Metro Dogs and Other Such Nonsense

Back home my kids liked the PBS show "Martha Speaks." It featured a talking dog who was able to communicate with both humans and people. The program has forever changed my perception of dogs so that when I see them, I imagine what they would say. Stray dogs in Russia are a problem. I don't know why they don't have mean, nasty dog-catchers running around except that they would be stuck in traffic for hours each day. So---we feed the dogs.

Recently it came to my attention that children ride the metro for free. With a family of six in a city where virtually nothing is free (including public restrooms) I was happy to discover that it costs only 52 rubles (about 1.75) for all of us to ride. I was, however, unhappy to discover that dogs ride free. They are called metro-dogs. They ride the metro for however long they choose and disembark at stops where they know the scraps will be plentiful. Our stop is apparently popular.

Nearly every time we ride the metro, Number 3 points out the distinct "stinky" smell. She, of course, is never whispering or discreet, it is said with a squeezed nose and a high-pitched voice squealing in disgust. This is when they know we are foreigners. It could also be that we wear brightly colored coats; everyone here wears brown or black or sometimes....wait for it.....charcoal. Or it could also be that we smell so clean. I will admit, I only shower every other day here, but that's still very often compared to the weekly wash of the locals.

Oh and by the way, young children, sometimes six and seven year-olds, ride the metro alone to and from school each day. My hubby mentioned to my almost nine year-old that soon she may be able to ride alone. That conversation is pending. It will eventually be vetoed. After all, I may be living in Russia, but my kid still talks, walks, and looks like an American. Maybe if I got her a dog...

Moment of Reality

So I've been impressed with many deep, inspiring situations here lately and I've had a hard time expressing the scope of my change in perspective. But this morning, I got a good swallow of it.

It was a beautiful moment where I was reading aloud to my classroom (my kids) and they were engaged in, and enjoying the delightful story of Madeline. I saw number 4 put a pony bead in her mouth and I gently discouraged such behavior. Four pairs of eyes were glued to the book and I thought to myself, "what a wonderful mother I am!"

Just then, number 4 let out an ear-piercing yowl. She had removed the bead from her mouth and attempted another inviting passage; her nose. It inevitably got stuck. Now is a good time to tell you that sometimes I suffer from inappropriate laughter. It always comes at the wrong time and I am often deeply compassionate to a situation and yet exhibit the complete opposite.

This was just such an occasion.

I held the flashlight so her daddy (who had been sleeping on the couch during the story) could shove tweezers up that slimy tunnel and retrieve the sparkly bead. I was laughing so hard I had to bury my head in my elbow and try to hold the flashlight steady. For about 30 seconds, I realized that if we couldn't get it out, we would have to visit the medical center and I didn't want to make introductions for this purpose, but I got over that fear pretty fast.

With his face looking keenly up her nose, my hubby asked her to farmer blow. She did. The inappropriate laughter got worse. If my face was covered in snot, I'd be furious, but he just continued on. A few more tweezes and blows later, the bead flew out. She screamed in absolute jubilation and complete fear. I'm not sure exactly what went through her little head, but maybe it was a little bit wiser minus one pink bead.