The Stick Policy
I would like to talk about the rules of this household. Specifically, I would like to talk about who is enforcing them and whether the standards are being…
I would like to talk about the rules of this household. Specifically, I would like to talk about who is enforcing them and whether the standards are being applied consistently across all residents.
Today I found a stick. I want to describe this stick properly because I think it has been undersold in the retelling. It was a full twelve inches long — solid, substantial, not one of those flimsy decorative twigs that snap when you look at them wrong. It had a slight curve that made it aerodynamic. The texture was excellent: weathered but not soft, with just enough roughness on the bark to provide genuine grip and sensory satisfaction. One end had a small knot of wood that added character. The other end was tapered to a point in a way that suggested this stick had lived a full and interesting life before coming into my possession.
It was, in my considered opinion, a magnificent stick. A stick that deserved to be inside, in a place of honor, where it could be appreciated and carried from room to room and set down in various locations and then picked up again.
Gerald did not agree.
He saw me at the back door with it and made the sound — you know the sound, the sharp “ah-ah” that he deploys when he wants me to understand that something I am doing is not permitted. And he held his hand up, palm out, in the way that means Stop. As if I need a visual aid. As if I am not fully capable of understanding the situation without the hand gesture.
I stopped. I sat down. I kept the stick in my mouth and I looked at him with the kind of patient, expectant expression that I have found works well in negotiations.
He said, “No sticks in the house.”
And this is where I need to introduce what I will call the Evidence.
The evidence consists of the following items, all of which were inside this house when Gerald told me sticks were not permitted inside this house. His running shoes, which had been by the front door for four days. Both of them. Muddy. His gym bag, which was in the hallway and which I can tell you, from direct sensory investigation, contains things that make my stick smell like a nature spa. His coffee mug — the large one — which was on the end table, on the arm of the couch, on the kitchen counter, and on the bathroom shelf on three separate days this week. His charging cables, which run across the living room floor in a pattern I can only describe as deliberate chaos, a kind of abstract art installation that I am required to navigate multiple times a day and which has caused me to trip on at least one occasion.
All of this: inside. Permitted. Without comment.
One stick. Beautiful. Twelve inches. Excellent texture.
Denied.
I want someone to explain to me the logic here. I genuinely want to understand it. Is it the material? Is wood the issue? Because I can direct Gerald’s attention to the coffee table, which is also wood. Is it the size? The stick is smaller than his gym bag. Is it the origin? I found it in the yard, which is our yard, which is Gerald’s property, which means by any reasonable reading, it is also my property, and I should be able to bring my property inside.
I have developed what I believe is a workaround. Over the past several days, I have been moving the better sticks to a location near the back door — not inside, technically, but adjacent. A staging area. I am being careful about this. I bring one stick to the staging area, go back out, bring another, arrange them loosely so they look like they might have drifted there naturally on the wind.
Gerald has not commented on the staging area. Either he hasn’t noticed, or he has decided to pick his battles, or he is choosing to pretend the sticks arrived there by forces beyond his control. I am choosing to interpret this as implicit permission.
Phase two begins this weekend. I have my eye on a particularly exceptional stick near the back fence. It is nearly sixteen inches. It has moss on one end.
It is coming inside.
Dapper Dan is the resident observer and self-appointed household analyst at an undisclosed address in Springfield, Missouri. He is groomed regularly at Dapper Doodle Grooming and believes the quality of his coat speaks for itself. Gerald remains unaware of this diary.Follow along: @417DapperDoodle · #DapperDan · #DapperDoodle
