Importance of arriving well

Begin approach.(Flickr/DaRaZena/Commons.wikimedia.org)

Impact. That’s it. To arrive at the perfect moment.

When “designer gown ” meant imported from Paris (and dream on about ever affording one), event arrival time was carefully planned. A calculated position in the entrance parade.

Reveal of one’s status, not body.

With a graceful floating glide down staircases diagonally – never straight down like a peasant clod. “Give them time to adore and admire.”

Impact.

“Arrive late. Leave early.” Rule of debutante roses, jet setters, and Hollywood star system celebs.

Much has change except the coordinated arrival mission thing

Now with EVERYONE trying to making an entrance, psychics, tarot cards, Ouija Boards, and cell phone armed advance guard spotters must be working overtime to secure the perfect timing for their clients.

Scheming event attendees could be the next big Hollywood plot? Plenty of opportunities for meanness, so scripts probably already in process.

Watching their steps. (1944 London fashion models/PD.UK gov/Commons.wikimedia.org)

Some have an instinct, however. A natural gift to know when the time is right.

Seeing an opportunity to steal the scene, one bunch took advantage of the porch light being left on last night – that bright Super Moon.

A flock fine of feather glided in before dawn.

That flotilla of migrating ducks is now sheltered from today’s turbulent weather by tall bulkheads. Look rather smug as another batch arrived right after dawn.

The late arrivals’ flying formation broke for a few indecisive minutes. Perturbed there was a mix up with their reservations at the resort marina? (Bet the flock flight director got the bill over that.)

Not being out of quacks, the ducks stoically reorganized their high-flying precision team and moved on. Proclaiming the park’s wetlands, was the healthy choice anyway. Organic is always better.

Grey morning with clouds looming like Colorado’s East Range. (Ducks, asking for privacy, off camera far left) ©

Dogs do entrances better than most.

It’s always “Ta-da! And yes, you may adore me.”

Molly Malamute, musing over the recent rainy days, sighed “It’s good to be where you are supposed to be.”

Molly arrived here three years ago after living a Goldilocks’ style story.

Taking matters into her own jaws and paws, she managed to escape a brutal captivity. (All stories need a heroine.)

Offered safe shelter by an elderly couple, she was adored, but severely wounded physically and emotionally – and her desperate missteps to shred everything her mouth could reach to become part of their world she was just trying to do what the paper shredder did, but with softer items , her medical and “maintenance” bills became too much for them. She was surrendered to a rescue group with connections to specialized vets.

Placed in a foster home, and now called “Precious”, she made the most of the Pity Party potential and those sad puppy eyes. Much to the distress of the two resident dogs (“Hey, what are we? Chopped liver? FYI. Got Here First dogs here!”) (With a response of “Poor doggy with surgery trumps First Doggies! So get off the bed….and the couch, I may want that later…and that recliner, too…these are ALL MY bowls.”) Then there was her creative “Give Me Attention Game”: over the backyard fence, run ’round to the front porch, bark and knock on the door until answered – and repeat over and over and over. Finally the medium sized resident dog had had enough and snapped. (The old German Shepherd just cowered under the table.)

So she sat dejectedly in a crate in PetSmart. Not understanding. She thought it had been going so well.

It is so not true this is Molly’s foster family dropping off her crate and running as fast and as far as possible. Actually, the foster mom had a change of heart and called offering to take her back if we changed our minds…It was early. Molly had only eaten one windowsill at that time…and one door mat, two dog beds… but she had leaned the difference between carpet and outdoors. Baby steps.(Gustave Dore/USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)

Oh, only for about 20 minutes. We went in for cat food and came out with Molly.

She took one look and said to herself “No high heels. Shoes suitable for running walks. Yep, this is a Two Feet in the Purse Opportunity of a life time.”

(And there might be a bit of truth I was ready to fight the large woman with 2 wild kids marbling around the store for this needy lump of fur huddling against me. Yes, we are nuts.)

Molly stepped into our lives.

And, please, a forever home, right? (The purple collar survived about 12 hours. Unclear on “toy” and “ID collar”…)©

As luck had it, the perfect entrance.

Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge.

Related Posts: 

• “Ready for the Dance” (Sept 2012. Molly takes a chance with both feet and selects a home.)
• “Molly: Ways and Means.” (Dec.1013. The German negotiates with RC Cat on Molly’s behalf)

“Like Kenny Rogers says, ‘Ya’ gotta know when to fold ’em and when to hold ’em.’ Life is good for a dog willing to put two paws in.”©

 

---

Discover more from Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge

Subscribe to get the latest posts to your email.