At home, ordering food from a menu is a normal, everyday routine. I don't even give it a second thought. In China, it's a whole other story! Here, ordering is a fun game of trial and error, and the adventure begins before the food is even served!

    Many restaurants in central Beijing advertise “English language menus”, but the translations can just add to the confusion. Although accompanying pictures can be a helpful relief, the translations often make the whole experience even more amusing. During my first few weeks in China I tried some delicious dishes with strange names. As an experiment, my friends and I would order things like “students addicted to chicken gristle (软骨)” and “red burned lion head”. It was always fun to see what landed on our table. Eventually we learned that “lion head” was actually pork, and “students” are “addicted” to diced (切碎的) chicken with green pepper.

    Recently, I came across a busy restaurant down a narrow side street in a Beijing hutong. It was lunchtime and the small room was packed with people sitting on small stools (凳子) eating noodles. I was hungry and cold, and the steaming bowls looked irresistible! I sat myself down and called out for a “caidan!” In response, the waitress pointed to a wall at the back of the restaurant. The wall was full of Chinese characters describing numerous dishes. There was only one sentence in English: “crossing over the bridge noodles”.

    I had never heard of the dish and had no idea what it would taste like. I took a gamble and ordered one bowl of “crossing over the bridge noodles”. A few minutes later the waitress carried over a heavy bowl full of broth (肉汤) and I quickly dug in. It was the best bowl of noodles I had ever tasted! I have been back again and again and each time I point at the one English sentence – “crossing over the bridge noodles”. I always enter a restaurant in China feeling excited and a little nervous. Who knows what the next ordering adventure will reveal?

    Four days after Dad's 67^th birthday, he had a heart attack. Luckily, he survived. But something inside him had died. His enthusiasm for life was gone. He refused to follow doctor's orders, and his sour attitude made everyone upset when they visited him. Dad was left alone.

    So I asked Dad to come to live with me on my small farm, hoping the fresh air would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated. Something had to be done.

    One day I read an article which said when given dogs, depressed patients would be better off. So I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. As soon as I got there, a pointer's eyes caught my attention. They watched me calmly.

A staff member said: “He got here two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow.”

    I turned to the man in horror. “You mean you're going to kill him”

    “Ma'am,” he said gently. “We don't have room for every unclaimed dog.”

    The police's calm brown eyes awaited my decision. “I'll take him,” I said.

    I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. I was helping it out of the car when Dad walked onto the front porch. “Look what I got you!” I said excitedly.

Dad wrinkled his face. “I don't want it,” he muttered, turning back towards the house. Then, suddenly, the dog pulled free from my grasp. He sat down in front of my Dad.

    Dad's anger melted, and soon he was hugging the dog.

    This was the beginning of a warm friendship. Dad named the dog Cheyenne. Together they spent long hours walking down dusty lanes and relaxing on the banks of streams.

    Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne went on to make many friends. Then, late one night two years later, I felt Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing (搜寻) through my bed covers. He had never before come into my bedroom at night. I ran into my father's room and found that he had passed away.

    Two days later, my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. As I buried him near their favorite stream, I silently thanked the dog for restoring Dad's peace of mind.

    "Bill, you never miss!" Joe said admiringly. "Unless I'm in a real game," Bill complained. "Then I miss all the time." Joe knew that Bill was right. Bill performed much better when he was having fun with Joe in the school yard than he did when he was playing for the school team in front of a large crowd. "Maybe you just need to practice more," Joe suggested. "But I practice all the time with you!" Bill objected. He shook his head. "I just can't play well when people are watching me." "You play well when I'm watching," Joe pointed out.  "That's because I've known you since we were five years old," Bill said with a smile. "I'm just not comfortable playing when other people are around." Joe nodded and understood, but he also had an idea.

    The next day Joe and Bill met in the school yard again to practice. After a few minutes, Joe excused himself. "Practice without me," Joe said to his friend. "I'll be back in a minute."

    Joe hurried through the school building, gathering together whomever he could find—two students, a math teacher, two secretaries, and a janitor. When Joe explained why he needed them, everyone was happy to help. Joe reminded the group to stay quiet as they all went toward the school's basketball court. As Joe had hoped, Bill was still practicing basketball. He made five baskets in a row without noticing the silent people standing behind him.

    "Hey, Bill!" Joe called out finally. Bill turned. A look of surprise came over his face. "I just wanted to show you that you could play well with people watching you," Joe said. "Now you'll have nothing to worry about for the next game!"

    They were a happy family: four daughters all in the same school in different grades. The youngest, Janice, who was in my class, seemed to be glued （粘）to her mother's skirts. The three older girls took the bus to school every morning, but Janice was always driven to school by her mother.

    One Friday, Janice's mother asked for a talk with me. She said in a soft voice, "My husband is going to Europe on business for two weeks, and he insists that I go with him. I have tried to explain over and over that Janice needs me here. But he thinks that she will be fine without me so I have no choice; I have to go. I have told the babysitter to drive her every morning. Will you please give Janice special attention and help her? I want to be sure everything goes well for her." I told her that we would make every effort to support Janice. I even volunteered to meet Janice at her car so she would see a familiar face. As a mother myself, I'd like to help. Janice's mother thanked me for our understanding.

    On Monday morning, expecting a tearful, anxious child, I planned a special program of fun and games. I waited outside to greet Janice, but just then the bus arrived and not three, but four girls got off. Janice skipped along joyfully, saying "goodbye" to her sisters as she ran with two friends into the classroom. I walked slowly into the classroom and called Janice over to ask how the bus ride went. Impatiently she said, "Oh, I always want to take the bus with the other kids, but Mother needs to be with me. You see there won't be any more babies, so I have to be a baby a little longer. While she is away, I'll just ride the bus every day. I am five, you know.

Sonya took Rupert, a rescue dog, back home three years ago, and soon found it liked attacking strangers and other animals, which she believed was caused by pain.

It took Sonya a year to develop a normal relationship with Rupert, during which she learned it was afraid of being left alone and also couldn't walk properly. Finally, she decided to take it to see a vet (兽医). After examining Rupert, the vet said its leg was broken, and it needed an immediate operation.

But when it had to go in for an operation on its leg, there was a problem—the vet Mike couldn't get near the dog. Mike and Sonya were left scratching their heads until one of them came up with an idea. Sonya said Rupert slept on a mouse suit so she suggested that Mike put it on.

At first, the dog barked wildly when Mike tried to operate on it in usual clothes. To make his patient feel at ease, Mike decided to dress up in the mouse clothes to see if it would be less worried. Amazingly, it worked. It stopped barking and immediately became good friends with Mike when he put on the suit. As a result, he was able to perform an operation on the leg safely and the result was quite satisfying.

After the successful operation, Mike hugged the dog around the neck, which isn't usually well-received by pets. Mike tried to be as respectful of its needs as possible and made time to give some attention. What Mike had done created a special experience or event in the dog's life.

Robins(知更鸟) are considered as a symbol of the festive season and are known for their lively, curious nature around humans. But even robins get road rage because they can become aggressive when there's noise, a new study shows.

Researchers from the UK found that the sound of traffic made rural robins—not urban robins—"more aggressive". The study was conducted by experts at Anglia Ruskin University in Cambridge. Human activity has a colossal effect on wildlife, including on their social behavior," the team said in their paper.

For their study, the team investigated the behavior of male European robins living in urban parks and rural forests in Istanbul. They measured aggression towards another robin intruder, which wasn't a real robin but instead a model in the shape of an adult bird. The fake robin was equipped with a speaker, through which the team could play audio, and then attached to trees at the parks and forests. The audio consisted of recordings of robin songs, while additional traffic noise was added through another separate speaker nearby.

After recording the birds' behavior during interactions with the fake intruder, they found the urban robins typically displayed more physical aggression than rural robins. However, rural robins became more aggressive with the addition of traffic noise—possibly because they're less used to traffic noise than urban birds, which are already living in noisier habitats. What's more, physical displays of territoriality could increase because the traffic noise interferes with their birdsong. "In normally quiet surroundings, we found that additional traffic noise leads to rural robins becoming more aggressive," said Dr Caglar Akcay at ARU. "We believe this is because the noise is interfering with their communication."

Overall, by comparing urban and rural robin reactions, the study provides a valuable glimpse into how urban-living species adapt to "life in a noisy world". "Our results show that human-produced noise can have a range of effects on robins, depending on the habitat they live in," said Dr Akcay.