Happy came home last night. I am just so excited I do not know how to tell this story. One minute please, I need to breathe slowly. In…out…in…out. Phew! I have screamed and danced and cried till I cannot dance any more. I am happy once more. Happy is back home. He sniffed his way back after he disappeared from home three weeks ago. It has been a torturous time, with sleepless nights and nightmares. I have heard neighbourhood dogs bark and ran to the window, thinking, hoping that it was Happy Dog, but no.
Happy came home looking dirty and starved. He had been bitten all over the body by some stray dogs, I guess. Someone had taken away his collar and chain. He sneaked in at 3 am and came to my bedroom window. He did not bark, but kept scratching the window sill. It was as if his return was a secret between us and he did not want anybody to know about it. I was fast asleep and I thought I had been attacked by thugs. It was Happy. Oh, how we hugged in joy. If he could talk, Happy could have told me what happened. It does not matter, though. The important thing is that Happy is back home, safe and sound. Happy gobbled all the milk and all the food it could get hold of. For one moment I though Happy had turned into a greedy Hyena.
Happy is sick. I took him to the Veterinary doctor down the road, next to Donna. The doctor knows Happy’s history and Happy knows him too so he will be happy to be near someone he knows. He vaccinated Happy against rabbies a while back. So Happy will stay at the clinic for a few days as he undergoes treatment. But I will be visiting him. I have to take some time off work. Lucky has bad wounds so I will not take his pictures. It would be violation of his privacy and a little cruel and insensitive on my part. So the pictures I have posted above are older ones of Happy’s taken in January and February 2012. I showed him the pictures and he liked them, well at least he licked the laptop.
Happy is a great grandchild of the group of police sniffer dogs. He came home five years ago when he was only one week old. A lady family friend brought him to give me company as I could not get over my father’s death long after he was gone. We were talking about my father, who died in a car crash in 1998, when I burst into tears and everyone realised how raw the pain still was to me. Happy became my constant companion, always there for me, always so faithful and true. Through all life’s ups and downs, Happy stayed on. It hurt me deeply when he went missing. Happy knows how to climb high walls too and I believe he must have inherited this trait from his parents. So he climbed his way up the walls and into his kennel.
What a happy day. The sun seems much brighter today, the coffee tastes sweeter and everything seems happy. Thanks to all friends and family who gave me their support through phone calls, text messages, posts. Welcome Home Happy Dog. Welcome Home. I love you!
I am a hopless facebook addict in desperate need of rehabilitation. And I need a facebook doctor to save me lest I perish. I have become such a hopeless wreck that if nobody helps me, I might get locked up in a facebook institution.
I am usually the first one to get into facebook in the morning and the last to leave at night. Sometimes I fall asleep on the laptop only to wake up and continue with this facebook business. This addiction of mine has turned me into a lurker and when my friends have gone to sleep, I sneak into their pages and profiles and read everything…everything I need to know about them. I started feeling I needed help when I discovered that sometimes I am on facebook alone at 1 am with no one to chat with.
Facebook impresses me, I must admit. Never in my life have I had so many friends. It is not easy to make friends, you know, especially for a shy person like me. Can you believe it? I have 499 friends although to tell the truth, I only communicate with three or four daily. And only one or two, sometimes respond to my posts. This makes me so miserable and when this happens I tell myself, “I have no friends. I have no friends at all!” I have only had two sincere friends in my life and this facebook thing had given me great hopes to have so many friends.
Some of my friends are so popular that whenever they post something, over 50 people respond at once. This makes me so jealous that I feel like erasing their posts. So, to contain my jealousy, I sign out immediately. But because of my addiction, I am soon back on facebook again to monitor if the comments are going up. I get consolation from a blog I read recently that people who are popular on facebook are not normal.
My facebook addiction is pathetic. There are times I thought I would instil some discipline on myself. I deleted 200 friends from my post, hoping to retain 50. But the more friends I deleted, the more friend requests I accepted and now I have 499 friends. Some people have over 1000 friends and this makes me so jealous.
My addiction has been progressing over the years. After blocking some of my friends from the Friends’ list, I soon started asking them to be my friends again. Some fellow facebook addicts understood my condition and agreed to be friends with me again. But some dimissed me with the contempt I deserve and I have been begging them to take me back on facebook.
Some of the friends on facebook are very intelligent and well read. The more I read their posts , the wiser I become. Some are quite thick skinned and obnoxious. Quite a number live in their own world and only talk to themselves. Some are sober and some are wild. Some friends make me laugh, some make me cry. Like my poet friend who after posting every comment accompanies it with an adjecture,”only poets understand what I mean”. This makes tears of laughter roll down my eyes. Some friends, however suffer from verbal diarrhoea and this puts me off. Some are patronising, some condescending and some act as if they know everything. Yet some are so humble.
There are names that facinate me on facebook, especially the fake ones. Kenyans are very creative with names. Sometimes I spend the whole night just reading everybody’s name and trying to work out what they mean.
Who will treat this facebook addiction of mine? Sometimes, I read very annoying comments and I promise myself I will never go back to facebook again. Some comments are so demeaning, some tribalistic and some very vulgar. I have received love requests and job requests. I have received in-boxes for one night stands.
The group of friends I hate most are the political sycophants that encourage tribalism on facebook. They pretend that their tribal leaders are better than others, forgetting that one man’s meat is another man’s poison. So I do not understand why I still read their nonsense. Addiction is a bad thing, it makes one do things one hates.
I have once unsubscribed from facebook. But I got so lonely after that. I missed my friends. I felt left out of the facebook family. And very soon, as you might guess, I was back again, filling in my details and rejoining the facebook community. So when people say they are leaving facebook and wish everyone goodbye, only to surface a few days later, I truly understand. That is a fellow addict and the sooner I make friends with them, the faster I will be in good company.
Facebook is nice. If you miss one friend you can always talk to another. It is not like a mobile phone where some friends refuse to pick calls, others fail to return calls while others ignore your smses. I can communicate with strangers and still feel fulfilled.
Facebook has been kind to me though. Without facebook I would be jobless. Kind friends on facebook give me work and pay me for it and that is how I manage to pay my rent.
Facebook doctor, can you hear me?
A satire copyright Omwa Ombara, 2012