#i rock those puppies like my priced possessions

[wis-art]

decided i no longer am a man in the slightest a few years ago and never looked back, i love being a woman what can i say

[tennessoui]

FeralObi anon here. How do you come up with these so fast?? Are you an infinite number of ideas and worlds in human-shaped form? I love both of those ideas. The first one kills me tho, Obi gets his first kind touch in years from lil Anakin. Also you can have lil Anakin coming home one day with a skulking, snarling nonverbal murder puppy and saying brightly, "He followed me home, can I keep him?" Schmi thinks this is definitely worse than the time he brought a krayt dragon home.

ah! hello! yes this is the first idea of a feral obi-wan who meets anakin when he's still on tatooine. i will also still do the second idea because like. i liked them equally as much rip me

but i told myself these were going to both be very short snippets and instead this one is uh 2k so i'll post the second one tomorrow instead of tonight!

(ficlet where obi-wan is captured by pirates/unspecified forces at a young age and then tortured for a decade before he escapes to tatooine when anakin is like 6. obi-wan, after a decade of torture is....not alright in this fic though he's only here at the end) (2k)

Shmi had known that when she sent her little Anakin away to follow after the stern-faced, warm-eyed Jedi Master, that this would not be the last time she ever saw her boy. She couldn’t explain how she knew, just as she had not been able to explain how she became pregnant, but she knew beyond a doubt that one day, she would see her little boy back in her arms.

She just hadn’t known it would be so soon.

“He died, Master Jinn died,” Anakin mumbles into the front of her dress, unwilling to move his head far back enough from her hug that he could talk clearly. “On Naboo. And the stupid Jedi council refused to train me even after I was so amazing in the air. Mom, I destroyed a blockade! Entirely! And they wouldn’t--they didn’t--” his little face scrunches up and then he’s bawling into his hands.

A slave, a born slave, knows intrinsically the injustice of the galaxy. It is not often they know hope.

“Oh my boy,” she whispers, smoothing a hand over the top of his head. She has questions. She has so many questions about everything he’s just said and what those strangers have put her son through, but the most important thing is a question she cannot wait until he has cried himself out to ask. “Is your chip gone, Ani? Did they remove your transmitter?”

Because she had sent him away from her so that he could be free. And that had been her own twisted version of hope, that her son could know a life she never would again. If the Jedi masters had proven to be just like every other master in the world, she would find herself sobbing into her own hands.

“Yeah,” Anakin sniffles and wipes at his ruddy cheeks, pulling back a few steps. “They removed it and everything. And--”

He pauses and drops his satchel to the ground in front of her. “They gave me credits. To buy you. For my trouble.”

He spits out the last three words like they’re the most disgusting thing in the entire world. As if Shmi’s freedom isn’t laying at their feet, mere centimeters away.

“Republic credits are no good here,” she hears herself say faintly.

“Padme, the handmaiden you met, she talked to the queen about me I guess,” Anakin mumbles, kicking his feet. “And when the queen learned that the Jedi didn’t want me even after all that, Padme says the queen says I’ll always have a place on Naboo. Me and my family. And then she took the Jedi credits and gave me these instead. It should be enough, Mom.”

Shmi sits down on the floor. With shaking hands, she opens the bag and looks inside. Yes. Yes.

There’s more than enough.

There’s enough to buy her freedom and take her boy away from Mos Espa. There’s enough to take her boy away from Tatooine completely.

“I…” she says. “Ani, I…”

“Padme said she’d send a ship for us,” Ani reports as if their lives are not changing right in front of their eyes. “In two days ‘cause I told her it might take a little bit of time to get Ben to come with us. But we can’t leave without him.”

This is said fiercely and with his arms crossed tightly over his little chest.

Shmi stares at him.

“I’ve already left him once!” Anakin says, stomping his foot. “But that was okay, because I knew you would bring him food and water and stuff. But if we’re both gone, no one’s going to be there for him.”

Shmi bites at her lip. There’s a lot of things happening very quickly right now, and she doesn’t know how to process half of them.

Her son has come back, after only being gone for a week and a half.

He has apparently either endeared himself so much to the queen of Naboo that she was willing to give him the money necessary to buy his mother from slavery and also promise him sanctuary on her planet. He says he’s done this by single-handedly ending a blockade, which is something she just cannot even think about right now.

He has told this queen--queen--that he will gladly live on Naboo with his family. Yes. Alright.

His family seems to include his imaginary friend, Ben.

Anakin has been talking about Ben for years now, ever since he was six and a half years old and sent by Watto to retrieve any scraps he could from what looked to be a crashed pod in the Wastelands. She’d let him ramble on about the ghost of a friend, because she’d known it to be something all children go through and experience. She hadn’t thought Anakin a lonely child, not with the friends he made in Mos Espa, but she’d always known that Anakin had a wandering spirit, ill-suited for Tatooine. If he liked to imagine an older man from a strange world hiding in the caves of the Wastes, then she wasn’t going to say anything.

“You have been leaving him food, haven’t you, Mom?” Anakin asks, almost accusatory. “I told him to expect you and everything.”

No. Shmi has not been traveling to the edge of the Wastelands every day during her precious few hours of free time in order to leave food to be picked apart by womp rats and desert critters and not her boy’s imaginary friend.

“Ani,” she says cautiously, quietly, “we cannot...we won’t be able to bring Ben with us when we go.”

Anakin, predictably, does not react well. “Why not!” he yells, backing away from her even further and looking as if she is the enemy. “Padme’s fine with it!”

“Aren’t you a little old for imaginary friends?” Shmi asks desperately, feeling cold suddenly even though the heat of the mid-morning sun has not abated at all.

If anything, her son looks more offended. “He’s not imaginary! Saying...saying that he’s not coming with us...is...is a bunch of poodoo!”

“Anakin!” Shmi gasps.

“Come on,” her boy says forcefully, grabbing at her hand and tugging her towards the door. She gets on her feet reluctantly and has half a mind to pull back just because he needs to learn that this sort of behavior is not okay, war hero or not. “We’re going to buy you from Watto. And then we’re going to go visit Ben!”

---

Buying her freedom takes less time than Shmi Skywalker ever thought it would. It feels distant as well, as if it’s happening to someone else.

It doesn’t help that her Ani is impatient and surly by turn, spilling the coin out onto Watto’s counter and barely waiting for him to finish counting it before he’s looking at the price of renting a four-person speeder parked outside.

“You won’t survive out there on your own,” Watto sneers, even as he’s passing her the kill-switch of her own slave chip. “Days. It’ll be days until the Hutts find out there’s a newly freed slave with no connections out there in the open. Ripe for the pickin’.”

Watto doesn’t have to tell her any of this. She knows. Gods, does she know.

But Anakin seems so sure about possessing the favor of the Queen of Naboo, or at least her handmaiden, which might be close enough to the same thing. She thanks Watto--she thanks him and then doesn’t even know why--and meets Anakin outside.

He’s bouncing around the speeder, little hands clutching his satchel to his chest. “Good!” he says when he sees her, hopping onto the machine and putting the parcel between his feet. “I got Ben something called a fig on Naboo, but I don’t know how long it’ll take for it to go bad. Apparently they’re sweet.”

Shmi goes along with it. Shmi doesn’t know why she goes along with it, but she does. She can see this is important to her boy, and though she’d rather spend the afternoon and early evening saying goodbye to her friends, she will allow Ani to say goodbye to his imaginary friend. Maybe she’ll even talk to it. “Hi, hello, I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed the imaginary blue milk and delicacies I’ve left out for you this past week and half. Oh no, it was no bother. My son insisted.”

The ride is quick--Anakin has always been a driver to push the limits of any engine he comes across--and before she knows it, he’s dismounting on a piece of desert and rock that look exactly the same as the last four pieces of rocky terrain they’ve past.

“Ben!” Ani calls, satchel clutched firmly in his hands as he makes his way deeper into the crevices of the landscape. “Ben, it’s Ani! I’m really sorry that I left! Ben? Ben! I’m back now! Ani’s back!”

It’s actually...quite pathetic, to watch her boy speak so pleadingly to the cold stone faces of the rocks around them, but if this is what he needs to do to say goodbye to his life on Tatooine, Shmi won’t say a word.

“Ben--” Anakin draws in a breath to call again, but then there’s movement out of the corner of Shmi’s eyes, and something jumps from the rock down to land on her boy.

She screams and darts forward, but the thing on top of her son snarls at her in guttural warning.

“No, Ben,” Ani coos, stroking at the face that yes, is human, now that it’s not in unnaturally fast motion. “That’s my mom, Ben.”

Ben--Ben??--growls anyway, pinning the boy--her boy--beneath him with his legs and arms.

“She’s fine,” Ani murmurs gently, one hand reaching up to stoke over the beginnings of a beard on Obi-Wan’s face “Oh Ben, I’m sorry.”

The man on top of Shmi’s child finally looks away from her and at her boy, which is both better and worse.

“Ani,” Ben drawls out, as if the word--or perhaps forming the word--hurts him.

Anakin is happy. Shmi can tell he’s happy without even being able to see much of him. It’s like the very air vibrates with his joy. “Yes!” her son says. “Ani. Ben.” He taps the man’s chest. “Ben. Ani.”

The man buries his head into Anakin’s hair, hands rubbing up and down his sides and his arms and his face.

Shmi needs to say something, wants to say something about this strange man touching boy like he owns him, but the memory of his growl and the flash of his golden eyes stops her from stepping forward.

“Anakin, get away from him,” she hisses instead of stepping forward and tearing the stranger off of her son. She has the distinct feeling Anakin wouldn’t let Ben go anywhere, not with the way his little hands are holding so tight to the man’s shoulders. The man’s shoulders that are covered with one of her old tunics that Anakin had told her became unsalvageable after its last wash.

“No,” Anakin says, tightening his hold on his...friend. “He says you didn’t give him food the entire time I was gone! He’s hungry.”

Shmi thinks there’s a very good possibility that this Ben is going to eat her, but she knows not to say anything of the sort. Not when it’s two against one.

“He hasn’t said anything!” She cries instead.

Anakin huffs at this and pats at the feral’s head. “Maybe not to you, but he talks to me.”

Shmi stares at him and wonders if there’s something she’s supposed to be doing or saying here. The man won’t allow her to tear him off her child, she knows that automatically. But she can’t--she doesn’t know--

“Anakin,” she tries, desperately.

But Anakin doesn’t even look at her, too busy petting over the man, who has at least allowed him to sit up. “Hey, I’m sorry, I thought she would,” he tells him in an undertone. “I really thought she would, but I’m back now. I’m not going anywhere without you again--”

He extends his hand and Ben presses his cheek against it with enough force that it pushes him back slightly.

“You’re coming to Naboo with us, Ben,” Anakin promises, clutching at the ends of the man’s long hair. “Or I’m not going at all.”

To Shmi, it sounds like a threat.

The way her son’s eyes flash an unfamiliar golden color makes her feel cold as a Tatooine night. She shivers, but no one notices.

[spiritdogtraining-blog]

Play With The Dog In Front Of You

(Original here: Play with the dog in front of you) Playing is an aspect of dog ownership that is very important for me. If I don’t have a lot of time and need to pick between either playing with or training my dogs, I will pick playing. It is bonding, it teaches us about our dogs and – if done right – it is plain fun.

The title of this post is a play on the saying “Train the dog in front of you” – i.e. individualize your training approach to suit the needs of your dog, which may be completely different from the needs of another dog. There are dozens of different ways to teach your dog to sit or heel, and we should not train a generic dog – but the individual in front of us, who we know better than anyone else does.

The same applies to playing in my eyes. There is not just playing tug and playing fetch. Games have many different layers just as training does. We have wild and dynamic play, silly play, calm play and everything in between. It is our task to find out what type of game our dogs prefer the most.

My two Border Collies for example are very different in their play preferences.

First, there is Fusion:

Fusion is not the typical high drive Border Collie. He is rather laid back, and wild fighting for a toy is not really his thing. Over time, I found out what rocks his world: tracing things moving across the ground (not really a surprise for a Border Collie!). He invented a quite sophisticated game that we call Treppenball (German for stairway ball).

Fusion lies in top of the stairway. The game is played with only one tennis ball and zero movement on his part. The human who has the honor to play Treppenball with him stands at the bottom of the staircase, throws the ball up and Fusion catches it. Then very carefully places it at the edge of the top step and nudges it with his nose just enough so that the ball starts bouncing down the steps one by one. Over time he has perfected the technique with which he has to launch the ball so that it touches each step (he seems disappointed if the it arrives at the bottom too quickly).

He watches in great delight as the ball travels down, where his human play mate has to pick it up and throw it back to him. This is repeated as many times as the human is willing to (for Christmas he has been gifted with Treppenball sessions of up to 2 hours, probably the happiest days of his life).

This is not just a silly little Fusion game, though – I have over time found that many dogs that refuse to play with balls can be enticed by not throwing, but “bowling” the ball close to the ground. The more ground contact you can get, the more tracing moving prey is resembled in the game.

I worked with a Standard Poodle who would not play with his humans. He had learned that only dog-to-dog play was fun and flat out ignored any attempts of his owners to play with him. This made it difficult to shift his interest from other dogs to people – dogs were playmates to him, people not.

In the very first session of tennis ball bowling he already showed a bit of interest (I don’t look for any more than the dog tracing the ball with his eyes for a second or two at this point, no movement on the dog’s part is required at all). It was tricky however to make him aware that we were going to roll a ball for him his eyes and focus were a bit all over the place and often the fridge making a sound or a bird flying by would capture his attention and make him miss the ball. I didn’t want to constantly chant his name, so we came up with another idea.

We got some squeaky tennis balls and devised a game in which the ball would first be squeaked – a sure way to get his focus – then as soon as he locked his eyes onto it, we rolled it across the ground. This needed to happen very fast, before anything else would capture his attention. He soon started to cautiously trot a couple steps behind the rolling ball – success! We kept the sessions very short and made sure that the ball was kept in the living room (but out of the dog’s reach), where the owners would take it a few times a day, squeak it and play with it themselves enthusiastically, before putting it back on the shelf without involving the dog – for many dogs this is a sure way to make them very interested!

Comparable scenarios have since come up many times for me, and the combination of a squeaky rolling ball has turned many play refusers into very happy players for whom the ball even became a jackpot reward!

Another game Fusion enjoys is extremely simple and effective – rolling food (pieces of kibble work well for this) across the ground. I toss them one by one, again making sure to roll/bowl rather than throw through the air, and letting him run after them to catch them. Even dogs that show absolutely zero interest in toys can become playful in “hunting” their food that way. I often play this (as well as toy games) on walks to let the dogs experience a bit of the kick that comes with hunting, and associate this kick with me – rather than squirrels

My Border Collie Kix is very different from Fusion – loud, wild, driven and always up for a fight.

While she enjoys tugging and everything that goes along with wrestling over a toy very much, I found out a different game that is great fun for her:

She takes a toy into her mouth and then I hardly touch her or her treasure at all – instead, I myself go a little crazy. Sometimes I sit on the ground and slap my hands on the floor, like I am drumming. She bites her toy, growls and also starts slapping her paws on the ground, hitting my hands and every now and then jumping up in the air from too much fun Other times I run back and forth, she comes after me and every time we pass each other I push her chest or shoulder a little bit before racing away again. She gets more and more crazy and determined to “catch” me, while also shaking and growling into her toy. As silly as it must look, these are moments of pure joy for us. No strings attached, no training required, just playing for the fun of it.

I am still learning a lot about the play preferences of my 8 month old puppy. I take a lot of time to explore all kinds of toys and ways to play, as well as giving him the time to find his play personality.

We play several times a day, especially if he initiates it by bringing me something. As long as it is not too inappropriate (of course I don’t play with anything unsafe or breakable), we play with it.

One of his special interests are the little plastic cones I use to hold up cavaletti poles. When he was barely as big as those cones he was already dragging them all over the house, eventually leading up to bringing them to me as a game invitation at the most awkward times – often I came out of the bathroom to find a little puppy sitting right in front of the door next to a plastic cone, looking longingly at his priced possession and asking me to have a game of cone tug and fetch.

Invest some time into learning about the very individual play ideas of your dog, no matter how strange or unique. The more you adapt your play style to your dog’s, the more fun you will have!

[harry-meepmeep-dresden]

Serious Question

If I started posting some of my original content on Patreon or somewhere, how many people would be interested? Example of my original work below the read more. Please do not steal it. Still working out the kinks of some of the grammar software I use so please forgive me for anything that I’ve missed. I’ll try to get it fixed asap.

Please let me know if you like it as well <3

------------------------------

Running for your life is not the best feeling or reason to run. That’s what Tham always said. Elves possessed a messed up view on the death thing since immortality gets boring after a while. The immortal pointy-eared humanoids only faced death when they wished too. Tham might end up laughing, dashing ahead, and even running backward most likely in this plight, but she wasn’t here. I, unfortunately, was. Legs burning as my feet hit the ground hard. A glance back at the screaming goblins let me know just how much ‘fun’ I'd have if I stopped running. It took most of my strength just to hold the large pack filled with a few valuables of questionable ownership.

All right, more than a few. A heavy few things.

If I wasted even a single precious bullet Tham‘d take it out of my hide, or worse my pay. She’d likely show even more anger if the items didn't get delivered. So for the sake of profit and the higher chance of survival the gun came out of the tight leather holster.

A risky chance to take, slowing enough so the goblins got in range, I peered over my shoulder and fired. One of the five shots expelled and a small cracked stone popped out of the gun. Lightning struck out from the muzzle and hit the first goblin, turning him into a gnomish lightbulb for a moment. The greasy hair stood up because of static before bursting into flame. Two others didn’t dive out of the way fast enough and became toasty. Luckily, while running, the stench couldn’t reach me.  

Not much farther until I'd reach safety. Keep moving. Tham owed far more than proposed for this job. Foot massage, hot bath, and maybe even those fancy coffee beans the satyrs grew. Expensive stuff. Great distractions to think on instead of the pounding foot pain. The wagon soon came into view. The cliff took a higher drop than I remembered. Must have taken a wrong turn. Since the survivability, if I turned around and ran towards them, rested at zero to none, the alternative possibilities remained limited.  

“Luey!” my shout startled the driver making him stare up towards the short cliff to his right.

He caught the bag of goods I threw at him. I leaped. I considered jumping still carrying everything, but I didn’t want to risk a landing on top. Instead, I fell onto the softer items we stored in the back. Gold encrusted boxes, with the gems, tended to break bones if you landed on them from a high, or even a regular fall. Learned from experience. A few experiences.

Upon my safe landing, Luey got the wagon moving as quick as possible. The goblins, not having soft items to land on opted not to follow, but hurled rocks at us. With a heavy sigh, I closed my eyes and tried not to let the bumpy road bother me.

“Um, where are your shoes? And one of your socks is missing too,” Luey, kept around for his outstanding observational skills.

“Oh you know, crawled through a narrow goblin hole. Gave them my shoes as a toll,” they’d pulled them hard enough they came off with one tug. The boots weren’t worth stopping and getting eviscerated to retrieve.

“I don’t think those shoes will fit them. Weren’t they brand new?”

“Luey, shut up please.”

“I mean you said you didn’t need help. With me there we might have killed most of them and made the others run. But no, ‘just a pickup job’ and-”

“Shut it. I will not admit I needed your help. I got out of there, didn’t I?” I attempted to end the conversation and succeeded with my interruption.

Never understood his overwhelming urge to be right. Then again, I think he just liked the sound of his own voice saying ‘I told you so’. His little snort made me want to use another bullet, but I opted to find one of the water skins and take a few long drinks.

After removal of the remaining sock, it ended up getting tossed overboard. What’s the point of keeping a single sock? I’d add the cost of the boots and a new pair of socks to the charge for the chest. Those were custom-made boots. My feet weren’t the normal size for more durable footwear. It took the cobbler over a month to make the forsaken pair. They fit perfect. If they were on my feet, then the soreness wouldn’t even be an issue. Most people‘s feet after running for three miles over the stones, sticks, and who knows what else would be sore, and bleeding. Boots would have prevented all of that.

With thirst satisfied I tried to get comfortable in the wagon. With my eyes closed, it didn’t take long to fall asleep.

“Dion, we’re here. I can’t find our papers from Tham. Where d’you put them?” Luey kept messing up my hair until I stopped pretending to be asleep anymore, even moving his hands to grip my shoulders and shake me just to make sure.

“Papers? You’ve got to be-” looking up as I spoke, my words caught when the bane of the current situation looked at me. “Hello, Raflinel.”

“It’s Rafinielle,” he gave me the normal disdain filled look as he corrected my purposeful butchering of his name. I didn’t like the guy, so making his life difficult filled mine with a hint of joy.

“That’s what I said. You needed our papers, right?” I sighed and began to dig into smaller crates.

For how much Luey deserved a throttling for his asinine superiority complex the man hid our goods well. I didn’t even have to worry over exposing them as I dug around inside the bag and brought up a scroll with a distinctive wax marking on it. A corner missing from being chewed off the paper. Transported worg puppies a couple weeks prior. Like every animal baby, they caused destruction to everything. The scroll gave us free passage to come and go without being searched or halted for more than an hour. The council, more concerned over weapons than any other illegal goods, meant the lovely sidearm might end up being confiscated by the guards until departure without that paper.

Sometimes the guards got greedy which is why Luey hid the bag with the chest in it. The goods we got weren’t always the kind guards enjoyed letting into the city without a cut. The guards made dirt for salary, but their jobs were to stand there and whistle if an attacks were inbound. Most of them didn’t even know how to wield the weapons they carried, so my sympathy for their lack of wealth is non-existent. They charged high, fake taxes and other miscellaneous amounts the city council didn’t demand and put it right into their own pockets. Travelers with an abundance of expensive objects have large purses and not knowning any better fell for it. In Faethes, a town between giant filled hills and goblin rich forests, the con artists were the real monsters.

One particular guard just liked to give people a difficult time. Something about him being one of the high guards of the capital or other nonsense. Not saying he’s a liar, he knows how to use the sword and bow, and might be the only non-corrupt member. This guard, Rafinielle, scrutinized the paper. He attempted a more serious approach to the job. Most of the other guards just let us through. Luey and I come here because it happens to be Tham’s preferred trading post.

“Rafi-nelly, we’ve come through here a dozen times and you know we have that paper. It makes no sense why you don’t just let us go through,” the same thing I say every single time he’s passed the paper back to me.  

“Protocol. Without protocol and order, there’d be a mess. As a human, I don’t expect you understand any of that. Even if you have magic secret to longevity. Now be on your way. You cause any trouble and I’ll volunteer to be the one to throw you out of town. I’d take that weapon, and tear that damn paper to shreds," Rafinielle said. He's shorter than me while I sat in the wagon, but still managed to look down on me.

Pure, annoyance driven hate filled my thoughts as I shoved the paper back into the water safe pouch in the wagon. Luey, bless his soul, started the horse moving before I said a word. The movement caused me to bite my tongue and cut off the trouble filled words bouncing at the forefront of my thoughts. Once speaking proved out of the question I opted for a few lewd hand gestures instead. It’s rare when you can see an elf get flustered to the point their face goes red. The ability to annoy Rafinielle into embarrassment, I’m an expert at.  

When we were far enough away Elven eyes couldn’t see finite gestures, I moved to dig through the packs to find a snack to eat. Didn‘t want to give him any reason to be suspicious.

Luey directed the horse through the large gates of worked wood and earth that marked the entryway of Faethes. Thirty feet tall hardened wood, grown straight from the ground and shaped into the protective walls of the city. The walls circled the entire expanse, except the three gates, which were open. When you live near giants, it only makes sense to have something just as big to keep them out. Entering the city always held a moment of awe for me. The patience the wall woodworkers possessed to create such a magnificent accomplishment is unimaginable. The walls, being living trees (although what kind I don’t know), grew an extra few inches every year, so in time, they might even touch the clouds.

Inside the city, all sorts of bustling occurred. Gnomes, elves of different races, dwarves, the half-breed something or others, and humans roamed and haggled. Yet no other human such as myself. Human, yes I am, but I lack the regular human lifespan. It made a few people angry and demand the explanation. If I had one, I’d give it in a heartbeat. For a price that is.

Speaking of prices, Luey stopped the wagon in front of Tham’s Treasures and Artifacts. Time to negotiate my way into getting a new pair of boots.

Chimes sounded as Luey and I entered the shop. Glowing orbs provided enough light for shoppers to browse the wares.

For the number of things available, there were far too many shelves lining the walls. Each item appeared to have a solid foot of space around it. Valuables were breakable. To make sure a person didn't bump and break something providing enough space is essential.

People journeyed to Faethes to purchase rare items at Tham's place. Containers, clothing, jewelry, and far more sat on display. Tham kept most of the rare loot in the back. This included spell bullets, enchanted items, rare gems, and weaponry. To discourage thieves, Tham secured her rarer wares in a room behind the counter. I wouldn't suggest trying to get into that back room either. Tham kept a ward on the passageway. Even if I tried, no way could I live through the attempt to break in. Rumor is that she made the ward herself. If Luey didn't stop me on our first visit my extra-long life might have met a quick end.

A few travelers were talking with Tham. It looked as though she had a chain with a green crystal hooked on the end. Most likely they wanted the crystal. Our business isn’t urgent so Luey and I waited.

Travelers from other cities came to Faethes often. Many considered Faethes the capital city of Constalence. Faethes, on top of being the capital, more humans lived there than any other city. Might be because of how safe the tall walls appeared. As short-lived beings, humans did not occupy many positions of power. The highest ranked human represented all the humans on the city council. They deserved at least one vote.

Humans, such cowards. Most didn't chance to leave the safety and remained content with manual labor. That small fact might be why Rafinielle hated me. If I acknowledged his opinions on me that might hurt my feelings.

The elves finished their purchases and began to leave, eyeing me on their way out. It’s great being considered a second-class citizen. Even if humans made up a large part of the population of Faethes, most unable to afford to shop at Tham's. If I told them I'd provided Tham with that jewel they'd laugh. No need fussing over it.

Tham looked to us and smiled. She wore her hair up in braids today. Tham's ears poked out of her hair. Tham adorned the two points with mithril clips. Her skin showed the immortal radiance of the elves with how smooth it appeared. She wore powder on her cheeks and a green shade on her eyelids. Never understood the urge to wear different colored powders. Sometimes it looked nice, but it wasn't for me.

"Dion!" she exclaimed and moved around the counter. "How's my favorite human thief?"

“You have more than one human thief?” I grinned. “It's more of a treasure hunter instead of a thief.”

"You take goods never in your possession prior. You can call it whatever you'd like, but that still screams 'thief' to me. If I had another, you'd still be my favorite," she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and brought me in for a hug.

Tham stood a few inches taller than me. Elves' natural height might make a human feel short, even if the human is of average height. I looked up to meet her sparkling blue eyes and couldn't help but smile. Tham acts selfish, impulsive, and underestimate the danger retrieving boxes filled with who knows what. She remained one of my closest friends despite those traits. However, the idea she might sell me out if offered a good price didn't escape my attention.

My smile faded as she moved to take the box.

"Hey now, no business just yet. We have to renegotiate the price. Getting this took far more effort than initially advertised. I lost my shoes. So we need to chalk a pair of custom leather boots onto the bill," my smile came back when she pouted.

She hated negotiations because that meant someone possessed something she wanted. Neener, neener I've got the pretty box.

Her pout broke as she sighed before speaking, "You are an exasperating human, aren't you, Dion? Fine. New boots added onto the bill."

“Brand new, custom, leather boots.”

“Brand new. Custom. Leather. Boots,” she confirmed.

When dealing with elves or any merchant, a person needed to make sure that their demands were meticulously precise. Merchants might act like a djinn towards a helpless buyer. By this I mean they could give a person what they wanted, without it being what they wanted. I wanted new, custom boots. Tham said 'new boots'. If I accepted the proposal, she could end up giving me the cheapest new boots she could find without breaking the verbal contract. The boots didn't even need to fit me. The boots could end up crocheted instead of leather. So always double check your accords.

"Deal," I passed her the box.

Her smile grew immensely when she got to hold the small chest. It didn't appear as anything out of the ordinary. Then again, she desired what’s tucked away inside the chest. Tham moved to set the box on the counter before reaching into her pocket. She drew out a few small crafting tools for lock picking. Although she could have asked me to pick the lock, she attempted to do it herself. Refusing to ask the professional, me, to do their job only hurt my pride a smidge.

Luey looked around while I kept my eyes on Tham and her attempts. When a small 'snap' sounded her face turned pinker than the powder made it appear. After a couple of minutes, two 'snaps', and a couple tiny broken tools she raised an eyebrow at me. Her eyes narrowed, and I tried not to smile. I swear, I tried not too. Her little huff made it that much harder to fight off a grin. She stepped back from the counter. With my pride bandaged, I moved to get out my own tools to unlock the chest. I moved to take up space she'd left so I could get to work. Trap dismantling and lock picking were art forms. Any idiot could throw paint on a canvas or shove two metal parts into a hole. That didn't mean they'd get the desired results. Just a slight twist and-

"OW!" I jumped back and looked at my fingers.

The chest’s defenses relied on more than a solid metal lock to keep people out. My tools rested inside the lock. A shock of light snapped between the two metal parts. Lightning magic triggered by all other means, but the right key. That made things more interesting.

Tham looked at me with a smug expression. The corner of her lip drawn up in a smile and one of her eyebrows raised. No way I'd admit this might be difficult. Instead, I drew out my thick gloves and went back to work. The leather began to heat as I continued working. A rather dramatic 'click' sounded as the lock popped open. Okay, maybe it might have been less dramatic than I thought, but still dramatic. With my still gloved hands, I opened the box.

Foam padding surrounded glass orbs inside the chest. The foam protected the orbs from damage. No doubt the foam did its job since the contents appeared in prime condition. A lump formed in my throat when I remembered how roughly I'd treated the chest on my escape. Tham’s chances of murdering me if the treasure inside ended up damaged rather high.

“I thought you said this‘d be a treasure. Rubies and diamonds. What’s in here are glass globes with some kind of liquid inside," reaching into the chest I intended to pick one up to look closer at it. Luey's hand grabbed my wrist and prevented it from going any closer to the glass. "Hey! What's the matter Luey?” "You shouldn't touch those," he looked at Tham. "You lied to us."

The tone of his voice, so deep and emotionless made me swallow a sudden lump in my throat. Simultaneously, my mouth felt dry. Luey never got angry in the years I'd known him. The immortal man of stranger unknown origin than myself never got angry. Not until now.

"I said there was a treasure. If Dion and yourself thought it mean jewels and coins, then that is your mistake," Tham pulled the chest across the counter to rest in front of her. "Honestly, I thought the contents of the chest were likely worthless bobbles."

"Those are nowhere near bobbles," he growled deep in the back of his throat and reached to take the box back. "I should destroy These."

"I'm sorry, but no. They're my property now," Tham argued although her hands trembled as Luey stood up straighter.

Luey towered over most, including elves, and because of that, few people knew he often slouched. When he stood up straight, he almost gained another foot in height. Slowly, I began to back away. This might not end well if Tham continued to argue.

"Fine. I’ll get to research them first. I also want to see how you 'destroy' them and tell me everything you know for this exchange and will not pay you for the job," she bit her bottom lip.

"Custom leather boots are not negotiable," Luey said before releasing his side of the chest. "You owe us that much for the trouble of getting these. I would never have let Dion accept this job if I'd known."

Okay, now he might take it too far. I'm an adult thank you very much and can make my own stupid mistakes. By human standards, I’m an elder. Not that it made me any smarter, but Luey didn't have to rip the bandage off of my pride that quick.

“Uh, Luey, I agreed to it. You don't have a say in what I agree or disagree too,” a simple argument that started and ended as he turned to look at me. No way I‘d be stupid enough to continue when he gave me that look. “Even if you refused, you don't control what jobs I accept or not. It's my choice. You might be my friend Luey, but you are not my keeper.”

My mouth beat my brain to the punch.

“You're right on that account, but as a friend, I wouldn’t let you accept,” Luey said, his voice softening to a father-like tone. “It is something that humans shouldn’t touch or worry over.”

"So what are they?"

"That is not important," he reached into his pocket before bringing out a few gold coins to hand to me. "Go get your boots."

I was not a child. Luey looking so worried that it made me scared. Not trembling in my boots scared, more ancient curse fear. I'd handled dangerous items before, things that almost killed me, and yet he basically forbid me to touch one.  His eyes looked at my own, his stony features standing firm and immovable.

Taking the gold I left to find the cobbler.

[daddyconfessions]

daddy’s journal: 2/10/16

Last week was rough. Monday two of the big guys came in and informed me of an impending layoff then gave me the list. Long list.  One of them was my Cuban cigar hookup. Every time he visited our Middle East office he’d come back with a box of Cohibas. He charged me $600 but I knew half of that was a markup. Everybody’s got their hustle. Still it’s worth it.

All of the guys on the list I’m friends with too. So I had to laugh and talk with them throughout the day, pretending to be oblivious to their impending doom. Sometimes I hate corporate America. I did ask about my plug about the Cohibas. He said by month’s end…too late. By day’s end I got news that Friday would be the big day for kills. I felt like shit all day and as I went home, I felt even worse. A glass of red wine later that night didn’t help much.

The next day I met up with Firecracker.  I was looking forward to it. The week before she had been on her cycle. Poor thing...she caught hell too. When she got in the room she tried to catch up but I started taking her clothes off. I pushed her onto the bed and went down her. I ate the kitty like it was my first time. “Baby….baby….” she was saying. Couldn’t make out what it was really. My face was buried between her legs. Her thighs were covering my ears. I made her cum twice before I stopped. As I stood up to make my grand entrance I realized I hadn’t even gotten undressed. I laughed at myself.

I quickly pulled off my clothes while she looked on with glazed eyes. I put on the hat, then parted the pink sea like I was Moses. I could feel her squirming under me and realized I might be going too hard. So I let up a bit. She got into then. Her body moved in sync with mine, each time I went deep inside. Before I knew it I came and collapsed on her. A lot quicker then I usually do. I kissed her on her jaw and neck and then she said, “Kiss me.” That was odd for her. So our lips locked for a moment before I stopped and rolled off next to her. We lay there quiet for a good minute when she asked, “What if I want more?” I was like

She’s NEVER asked for a second round. Ever. The next 10 minutes are a disaster though. I got back hard, managed to give her a good show, but I went limp half way through. So we gave up. I apologized and she was ok with it. She’s never wanted it more than once s it caught me off guard. Next time I’ll be ready. Then I realized while we had been at it, she was about to cum but I had beat her to the finish line. Still it was all odd to me.

Wednesday was no better. Lots of pretending going on. 2 of the guys on the kill list came into my office. We laughed and joked all day. Went to lunch with one.  God I felt like shit. By the end of the day they started letting half of them go. I thought it was going to be Friday. But someone in upper mgmt. wanted to get it over with.

My assistant is a college student and works part time. I decided to give her the week off, hide her from the big boys. Out of sight out of mind. I’m sure if they saw her they would have told me to get rid of her.

A couple of days later I was in the room with Firecracker. I was determined to exact my retribution for the limp fiasco. But I forgot to pace myself. Half way through I had to stop. All out of breath. She asked me if I was tired and needed to rest but I told her I wanted her to cum. “I’ve already came 5 times baby,” she said, with a half chuckle. Like fool get up. “I can’t do any more ,” she said. Tapped out. I took it to the finish line and called it a day.

I’m good now with Firecracker. Not quite the love sick puppy as before. I put things in perspective and got back in touch with why I do this and what I want to experience. I can confidently say, “I’m good.”

The weekend hit and the fam was gone to some kid functions. I’m alone Saturday so I decided to check out a 40th birthday party for a good friend. Nothing fantastical happened there. By midnight I was on my way home. I haven’t been out on a Saturday in almost a year. So I couldn’t just go home. Who knows when I would be out again?

I decided to hit the strip club. I forgot what its like to be out on a Saturday night. I must have had 4 street races on the way there. Young punks. Shit to prove. I make a mental note to run the ride by Billy Ray’s shop tho. Time for some upgrades.

The clubs packed. Titties and ass everywhere. “I’ve got to get out more often on Saturday,” I mumble to myself. Most of the girls are in the back of the club given all kinds of table dances. I grab a beer from the bar and then flop down at a nearby table. I resigned to leave once the  beer was gone since none of these chicks were looking particularly good to me tonight.

I had a couple of sips of beer left when my favorite song comes on. Erotic city by Prince. “Kimberly” gets on stage. OMG. Good looking girl dancing to my favorite song? Must be a sign from the sugar gods. I patiently wait through her set, stretching those last two sips out for 15 minutes. It took her another 5 min to come out the back after her 3 songs. I watched as she went from guy to guy. Flopping down in their laps, talking to them for a few minutes before getting up and going to the next. Either these guys want something for free or she’s all about that champagne love. I watch this cycle go on for about 15 minutes. Damn if I didn’t stretch out the last remnants of beer in the bottle. Finally she walks past my chair and I grab her arm. She immediately flops down on me and lays her head back on my shoulder.

“Hey baby,” she says. I can smell the mix of perfume and her natural scent. Kind of sweet like. Musk. We chit for a second before she says, “You want to spend some time with me or you want to get a dance?” Not sure what that means in stripper lingo. So I say, “I want both.” So she starts chatting me up, little bs conversation about nothing. She’s kissed me several times and by the time the next song comes on I was hard. “I think I’m ready for a table dance,” I tell her.

She took me by the hand and led me to the table dance area. As I walked in I realized why I hadn’t seen that many girls. All the pretty ones were in this section doing all kinds of acrobatic feats and what not. We find a table and I sit down. Kimberly puts her drink down and other belongings and ask if I want to wait until the next song. I told her yes. She took another sip of the drink and starts dancing anyway. Ass and titties in my face. Even stood up on the couch with my head between her legs and her pussy less than an inch from my mouth and nose. I could smell her natural smell again. That kitty was sweaty too. Gotta love strippers. Hard workers.

As the song drew to an end I told her she was making me want some champagne love. She stopped suddenly and straddled me. She put her mouth to my ear and we discussed a price. After the negotiations were done she stood up and put back on her top. She told me I owed her for one dance and then we could go. I pulled out a $20 and handed it over. I could have sworn it was 2 songs, but fuck it. She grabbed my hand again and led me towards the bar. She tells this middle age chick I want the champagne room. “Great I’ll take care of it,” mama said. I cough up the champagne room fee and hand it to her. Then Kimberly leads me to the champagne room.

The room is well lit. I’m nervous. We grab a seat in the far corner. I sit down as Kimberly rearranges the chairs and tables to barricade us in. Then she sits next to me. “I need $20 to tip my manager to not let anyone back her. I need another $20 to tip the waitress.” Damn. Tip drill.  I pull out the cash, hand it over, and she disappears. She comes back and pulls off her shoes and flop down beside me. All comfy cozy now. Then the waitress comes with two glasses and champagne. She pops the bottle and pours us both a glass. “You guys need anything else?” the old chick asked. “No,” I say.

We pick up the glass and click’em. “Cheers.”  We talk a bit longer and then Kimberly kills her drink. “Pull your pants down babe,” she tells me. I look around in fear by the lights. No sooner had I thought about it they went dim. I drop my pants down to my knees. Kimberly goes in her purse and pulls out a condom. She tears it out the pack, puts it in her mouth and goes down on me. She gets it half on and then tries to use her fingers to get it further down. “Ouch,” I yell. Her nails are too long and the rubbers too tight. “Damn you got a big dick,” she tells me. She tries to pull it down and ends up breaking the rubber. We pull it off and she gets another, she gets it on again and I finish putting it on at this time. While I’m getting it on she pours more champagne and takes one more to the head. “You ready baby?” she asks. “Yes!”

She’s got some pretty good knowledge despite the condom. Had me rock hard despite the plastic. Or was it because I was just hot? Before I knew it she had climbed on top and was trying to ride. She was doing ok, but needed some help. I grabbed her by her waist and guided her up and down. When she had opened up for me, I got rough pounding her up and down on me. “Fuck,” she was saying. “Damn…..You’re big babe.” She put her hands on my chest and stops me. I looked over the back of the couch. Had someone come in? “You want to do doggie?” she asked.

We switch. She’ got down on the couch. She grabs me and guides me into the kitty. Now I’m standing up behind her in full site of the door. Fuck it. YOLO. I go to work. No time to waste. I’m turned up now. I wasn’t my usual sensitive lover self. I was just trying to bust so I went hard on her. “God….Oh shit,” she said. Suddenly she looked back at me as if she were possessed, her eyes locked with mine and narrowed.  “You’re fucking me…” she growled.  Why Yes. Yes I am. And I went on fucking her, wearing that little kitty out.

“Baby,” she panted. “You gotta hurry up.” I can’t come quick often and I was in rare form. I went for another minute before I came. Hard. When I was done, I collapsed in the chair beside her. She got off her knees and sat beside me and let out a long breath. We both reached for our glasses simultaneously and laughed at ourselves. We clicked them one more time and took a sip.

God I hope the local boys weren’t in the building. If so they had me on all kinds evidence. Sitting there with my pants around my knees, her naked. Kim pulled off the condom and disposed of it. Then handed me some napkins to clean up. We both got dressed and then sat back down to enjoy another glass.

“I gotta go babe,” she told me. I knew the game. It was another hour left before the club closed. Lots of $$$ to be made.

Before we walked out we exchanged numbers. She was cool meeting outside the club. Apparently I had “proven” myself. We walked out and Kim left me on the floor as she disappeared in the back. I sat down and finished off my glass of wine. As I got up to leave the old waitress was back. She had been coming to check on me I guess. We were so close we could have kissed. Had to have been intentional.

“How are you,” she asked. I told her I was fine. “Were you needing anything else sugar?” Ironic name. I told her yes and pulled out my wad and giving her a tip. “That’s for you.” She smiled and gave me the biggest hug ever. She needed to be careful though. Just because it was a bunch of 20 somethings walking around didn’t’ mean I wouldn’t show her what I was all about. I grinned and left.

Not a bad end to a rough week I’d say. (excuse any typos)

[zackvachon93-blog]

Ideal Fast Food Franchise Business In The Philippines As Well As Their Expenses

Bus is one of the most ideal means of transportation coming from one spot to the other in and around the metropolitan area of any type of country all around the planet. Fast food eating places are actually solely on how much income they can easily produce, not your wellness. Explored Hanoi, the capital metropolitan area of Vietnam, in December 2011, and also possessed a remarkable time packing my tummy with plenty of danish. Interestingly good enough, life expectancies are greater in metropolitan areas most likely as a result of better accessibility to healthcare, though my grandparents who certainly not merely built their own farmhouse however increase cash money plants a lot of their lives in South The United States and also to life as well as booting at 92. There are actually a ton of contradictions to each atmospheres but when it comes to me, twojepiekno18.info I'll stick with the country life. Museum goers mention hearing tracks, murmurs, and also vocals in the prison as well as around the grounds. To be capable to offer a large range of automobiles for attractive costs, CVNA also buys automobiles outside those market and vending makers as well as fulfillment facilities. ( 2 - colour) Area public info intern Christine Davis assists Louise Tausig, 6, left, Corey Scott, 11, and Bryan Friedman, 11, get through Santa Clarita's eKids Website Friday at Town hall. Create an "open home" although many of the Real property agents consider them a waste of time. Urban area legislators passed the zoning ordinance in 2008 that confined the position or even expansion of fast-food electrical outlets in a 32-square-mile area south of Expressway 10 that has a hard time higher being overweight costs and also various other health condition. The research study discovered that there was a much higher lot of fast-food channels within 500 metres of urban neighbourhoods referred to as non-white in addition to in socially striped locations. Those feature area web traffic waste disposal unit subway trains, planes removing, rock shows and even loud kids can easily bring about higher decibel degrees of noise.

While it holds true that in some urban areas, like New York, there are far fewer vehicle drivers are opting to get licenses to drive registered taxis and also this has actually had an effect on the revenues that cities and towns generate coming from giving out these licenses, the same can easily certainly not be said for every single urban area and also city. With Weapons n Roses seeming on the soundstripe, a motorcycle hunt and also a set of outstanding fights in between the T-800 (Arnold Schwarzenegger) and the brand new T thousand (Robert Patrick) director James Cameron matches the reducing upper hand CGI utilized in Terminator 2 along with some outstanding audio impacts that definitely deliver your border sound to lifestyle. Early, prolonged exposure to white sound might weaken the human brain's ability to regard the geographical area of the noise, depending on to a July 2009 write-up in Cortex magazine, "Very early Continuous White Sound Exposure Modifies Auditory Spatial Sensitiveness." Shanghai-based scientists raised infant rat puppies using a history of constant white noise.

As the provider delighted in more healthy margins in 2016, as it regulated operating and also compensation costs however saw a greater prices of products, its own H1 2017 overall and also managerial expenditures climbed 61% because of one-time write-off revaluation as well as IPO costs of $600,000 as well as $400,000, specifically, yet found total margin improve from 47.2% to 50.3%. Because of these greater costs, take-home pay increased at a 9% fee in H1 of 2017, matched up to 2016's earnings surge of 91% coming from the year prior however excluding these single costs net income found a 38.7% development fee. Remaining in one of the Sicily retreats or even hotels and resorts where you may reserve attaching areas is actually the perfect situation, allowing you to keep an eye on the children without having to stay on best of one another - nevertheless, it's your vacation also. As an alternative I'll merely claim that I know nobody that's ended up Nier: Automata and also not liked it. It pushes the perimeters of every thing it contacts, and also it's one of the most ideal games I have actually ever participated in.

[pamagrimes-blog]

Chicken Mom and The Big Eddy

“The River can kill you in a thousand ways.” ~ Paul Serone, Anaconda

As I stood on the banks of the Deschutes River in Central Oregon staring into the jaws of what I assumed would be certain death, it was Jon Voight’s voice I heard above the roar of the rapids. His infamous line from one of the worst horror flicks of all time, Anaconda, kept repeating over and in my head. There were other voices in my head that day, too, voices that screamed: “Run fool, run!”

Let me start by explaining that I’m a bit phobic when it comes to the water. I get nervous if the bathtub’s too full. But my desire to be a “fun mom” to our three sons forced me to set aside my phobia and book our family’s first white water rafting trip. So there I was, facing Class III rapids that made my heart beat faster than Trump can tap a tweet.

Our family had never been white water rafting, but our boys were anxious to try it. After some exhaustive internet research, I found Sun Country Tours in Sunriver, Oregon. They offered an entry level three hour excursion known as The Big Eddy Thriller. Sun Country’s website boasted rave reviews and photos of happy families giggling like fools as they plunged into the frothy white torrent. We, too, could be happy giggling fools, and all for the low, low price of only $60 each!

On the morning of the excursion, we arrived at the Sun Country offices in high spirits. Our boys spilled out of the van like happy puppies, anxious for the adventure ahead. At that moment it felt great to be the “fun mom.” The moment wouldn’t last long.

At the front desk, an athletic-looking young man greeted us with a stack of legal forms. “What is all this?” I asked my husband as we leafed through the paperwork. “We’re signing away our rights to sue them if anything goes hideously wrong,” he said.

Oh, snap! Shit just got real.

As I watched each of my boys sign away their rights on the dotted line, I felt my first tingling of trepidation. What kind of mother lets her kids do this? The fun kind, of course!

Once the paperwork was complete, we boarded a rickety school bus that would drive us 45 minutes north to the Deschutes National Forest. There we’d be paired with a guide and dropped into the Upper Deschutes River.

I watched the other passengers for signs of fear or concern. If anyone was nervous, they were covering it well. People chatted and laughed, seemingly unconcerned about what was to come. The sunny weather slowly gave way to overcast skies, and a light rain began to fall. I took this as an ominous sign.

I turned anxiously to my husband and asked, “Are you looking forward to this?” He pulled me close and whispered in my ear, “It’ll be a blast.” I found this of little comfort as the closest my husband had been to rafting was riding Splash Mountain at Disneyland.

After bumping our way through the forest for a few miles, the bus finally came to a halt. The driver pointed to a path and told us in broken English that we were to follow it down to the river.

Dutifully we tromped down the switchbacks to a clearing where a team of professional guides and six large yellow rafts awaited us. One young man was handing out life jackets, and I lunged at him as if we were about to board the Titanic.

We were assigned a tour guide and a raft. Our guide, Patrick, was a small, wiry guy who looked barely old enough to shave. I’d pictured someone more like Thor steering us down the river, someone who possessed the upper body strength to pull a hysterical woman from the swirling rapids. I gulped but said nothing, afraid to expose my chicken heart and lose my fun mom cred.

Our raft had a few seats left, so Patrick assigned two additional passengers to our group; Ava and her 19-year-old daughter Tiffany, or as I dubbed them; Sporty Spice and Baby Spice.

Dripping in Nike athleisure wear Sporty Spice was nothing short of an Amazon, complete with rippling biceps, perfect white teeth and a thick blonde mane. Sporty introduced herself locking my hand in a vice-grip. I tried not to wince as she crushed most of the 27 bones in my hand.

You know those buddy comedies where they match two physical opposites? That was Sporty Spice and me. I was the Jonah Hill to her Channing Tatum. Sporty was the alpha-female, a blond Xena Warrior Princess, while I was the poser in cheap aqua shoes and a tattered baseball cap.

Sporty Spice offered to take the bow position as she was an “experienced power rower.”

Of course, she was.

“These Class III Rapids are child’s play,” Sporty scoffed. “I’ve been down class V rapids; you wear a helmet for those.”

Our guide Patrick seemed overly impressed, confessing he’d never even seen Class V rapids. This exchange did nothing to boost my confidence in him. It looked as though our lives would be in the hands of Sporty Spice. I prayed she was as tough as she looked.

Before climbing into our raft, Patrick announced the middle seat was open. It was the safest spot in the boat and came with a panic strap. My hand shot up. “I’ll take it if no one else wants it!” I offered a little too quickly. My boys shook their heads.

Uncool.

I’d outed myself as the chicken of the group. I wanted to be the brave mom but let’s face it; Sporty Spice had that job locked down. “You’ll be fine,” Sporty said slapping me on the back so hard that I gagged on my gum.

We shoved off and eased downriver toward the first group of Class I Rapids. They were a snap. I began to relax and unclenched a little. Next up were the Class II Rapids. These were a little wilder but thrilling, and our team navigated them with ease.

Between rapids, Patrick pointed out various lava rock formations, Osprey nests and other local points of interest. My boys were having a blast, smiles all around. Fun mom comes through again! I was beginning to think this white water rafting thing was a piece of cake. But that feeling would be fleeting.

As we rounded the bend, Patrick announced we’d be going ashore to scout the upcoming Class III Rapids so that he could explain some necessary maneuvers. Securing our raft, we trudged through the water and hiked uphill into the forest to get a better view of the rapids below.

When I first laid eyes on those rapids, I froze. I was unable to conceive that my entire family, would momentarily be careening down them on what amounted to a flimsy rubber sheet.

These were nothing like the rapids we’d experienced. What lay before us was a churning, roaring torrent of water, a river wild, thunderous and dangerous with sheer drops at every turn. My stomach began to percolate.

As everyone eagerly gathered to view the river, I hung back reviewing my options. I could walk back to Sunriver, sure it was a 30-mile trek, and I was in the middle of the freaking Deschutes Forest but what was my alternative? Panic set in. I was trapped. There was only one way out, and it was over those churning rapids.

Suddenly I didn’t give a rat’s ass about being fun or cool or brave. I was the chicken mom and would embrace it wholeheartedly!

While I kvetched, Patrick explained how to stay afloat on the rapids if thrown from the raft. My mouth went dry, and I clutched Patrick’s arm. “Do you mean we might go down the rapids….without the raft?” Patrick patted my hand and assured me that many people claim it’s the best part of their trip.

What???

Nowhere on Sun Country’s website did it claim “You’ll have a jolly old time when you’re tossed from the raft and sail down the rapids on your ass.” To add to my anxiety, Patrick began checking our life jackets, because as he put it, “If not tightly cinched, the river could rip them from our bodies.”

Was this guy messing with us?

Suddenly our happy family rafting trip had turned into The River Wild, Anaconda and Deliverance all rolled into one. I could almost hear the strains of banjo music wafting through the breeze.

“The river can kill you in a thousand ways.”

“You seem a little nervous, Pam,” Patrick said cinching my life jacket. I nodded vigorously, unable to contain my mounting fear. “Did the profuse sweating, dilated pupils, and dry heaving tip you off?” I asked. Patrick merely smiled and reassured me we’d be okay.

Having no other option, I hoisted myself back into the raft, grabbed ahold of the panic strap, and put on a brave face. “Okay, let’s do this thing!” I barked.

As we shoved off the embankment, Patrick threw out one last warning. “Whatever happens — stay away from the jagged lava rocks, they’ll shred our raft.”

I threw up in my mouth. Just a little.

Oars poised we headed downriver and into the gaping maw of the rapids. Our group navigated the first two sets of rapids with precision, dodging and weaving through the heavy water. The last of the Class III Rapids lay before us. Every muscle in my body was clenched and ready for the drops and turns we were about to face.

We took the first drop and found ourselves heading directly into a solid wall of water. The wave crashed over us, drenching us and sending our boat directly toward the jagged rocks. The jagged rocks Patrick had just warned would “shred our raft.”

There was a moment of quiet panic as, collectively, we realized we were about to get deeply screwed. In a split second, Patrick was yelling commands. “Back, back, row back! NOW!”

Without an oar, I felt helpless and having nothing else constructive to do I repeated Patrick’s directives. “Back! Back! Back!” I shrieked. Sporty Spice sprang into action, rowing backward with the strength of ten Amazons, plus two!

Thanks to teamwork we narrowly avoided the jagged rocks. Once out of harm’s way we could relax and enjoy the rest of our tour. We bounced through the final group of Class II Rapids and pulled ashore where our bus awaited us. The trip was over. We’d made it.

Once ashore Sporty Spice asked me how I liked my first white water rafting experience. I had to be honest, as phobic as I am, it was unforgettable. And now that I was safely on dry land I could admit that it had been thrilling.

That day on the Deschutes I came face to face with my worst fear. I had no way out, no way back and no choice but to forge ahead. Fear is part of being human, but sacrifice is part of being a mom. In the end, my desire to create an unforgettable memory for my boys outweighed my chicken heart. I’m not saying I managed it with any amount of dignity or aplomb. But at least I DID it.

Now that they’ve had a taste, my boys can’t wait to go white water rafting again. They’re busy planning next year’s trip; a half day excursion down Class IV Rapids. Will I go? Of course! What else would a fun mom do?