the class which was being held in a basement of a church. A puppy class was just letting out and 10 gorgeous 2-5 month old puppies came running out. I was in heaven. I spread myself across the doorway so they all had to climb over me to leave. I firmly believe puppy breath should be bottled and used as a natural anti-depressant.

Then our class started.

First thing I was asked was to get out the training treats. I groveled and groveled in my rucksack, but there were none left. I'd used up 2 bags of treats just getting Muggle to the class! Needless to say, we did not make a good first impression by appearing unprepared. The fact that Muggle then walked up to the trainer, wagged her tail, burped loudly and then vomited two bags of treats on her sandals did not help either.

I thought we'd be unceremoniously ejected from training at that point, but lucky for us, Winston chose that moment to make his big entrance. Winston is also a Golden Retriever and is even more psycho than Muggle; if that's possible. He didn't vomit on the trainer, but he did run up and start humping her leg. I've never been happier to see a horny dog in my life.

After that, the training didn't go too badly. Of course, Muggle was besotted with Winston, but isn't that always the way? Chicks of all species just love bad boys. Gonna have to keep an eye on that horny little bastard over the next 6 weeks.


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Trying to train a Muggle

So we signed Muggle up for obedience training, and I was not at all looking forward to taking her. In order for you to understand why, you need to know a few things about Muggle:

1. She is psychotic. Seriously. She'll start off chasing her tail on the floor, get distracted by shiny objects, do a Kung Fu/Matrix move to get her on the bed (while still chasing her tail), fall off the bed, bounce off the cat, ricochet off Dobby, stop all activity.... Shake her head to clear her thoughts... And then go, "I have a tail! Woo Hoo!", and start the skirmish with herself all over again.
2. She is clumsy. As fuck. She can't walk a straight line on a level surface without falling over. A lot.
3. She suffers from OCD. She has these weird little quirks that can drive you nuts: she'll only walk on your right, she won't step on cracks in the pavement, she won't go for pees and poops on the same outing (one output per walk), and she insists on sleeping on our heads at night - she refuses to sleep anywhere else.
4. She thinks a wrist is a chew toy and a man's crotch is a trampoline. Ask Poodle, Don, Kevin, Pierre, my Dad, my brother, Shayne and just about every penis possessor who has braved a visit. They all arrive screaming, "No Muggle, not my bollocks!", and leave talking in a higher pitch.
5. She thinks butterflies and moths are disobedient snacks with wings.

The closest training class is 1km away, which seemed fairly do-able when I booked the class while we were still in SA. I started to seriously have doubts though once Muggle arrived in the city, and was freaked out by aircon units, cars, ants, plants, leaves, bikes, people, grass, her own paws, Dobby, us and just about everything else.

Anyway, training day dawned and I was told to bring a lot of treats for reward training, which I did. Muggle and I set off to walk the 1km to her class.

We got past the automatic sliding doors of a nearby shop with minimal freaking out. I gave her a few treats and coaxed her on. A rogue Yorkie caused her to stumble, but she kept going in the direction of a few more treats. A bus that pulled up next to us almost set her off, but she was convinced to forge ahead with a few more treats. As we were crossing a major intersection, some fuckwit almost skipped the robot, and he came to a screeching halt a few inches away from her.

To be continued.... Sorry, but I'm long winded and these stories need to be told properly. No shouting at me.


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Public transport is not for sissies

Continued from previous post...

So there I am, on the bus, about to reach for my iPod, when a woman gets on. There are seats available, but she ignores all of them, and walks straight up to a guy sitting there minding his own business. He's in his late twenties, fairly nondescript, doesn't have a book or earphones - he's just sitting there daydreaming.

But she stalks right up to him and boy, does she look like someone peed in her Coco Pops.

I put my iPod away, wondering if this is a lovers' spat. She obviously knows him. She's very clearly pissed off. Maybe he slept with her and then didn't call her. Woo Hoo! I'm about to witness a telling-off of note. I silently cheer her on - this is clearly a woman who does not take shit.

This is how the conversation plays out:

Her: You must stop eating pea soup!

(Hmm, not what I was expecting at all. Okay, so he slept with her, ate all her pea soup and then didn't call her).

He looks at her blankly.

Her: That's why you're fat and bald. It's the pea soup! It's going to kill you one day. You'll be sitting there, staring out the window, and then bam! Dead! From the pea soup.

(I make a note to myself to Google the evils of pea soup).

He blinks in confusion and looks around to see if she might be squint, and actually not talking to him at all. But she then sticks her index finger in his face and wiggles it around menacingly. She's clearly talking to him.

Her: Peas are evil. Soup is bad. I keep telling you that you need vegetables, but soup is not a vegetable!

He finally speaks: I don't know what you're talking about. I don't even like peas.

Her: You bloody Asians. You're all liars with your bloody peas. Green is not a good colour on you!

(Now this is the interesting part. He is not Asian. She is. The plot thickens...)

He's now adopted a strategy of just ignoring her. So he turns his back to her, pretends there isn't some pissed off tiny Asian woman screaming her lungs out at him, and stares out the window. As Julia Roberts would say: Big mistake. Huge mistake. This only infuriates her even more. She ups her game and starts yelling at him about pumpkins and how orange does not taste good, but then what did he expect, as orange is close to red, and red is the worst of them all. And then she turns to the rest of us and informs us that we're all fat and ugly too, and shouldn't expect to live long because of our soup-eating proclivities.

She has gone too far. Another woman now gets up, and tells the angry Asian menace that she should just shut up, because no one wants to hear her crazy ranting.

Asian lady to other lady: You are discriminating against me because I'm black!

Other lady to Asian lady: You are not black.

Asian lady: Aha! You admit you would discriminate against me if I was black? You also eat too much soup.

Alas, the bus pulls up to my stop, so I'm destined to never find out if the other woman indeed eats too much soup, or how the whole thing plays out. I consider staying on the bus while it does its next half hour loop around our part of the city, but figure that's taking eavesdropping a tad too far.

I barely cross the block when I run into another bus parked on the side of the road with a fire truck and 3 ambulances next to it. The driver informs me that a passenger had a heart attack while on the bus. He looks at me blankly when I ask if the guy had been eating pea soup at the time. At least, the driver and their emergency services reacted quickly, and the guy is going to be fine.

I tell you, public transport is not for sissies. Neither is soup apparently.







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Eavesdroppers and "death-threaters"

Public transport is a new experience for me. In Joburg, if you want to go somewhere, you hop in your car, and off you go. There are no weirdos in your car, except for yourself and your weirdo friends, who will generally be there by invitation, depending on whatever boundary issues you might have with them. You control the environment in terms of the temperature, what music you listen to, etc.

In Toronto, if you don't own a car, there are a lot of different ways to get around. Taxis, however, are quite expensive, and I don't do bicycles. Or skateboards. Or rollerblades. Or anything else that requires you to strap wheels to your feet. So if it's too far to walk, I use a bus, streetcar or subway train.

People generally bug me on account of my misanthropic tendencies, so I keep reminding myself to take my iPod with me, so I can tune everyone out. What I keep forgetting though, is that I am an avid eavesdropper. If there's an interesting private conversation happening that I shouldn't be listening to - I want to to hear it. If people whisper a conversation, I've been known to ask them to speak up, so that I'm better able to overhear them.

So each time I'm on public transport and reaching for the earphones, I'll catch some tidbit that will make me hesitate to put them on. And it's amazing the things you can learn. For example, a few days ago, I learned that the phrase "death threat" which I always thought was a compound noun, can actually be used as a verb. The sentence went something like this: "And do you know what that bastard did to me? He like totally deaththreated me!"

Who says an education has to cost anything?

So yesterday, I'd finished a few hours of clothes shopping (which I hate) and left Eaton Centre to head home. I caught the subway at Queen Station, got off at Eglington Station and then caught the bus from there. I had a sniffer near me, which is enough to push me over the edge, so I reached for my iPod.

Not long after, all hell broke loose.

To be continued....


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Sprinklers, dodgy characters and twinkly, pre-dawn lights...

Okay, so in our last post, we trashed Canadian service with regards to their largest cellphone provider company: Rogers. We, are however, also quick to give praise where praise is due, so in this post I'll focus on things that Canada gets right.

Yesterday, I was working from home, when I noticed the mailman walking with his satchel delivering regular-sized post into mailboxes. He was attacked by a tiny dog wearing a Batman cape, so all seemed well with the world. About half an hour later though, a van pulled up, and this was another mailman from Canada Post delivering parcels that are too big for the regular dude to carry. I saw him take out a few large boxes, walk to various doors, ring their bells, and then just leave the boxes outside their doors when no one answered. And then he drove away.

WTF?

I was astounded. How could he be so irresponsible? Those parcels looked like they contained important stuff and yet, there he was, leaving them outside in the open, for just anyone to help themselves to them.

I needed more information. So, I covered my face in black paint, put on my camo gear, leopard-crawled outside, did a few dodges behind bushes, whistled innocently, sidled up to a few packages and confirmed what I'd thought. They contained books, DVDs, goods ordered off websites, clothes and other cool loot. And yup, it was all just sitting there. Waiting to be stolen.

I wished I'd taken that irresponsible mailman's details, so I could give it to the various neighbors, who would be highly pissed off to come home, and discover their stuff had been affirmatively shopped by passers-by. I jumped into a hedge, thinking I'd be on the lookout for dodgy characters, but after 10 boring minutes, I realised I was the dodgiest character there, so I went back inside.

A few hours later, I walked the dogs and the parcels were still there. And then a few hours after that, people started arriving home and taking their parcels inside. Nobody appeared shocked to see their packages waiting on their porches. Nobody stuck their fist in the air, shaking it about and swearing anguished revenge on thieves or stupid postal workers.

And then, at 4am this morning, Muggle stuck her wet nose in my eye, which means, "I need to go widdle Mommy", and I felt too bad to elbow Poodle in the ribs and make him do it, which is what I normally do. He did, after all, start work yesterday. So, I put her lead on, and took her outside in the dark, in the pre-dawn, in the city, to walk her to a nearby park. And the excursion was without incident. Or would have been if she didn't squat on a sprinkler-head that popped up at exactly that moment to drench us both! (Any awake Canadians learnt a few new South African words at that point like: fok, bliksem, fokken bliksem, etc). But it was 28 degrees, and a balmy wind was blowing, and the city to the East was twinkly and hushed, so we didn't mind too much. We were content and happy to be out. It was actually quite a sacred moment - Toronto and I bonded.

And when we walked back to our apartment, I saw one of the packages still waiting outside someone's door, and I thought: That's pretty damn cool.

So I dashed up, cackled wildly, stole it, and Muggle and I made our get-away. Those bloody trusting, naive Canadians need to learn the hard way. Just not sure what we're going to do with a jumbo box of diapers?


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Few photos from our first two weeks in Toronto

Just a few random photos from our first two weeks in Toronto. Haven't had much time to play.




Our 400kgs of IKEA furniture gets delivered




Poodle gets cracking putting the bed together




Me hard at work putting the couch together




Big bike culture in Toronto. Anything goes in terms of proper kit.




The condos at the harbourfront. Imagine our cats on the 30th floor!




Lots of construction happening




The CN Tower. Look at the people hanging off the top!




Art is everywhere




Toronto is a city of pooches. Love it.




People are very active




Lots of buildings downtown




The lovely park near our home




Our street :-)

The not-so-jolly Roger

A combined-effort post by the Poodles:

It doesn't matter how much we prepared and researched stuff before leaving, there are unfortunately a lot of things that can only get done once you have landed..... and some only after divine intervention. Or after getting Tom Cruise to admit that he's gay. And we all know divine intervention would happen before that...

The Canadian government departments have been really efficient and widespread, so there was no need to travel far or pitch a tent in the waiting lines. Unless you're a pervert and enjoy pitching tents in public. Hey, whatever floats your boat... Getting our SIN numbers (not as exciting as they sound) and medical cards were a doddle, and we were really dreading the processes, because we were having flashbacks to Home Affairs in SA.

Signing up for our bank accounts was a pleasure. Our banker is really friendly and has walked us through the whole process. He also suggested restaurants, places to see, and how to earn air miles to go home to visit Australia. Doh. It does, however, take long to issue bank cards which is a bit of a problem, but not a train smash. We are, after all, South African, and know how to steal other people's bank cards in the interim.

Getting access to public transport and learning how it works was relatively easy, as was signing up on the phone for gas and tenant insurance. Buying and assembling IKEA furniture is tricky the first time, but makes you feel like a real winner when you finish something (even if it takes 7 attempts and 12 hours to assemble a toilet seat).

But...... Here is where it all falls to shit. Dealing with Canada's largest mobile network company called Rogers. They probably called it that because they like to roger you. A lot. You heard it here: Rogers is the devil.

We have heard countless people moaning about them constantly, but those people also moaned about the public transport and everything else, which didn't turn out to be that bad. So we thought: how bad could the biggest mobile network really be?

The answer is: farking bad!

We have had at least 10 visits to their stores (totaling more than 10 hours spent in the actual stores - and they don't serve cocktails, so you wouldn't want to linger). This was to simply get prepaid data on our iPads, prepaid on our phones and internet for our PC.

The biggest (supposed) stumbling block is our lack or Canadian ID. This didn't bother the rental agency, the bank, or indeed the Canadian Government..

After many, many attempted workarounds where the largest mobile provider attempted to "fix" my laptop (using the little sandwich shop next door's wifi no less) we were forced to concede defeat like Napoleon at Waterloo....

So this means, we can get the iPad data at double the cost, the iPhone data at triple the cost and half the functionality , and apparently it is impossible to get internet on our laptop. I'm not sure why that is. Maybe the internet "stick" have powers we are unaware of. Maybe, with us not being Canadian, they're scared we'll use the "stick" to mobilize our army of Moose-hating robots.

We're waiting for next month when our Permanent Resident cards arrive, to hear that blonde, balding men can't get internet, until they shave their legs or learn to cha cha. And Poodle can't dance. So there goes the robot army.

Sent from my iPad


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Oh. My. Gawd

Oh. My. Gawd.

They say that some of the most stressful events in a person's life include moving house, bereavement, losing your job, planning a wedding and a few other things. In the last two months, we have moved continents, said goodbye to everything and everyone we love (and feel like we're suffering from bereavement), quit our jobs and planned a farewell party that had almost the same amount of guests as our wedding. When I tell you that we are physically and emotionally drained, I am not exaggerating. Which I'm very prone to doing, so I wouldn't blame you if you didn't believe me ;-)

The move has been the biggest, most scary, most stressful, most emotional event we've ever experienced in our lives, and nothing... nothing at all... (not even the years of extensive research I did) could prepare us for it.

And yet here we are. In Toronto. 5 sleeps after arriving. Still functioning after a 25 hour commute, going through immigration, signing up for bank accounts, SIN numbers, insurance, moving into a new apartment, buying over 400kgs of furniture at IKEA, putting all this furniture together ourselves, shopping and trying to equip a home without a car to carry groceries and supplies in, navigating our way via public transport around a strange city, etc.

And all I can say is... What the fuck were we thinking?

What the hell kind of drugs were we on that we thought this was a good idea? Holy shit. I would consider Poodle and myself to be above average intelligence, though I'm sure a few of you farkers would disagree. So all I can think is that we had a brain fart one year or that we've been suffering from temporary insanity. Poodle has always been a bit odd, so I'm leaning toward that explanation.

Why else would we take our wonderful, ordered, predictable, stable lives and turn them arse over kettle?

Probably because despite our exhaustion and bewilderment, and the fact that we're missing everyone terribly, we've never felt quite so alive. So tuned into the universe. So absolutely thrilled to wake up in the morning and wonder: What adventure and novelty and education can we expect from today?

Details and photos of our misadventures to follow....



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