Running with Scissors

Augusten Burroughs, the author and main character of the memoir, “Running with Scissors” lived an odd childhood. Burroughs’s mother, a lady of peculiar views, gave his son away to her psychiatrist. What Burroughs’s thought to be an ephemeral amount of time he had to live with this family, turned out to be his whole childhood life. However, this psychiatrist is not one you would normally believe is licensed to help people in emotional distraught. She is obsessed with Santa; her Christmas tree stays up until the end of the summer even though it was of tawdry quality. The doctor’s children are a few patients and a pedophile, who lives in the shed in her backyard. Substances such as Valium were used to ease their lifestyle. Burroughs, at age twelve, had to figure out real life verses fantasy before his life was allayed. He was forced to coalesce with these people who he knew were abnormal and to also come out of the nadir of his life. Also, the way Burroughs explained how he left, it was almost as if his mother exonerated him.

"Nicky"

Punching into work on a Sunday morning is not something I felt like doing yesterday. It was just one of those days where I just felt the need to sleep. As I walked into the main ward I could not take my eyes of of this one Doberman mixed puppy. He had been put up for adoption because his owner's could not afford the surgery he needed. His fur was disheveled and the spirit in his eyes were drained. Figuring in my head that I had four hours to work; I'd spend an hour of my time playing with this puppy (that had like four different names depending on which doctor was working with him). Hmm, which name should I call you I thought as I took a leash and opened his cage. There was Bob, Nicky, Murray, or Rocky. Calling him by each of the names I chose Nicky because his ears went up when I called him that. When Nicky walked out of his cage he was saturnine and walked with his head down. We picked a spot on the floor, I sat down and he laid down putting his head in my lap. Moving the brush through his coat seemed to calm him. His eyes closed in enjoyment, I did not stop. His alluring history made me want to find out more about him. I paged the doctor that was looking after him today. She explained to me that he was hit by a train and that his back left leg had to be skin graphed. This poor puppy. Waking up to the story the doctor told me, I became garrulous as I began talking to the dog about my weekend. He seemed to appreciate the attention. After taking him for walk I put Nicky back in his cage with a bone. The life in his eyes began to flourish. I smiled and told him I would be back later to say bye for the night. In the animal hierarchy at the hospital, he soon moved up to be number one. A few weeks later the doctor that saved Nicky adopted him. He is at the hospital every day so I get to see his transformation from a "hit by car" dog to a healthy one.