Sometimes, Jack Talks Like His Head Is ...

One could surmise that the key to success is at least sounding as if you know what you’re talking about, even if you don’t.
If this weren’t supposed to be a family-oriented chronicle, I might be tempted to write: “. . . as if you know what you’re talking about, even if you’re talking out an orifice other than your mouth.”
I could cite examples of folks who do that, but why frustrate Green Bay Packers fans any more than necessary about Brett Favre. As my cheesehead bride, Kate, repeatedly tells my hopelessly romantic Vikings fan/son, Brendan: “Just wait till the end of the season, and Brent’ll break your heart.” (The cheeseheads just LOVE to call him Brent.)
Anyway, enough about horses’ anatomy. PLUS, this is a family-oriented chronicle, so I’ll forgo the temptation. Besides, I wouldn’t DARE say that about a grandkid. And, as my Uncle Frank used to say, “All kids are grand.”
Comes now Jack, who seems to have mastered the art of sounding confident, even if one wonders whether he actually heard a particular gem of wisdom somewhere — on Animal Planet, on the playground, in the dinosaur aisle at Target — or whether he’s making it up.
I’m tempted to suggest that he’s like an ostrich, burying his head in the sand to search for facts.
But oftentimes, he makes his case so convincingly that I end up shaking my head in wonder at his depth and breadth of knowledge instead of writing him off as a blowhard (in a good way, son).
Like the other day, after Jack and I and Patrick and Vincent had walked Jazzy and Dewey to the park. (Luke passed on the chance to walk the dogs, as he is on the opposite end of the spectrum from the Dog Whisperer.)
I said we’d better head back home, and Jack wondered why. I noted the sweltering temperature, which doesn’t bother Jack because he’s one of those play-hard kids who doesn’t mind sweat and dirt as long as he’s having fun. And I pointed out that Jazzy and Dewey were panting because they were so hot.
“Dogs have to pant to cool off,” I explained, “because dogs don’t have sweat glands.”
Jack nodded knowingly, thoughtfully.
“Uh-oh,” I thought. “Here comes an explanation.”
Sure ’nuf, he piped up: “They’re not like ostriches, then.”
“How so?”
“Because ostriches sweat from their heads and their feet to cool off.”
I asked how he knew that, and he changed the subject. But I’ve got to wonder where he came up with that tale, because he sounded so convincing.
Sweaty-headed ostriches, inDEED. I bet the lad’s never even SEEN an ostrich work up a sweat, such as in a race, which would work up a sweat, theoretically.
Until NOW:

I

Or an ostrich fight:



OR, for SURE, an ostrich sticking it’s nose where it doesn’t belong. What’s it think it IS, a dog?



Ostrich sweat would be the least of the problems after that on, IMO. (For those less enlightened, the term “IMO” is young folks’ texting shorthand for “in my opinion.” Sometimes, they make me FOTCLMAO, or at least, LMAO.)
This topic got me all lathered up wondering why ostriches bury their heads in the sand. Turns out they don’t, but it just appears that way, and there are a variety of reasons for it.
My favorite explanation is this, from the wiseGEEK website: “possible source of the rumor that ostriches bury their heads in the sand could be the scientific fact that, when threatened, the ostrich will fall forward in the sand and lay its head to the ground, so that its body will resemble a bush to passing predators. This action is especially common when the ostrich is attempting to protect its eggs. Because the head and neck are the same color as the sand, to an observer, it may look as though the ostriches bury their heads in the sand.”
And now, my friends, I’m going to go bury my head. In a pillow. Maybe it’s made of ostrich feathers.