The Tjikko Chronicles
January 03, 2025
It seems there’s been a collective decision that we should make a slow entry into this new year. In the newsletters I’m managing to read these days (very few), I’m seeing less about resolutions and goals and more about, well, more and less. As in, what do I want more of, or less of, in the next year? For instance, Day 1 of 30 Days of Drawing Together with Wendy MacNaughton is a More/Less list, in drawings.
And there’s this, from Ingrid Fetell Lee:
As January 1st arrives, we’re bombarded with messages about becoming “better” versions of ourselves. New diets, new habits, new goals – all suggesting we’re somehow not enough as we are. Somewhere along the way, we’ve convinced ourselves that:
If it’s easy, we must be missing something
If it feels good, we’re probably doing it wrong
If we’re not struggling, we’re not trying hard enough
The cost? Our natural creativity, intuition, and joy get buried under this constant state of effort.
Actually, I’m missing the bombardment this year. Instead, I’m experiencing a curious paradox of refusing nearly all new goals and intentions, not that I’m able to slow down and rest, but because my life has suddenly accelerated to warp speed.
The Tjikko Chronicles
When I brought Tjikko home he was a couple of days shy of nine weeks old, and next Monday he’ll have eleven weeks. Of course it’s no surprise how quickly an animal this young develops; nonetheless, it’s fascinating to watch. Take, for example, the skill of getting from our back deck down to the ground. There are three fairly shallow steps, which are graded to the rise of the ground, that is, the steps are steepest on the left side and shallowest toward the right. On that end the first step down is almost level with the ground.
On Tjikko’s first full day here he learned to climb up the deck steps. On the second day he mastered the steps going down. The next day, he learned to take the easy route down the right-hand side.
On a PetSmart run Bobby got him a set of four balls that look and feel like tennis balls but are about the size of ping-pong balls. At first, Tjikko enjoyed batting a ball and running to catch it in his mouth, but he was rather unskilled and had lots more misses than hits. In two weeks he’s mastered the game of catch-and-run-with-it. A couple of days ago I laughed out loud watching him play with three balls at once.
Normally, I don’t laugh much. I’m serious, goal-driven, and play-challenged. I’m pretty sure I’ve laughed more in the past two weeks with Tjikko than I had done in the whole year previously.
Good thing I have expendable boots
The Good
Laughing out loud, several times a day.
Also, because of Tjikko, I actually sat in the rocking chair in the living room and read a book—for five minutes, anyway. He needed some calming down, and I had taken him out a few minutes before, so I put him in his crate hoping he would nap. He didn’t, but he did lie quietly, chewing the blanket. He likes having at least one of us nearby, and this gave me a brilliant idea. I could take my latte (freshly made, with many interruptions) and a book to the living room and sit in the rocking chair, from which I can lean over and see him in his crate.
The Hard
The weather. Today, after a freezing early morning, it was pleasant enough to walk and play outdoors for half an hour. Then the first storm arrived in the late afternoon, just a brief, wintry mix, but the real issue is that Tjikko is too young to just go out and do his business if we but open the back door. His business requires one of us to put on all the layers, then take them off again, about every 30 minutes. That’s only a slight exaggeration. Sometimes we get up to 45 minutes between outings.
That was the first storm. The second, coming Monday, will bring up to 12 inches of snow.
The routine: destroyed, in tatters. So far today, I’ve had about 20 minutes, uninterrupted, to do my own work, outside of essential household chores, meals, and coffee (also essential). I know, I know, this is nothing compared with having a human baby. Still, it’s intense. (I’m beyond grateful to have had an hour to finish writing this essay, while Tjikko is asleep in the early evening. I’ll pay for it later.)
The Sweet
The way he sits on the sidewalk, his little nose twitching, and watches what’s happening across the street. Whether it’s kids playing, or a person walking a dog, or a car arriving and people getting out—it’s all interesting.
The way he “goes on a tear,” as my mother would say, meaning that he tears around, running as fast as he can. Eventually he stops and conks out (again, my mother’s term), instantly sound asleep wherever he landed.
Picking him up and carrying him outdoors in the middle of the night to pee. Awake but quiet, he’s a warm, soft, furry little bundle in my arms, making soft puppy noises and gently licking my chin.
After tearing around the house
