Tomorrow Is Another Day...

Smallish, Underage People Are Scary

Sometimes I go through stages where I'm almost overwhelmed with maternal instincts.  In the past I've quelled these instincts by getting a dog, but I feel that I've reached my limit with two volatile and completely insane furry animals in an 800 square foot area.  The Puppies are indeed getting better about listening to me--when I have a treat in my hand, or at least within reach--but they still are definitely masters of their own domain.  Which I'm fine with, as long as their domain is limited to outside and I don't have to chase after Ellie who has found another sock to bait me with.  And I think that my goal is not so much to bend them to my will so much as it is to slowly but surely whittle their domain down to nothing so that eventually when they're masters of their own domain it really doesn't mean jack.  Ha!  Fooled them!

Anyway, a coworker recently gave birth in quite possible the most insanely easy pregnancy I've ever heard of in my entire life.  She was never nauseous, no insane cravings to speak of, a touch of insomnia, but really the only way you'd know she was pregnant was the fact that it looked like she had a beachball stuck up her BDU blouse.  She never had any complaints and didn't ever seem to be in the least bit stressed about the pregnancy.  When she went in for her 8 month appointment a couple of weeks ago she was 50% effaced and her doctor said he didn't expect she'd make it to her next appointment (this is her first child, mind you!).  Luckily we had her shower planned for that weekend, so that was taken in care of in time, but Monday was her next appointment and she did indeed make it to the appointment, she just didn't make it home.  Her doctor informed her that she was having contractions two minutes apart AND SHE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW IT.  She didn't feel a dadburn thing!  So she headed over to the hospital and calmly called everyone to let us know that she wouldn't be at work the next morning.  Um, yes, I think that's acceptable dear.  She then proceeded to have a 5 hour labor in which she never felt a single contraction and had an epidural so that she wouldn't have to feel the 8 pound girl child bursting forth from a pea sized hole.  When we went to see her the next day she looked tired, but wasn't sore at all and proudly showed off her beautiful baby girl.  I think if all pregnancies and births worked like that there would be about 75% more people populating the earth.

So we admired little Raegan, smelled her head, curled her hand around our fingers, watched her squawk and turn all red and angry when we unswaddled her to see the whole package--it was great, and I definitely felt those maternal instincts kicking in full force, but mainly because I knew at the end of the visit I'd be able to hand over that tiny little person and go back to my own life where my biggest responsibility is remembering to take Ellie outside every 30 minutes since her bladder apparently has the ability to hold no more than a sip of water.  And I know that when I've had enough of Jack's antics and misbehaving I can just toss him outside and let him stick his head between the slats of the balcony and watch the world go by while I catch up on Gilmore Girls reruns.

So, as mushy gushy as infants make me feel, I have a feeling that it will be a GOOD LONG TIME before I'm ready to introduce one of them into the world.  Because I'm not sure, but I think throwing babies into kennels and locking them in there while you go out shoe shopping is probably frowned upon, in our society at least.

Ha! Post #101! I Feel Like An Established Blogger Now

Lordy, what a week it’s been… Drama, drama everywhere but not a drop to… drink? I hate it when allusions go wrong.

Anyway, there has been a new addition to my furry little family. Unfortunately, right now I don’t have any pictures to post because I am lazy, and as it turns out, having a digital camera does not necessarily mean that pictures get into the computer all by themselves. But suffice it to say she is adorable as she is related to me and I am adorable. I think it’s one of those if A=B and B=C then A=C situations. Although, if I remember correctly, that may have been a fallacy… I don’t know, I almost failed out of my logic class, so I’m just going to stop this example now.

Ellie (and she actually is a she this time) is quite the little spitfire and about as opposite from Jack as puppily possible. She looks as though she may be at least partially a whippet, but it’s hard to know for certain as I got her from the Humane Society. She did come with a free bag of food though, so that was rather thrilling. She’s also taken pretty well to her kennel, though my living room has now been rather overtaken by dog housing projects. Every night is like the WWE Puppy Smackdown in my living room, and I’m sure my downstairs neighbors are wondering how I managed to fit a dancing elephant in my apartment—the doorways are not that wide.

I am beginning to get a little downtrodden over the housebreaking process. I didn’t realize how lucky I was with Jack. He came into my life already circling by the door when he needed to go out, and we had very few inside accidents compared to Project Ellie. I’m not sure how long it’s supposed to take for a dog to “get it”, but it’s only been a few days so I’m staying the course. The frustrating part is that we’ll go outside for 10 or 15 minutes and she’ll do her business and then get distracted by things that smell delicious, then we go back inside and she finds a nice carpet spot and goes again. Then I beat her with hangers and drag her back outside. (This is a slight exaggeration… but only slight…) I ring the bell every time we go out, so hopefully in the next week or so she’ll start to make the connection that going inside is a baaad thing, and when we want to go potty we go ring the bell, go outside, and then get kisses and belly rubs. It doesn’t seem like that much of a leap of logic. But we’ll see. Her brain is in fact still quite small.

So, I have a fun girls weekend planned which will include large quantities of ice cream, wine, and shopping. It’s time to get back out there, no point in dwelling and becoming a morose hermit. There are about a million fish in the sea, and one of them has my name written on it with permanent marker. And the rest of them can at least buy me drinks.

Jack and the White Powder

Yesterday we had our first real (and probably only) snowfall of the year. Being a southern girl through and through, I spent the entire day at work plastered against the window, exclaiming every time a snowflake hit the ground and stuck. Eventually we had an early release from work, as I guess the powers that be decided that no real work was getting done since we were all just sitting around waiting for the early release message.

I drove for the first time in snowy and icy conditions, and once I got over the initial flinching everytime snow would hit my windshield I was an old pro. Jack on the other hand couldn't get over the excitement, and we spent the afternoon bouncing around in the snow. And I reached the conclusion that early release for snowfall is thoroughly more preferable to early release for hurricanes!

My Willpower, She Is Not Strong

Oh, Internet, please support me in my hour of need. Fortify my weak, weak resolve, and turn me away from the puppies. For though they are cute and frolicky and precious, I must not succumb to their pleas for love and attention. I do not have room in my 800 square foot apartment for yet another kennel.

Jack has been telling me lately that he wants a friend. When we got back home after visiting my parents he missed having another puppy around, and I can't help but think that maybe he’d harass the puppy more than me.

I’m just going to look. There’s probably not even any puppies there that I’ll click with. Puppies don’t last long at the shelters, it’s the adults they have trouble getting adopted. So yeah…I’m just going to look… that’s all…

Happy New Year!

I would just like to say Happy New Year to you all and thanks for allowing me the pleasure of getting to know you over these past few months as you've visited my site. Oh, and also? Thank GOD this year is over! Between grandparents dying, cancer coming to call, disastrous hurricanes, and craptastic jobs, I think everyone in my neck of the woods will be ringing in 2006 with a huge sigh of relief.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

December 24, 2005

Dear Diary,

Yesterday was a big day. I got to ride in the car forever and I was very loud good all day. Except for when people called on the phone, because I wanted to talk to them and mom kept hollering at me. Then we got to a big new place, and there is another Little Puppy—like me! Only I don’t think she likes me so much—yet. I keep trying to make friends with her, but she makes funny faces, like an Ork, at me, so I have to poke her with my nose. I think she likes that. HA! HA! She is very silly. But I just bite her tail and she yarfs at me some more. I think she is a lot of fun. I bet we’ll be best friends forever. I wish that she would stop taking away my toys though, that is not very nice of her. And she makes a funny noise in the back of her throat when she makes that Ork face. Oh well, I will just sniff her butt some more, I think she likes that too.

OH! I GOTTA GO! WE’RE GOING OUTSIDE! I CAN EAT HER POOP NOW!! BYE BYE!!

- Jack

Calling All Web Designers

The miracle of the century is taking place this weekend as bit by bit I have completed Christmas card after Christmas card! I’ve got only 7 left, and by gum they’ll be done by the end of the day. The funny thing about it is that there’s a bit of glitter on them, so Jack has been prancing about like a sparkly fairy after being dusted by glitter fall-out. Sometimes I worry for him. It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t go to school, because the other kids would absolutely make fun of him.

Anyway, speaking of the internet, (hee) I’m putting out a request for all web designers who may stumble this way. I’d really like to learn more about this whole internet thing, since it doesn’t appear to be going away any time soon. (And they said it was only a fad… pshaw) I’d really like to learn how to do more with my page than just change the colors and layout—if I’m going to run a webpage, I feel as though I should probably learn something a little more than the layman’s definitions of CSS, RSS, HTML, etc. I’ve been looking into online courses, but it seems as though they cost a pretty penny, not to mention quite a few of them don’t necessarily focus on web design which is all I’m interested at this point. So, I thought to myself, is it really that hard to just get a book and teach myself? I’m not completely computer illiterate, so is that something you’d recommend? How did you learn web design? School? Classes? Self taught? A friend? If you taught yourself, how did you go about that? Some kind of Computers for Dummies book? Will I need to invest in some kind of program for my computer?

See how pathetic this is? I know nothing! I beg of you, HELP! And for now, it’s back to Christmas cards, and perhaps I’ll try a new brand of mascara on Jack and a lovely soft blusher. Won’t he look fine!

The End Is Near

Here I am, back with actual content and begging you to come back to me. I’m so sorry for neglecting you and if I could I would woo you all back with flowers and chocolates and a soulful rendition of “Don’t Give Up On Us”. But I can’t, so you’ll just have to make do with my empty promises of reformation and 12 Step Programs.

That being said, oh the guilt I have been suffering this week. First at the hands of my blog for simply not being able to find an iota of interesting material, and second the constant puppy dog eyes I’ve been getting from Jack during the few hours of the day that we actually interact. Honestly—working moms, my hat is off to you, because I do not know how you do it. This isn’t even my child and it just breaks my heart to leave that little worry-wrinkled-face every night for work after sleeping and/or yelling at him all day.

This has been my schedule this week:

5:00 pm – 6:00 pm: Find something to eat; Drive to work

6:00 pm – 6:00 am: Work (which mainly consists of surfing the web, reading, and staring at the back of my eyelids)

6:00 am – 7:00 am: Turnover when my replacement comes in; Drive home; Pick up the poop that Jack has deposited around the kitchen in protest of my absence; Take Jack outside and give him food

7:00 am – 3:00 pm: Get some sleep for crying out loud

3:00 pm – 5:00 pm: Crawl out of bed; Pet Jack halfheartedly and bring him outside; Get dressed for work and plead with the dog to stop trying to eat me, my clothing, the rug, his paw, the wall, etc; Try not to sob violently as I chain Jack up in the kitchen and give him many toys to try to win back his love which he will ignore in favor of pooping on the carpet.

Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

My schedule will be back to normal next week after our exercise is over, but I’m not sure if all the therapy in the world will cure Jack of the abandonment issues he’s been facing this week.

Then I get to work and my boss asks me if I’m going to the Wing Formal Christmas party that costs $50 damn dollars, and as we all know in the military, when the boss asks things it’s more like he’s telling you. So I have to find a formal in my closet that still fits, eat crappy food and listen to a crappy band, dateless since my stupid boyfriend lives 3,000 miles away and if he were a sane individual wouldn’t spend the $50 to go with me even if he lived next door.

And THEN on top of that, while driving to work I hear that Britney Spears will be taking over the lead in Sweet Charity on Broadway in January. And I’m pretty sure that’s the first sign of the Apocalypse, right before all those guys on horses.

Anyway, to make myself feel better and inspired by the Christmas music now playing 24/7 on the radio I present to you my “List of Christmas/Birthday Gifts I Would Love to Receive But Know Could Only Happen in a Parallel Universe Equivalent to The Twilight Zone” (This way I won’t be disappointed when they never actually end up under the tree) (Which, have you heard? Is supposed to be placed upside down now to save floor space. I think that's the 3rd sign of the Apocalypse, right after the guys on the horses):

1) The space between my thighs to reappear.

2) My dog to be bestowed with an iron clad digestive system which would dispose of waste internally and leave my damn carpets alone.

3) All ass clowns who insist on driving at 45-50 mph on the interstate to spontaneously combust, or blow up like that bus on Speed.

4) Gas prices to plummet mysteriously to 10 cents a gallon, and my car to decide that it can get by on one fill up per week.

5) Small, circular, shiny objects that make me cry happy disbelieving tears of joy.

6)The power to change clothes, hairstyles, or makeup with just a snap of my fingers.

7) Reunion and Hot Properties to be renewed for another 5 seasons because there just aren’t enough shows on the television that involve absolutely no thought processes and don’t revolve around dark, gritty murders and hospitals.

8) An endless supply of fascinating blog entries that would be stumbled upon by a high powered publishing company who would insist that I immediately turn over The Great American novel that would be mysteriously on my hard drive and place me at #2 on the New York Times Best Sellers List (because we all know that if you’re #1 there’s nowhere to go but down)

So there you have it, Merry Freaking Christmas, Happy Birthday to Me, and Welcome to the End of the World!

Random Thoughts Swirling in My Brain

1)  When shopping for the Thanksgiving meal, be sure to get in the checkout aisle with the longest line, because undoubtedly you will get in the shortest line and then watch as the 14 people in the other line process through quickly while the woman in front of you with a carton of milk spends 30 minutes trying to find a method of payment that will work.

2)  Don’t wait until the Tuesday before Thanksgiving to shop—all of the cranberry jelly will be gone, and the rednecks will fight you for the last bottle of sparkling grape juice.

3)  When Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix is released in theaters I’ll be 24. That freaks me the hell out.

4)  Jack has 400 toys. Jack has 400 favorite toys that must be by his side at all times.

5)  If the gerbils have been quiet for a while you should probably feed them.

6)  I can find a Tater Twister and a Beverage Warmer at Wal-Mart, but will have to use a rolling pin to smash my pecans because there are no nut choppers to be found. Also, that sounds very wrong.

7)  Tom Cruise is a scary, scary man.

8)  Buy Thanksgiving cards weeks in advance, wait until the last possible moment to send them. It never fails.

9)  Why is it so hard to find a simple pair of cute black heels?

10) Why do I think I need another pair of cute black heels?

11) When hurrying to fix dinner so that you won't miss the episode of Gilmore Girls where Luke may or may not tell Lorelai he has a daughter and Lorelai may or may not tell Luke that Chris is a bajillionaire and wants to give her money, you will absolutely dump your salad bowl on your lap blue cheese dressing side down.

12) Is it time to go home yet?

So There's Good News and There's Bad News...

The good news is that it seems as though Jack is going to be a-okay with a little more time. I've got him on about 4oo bazillion medications, and he's bound and determined to see to it that I can never again afford to have my hair colored by a professional ever again, but I think he'll pull through this one. He's back to bounding around when we go outside and thinking that pretty much anything deposited on the floor belongs to him--interspersed with nasty coughs and sniffles--but we'll take it!

The bad news is... not good, hence the "bad". And really, I'm not ready to talk about it here yet. Because, as we all know, once we talk about things on the Internet, they become REAL. And I'm not down with Reality. I prefer my Reality on the TV, where it belongs.

That being said, amen for the weekends and for the fact that there are only 3 more working days until I am OFF WORK FOR 3 SOLID WEEKS!! It's about dayum time! I haven't taken real leave probably since Christmas. There were those 4 days I went up to visit my grandmother, but considering 2 of those days were spent on the airplane, I didn't ever quite get to the "letting down my hair" stage of the vacay.

So, this weekend will consist of a little volunteer work and cleaning the house like a madwoman before I leave for my trip. I always used to make fun of my mom when she would make us scour the house before we would leave it--what, do we want the robbers to be impressed with our cleanliness when they break in and steal all of our sparkling Mr. Cleaned appliances? But here I am, needing desperately to know that my house will smell pretty when I come home and I can crash on the couch without wondering why I smell eau de dead body emanating from under the kitchen sink.

Gah!

Suddenly pet insurance isn't seeming so silly and frivolous...

100 Things Cont...

Well, it’s off again to yet another veterinary visit this afternoon—I think we’re just going to rent a room there. Poor darling puppy just keeps collecting afflictions like it’s going out of style. His cough has diminished a lot, but his nose is still awfully stuffy and last night he started having trouble with his left eye. It has a lot of discharge in it, and he kept doing the Popeye the Sailor man squint—all he needed was a can of spinach and a jaunty hat and the likeness would have been uncanny! By the end of the night his eye was completely shut and he was having a lot of trouble opening it, this morning same story. When he does get it opened it’s all filmy looking and I can’t tell if there’s something actually wrong with his eye itself or if it’s just covered in the slime! Either way, not good. So, off we go again. Our regular vet is out of the office today, so hopefully he’ll take okay to the new doctor since he’s a man. Jack is not exactly fond of the boys. Smart puppy!

Anyway, for lack of anything better to talk about and to take my mind off things I’ll be continuing on with the ever popular 100 Things List! Episode 11-20:

11) I pick up accents INCREDIBLY easily when I’m around people with strong accents. However, I never retain them and am happy to say that I’ve been told many times that I don’t sound like I’m from the South. Sadly, living in Arkansas every now and then a little twang will slip into a word or two.

12) I started highlighting my hair when I was 16 and I have had my hair colored red, brown, black, and blonde. Honestly, I can’t even really remember my natural hair color unless I’m looking at old pictures.

13) I absolutely despise confrontation. I will agree with pretty much anything anyone says just to keep from an argument. Unless of course I’m very close to you, then I’ll argue with you like crazy. It just all goes back to that whole contradiction thing…

14) I have 3 sisters—two older that live in Texas and one younger still in school in Louisiana. I love them all to bits and don’t get to spend nearly enough time with them anymore.

15) I have killed two pets so far, a gerbil and a purple Betta, and am hoping and praying that the pup doesn’t succumb to my dark curse. I’ve also managed to keep two more gerbils thriving FAR beyond their life expectancy.

16) I lived in the dorms for 4 years in college because my ROTC scholarship paid for me to live on base. I had a total of 7 different roommates and only actually liked one of them. Sadly, that was the year of “Angela’s Obsession with her Boyfriend”, so I never got to spend as much time with her as I would have liked. I’ve lost touch with her over the past year or so, but still think about her a lot and wonder how she’s doing.

17) I’ve been to Alabama, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Florida, Georgia, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Mississippi, Nevada, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, Tennessee, Texas, Virginia, and Washington D.C. I also just sang the 50 states song to remember all of those! I’m getting ready to tack on a whole lot more in our cross-country trek to Washington.

18) Out of the country I’ve been to England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland. I’m hoping to get to Canada while we’re in Washington and Italy sometime next year. I love to travel.

19) I adore old-movies. Special bonus if they were directed by Alfred Hitchcock and/or have Cary Grant, Jimmy Stewart, Audrey Hepburn, or Vivien Leigh.

20) I drive an ’03 Mazda Tribute and it’s the first and only car I’ve ever had. I didn’t want a used car so I saved up my money and didn’t have a car until I was 20. (I also didn’t have my license until I was about 19, but that’s a whole other story for another installment!)

Oh, okay, and just editing to add... Lost is completely INSANE all of a sudden... check out these links... (and what the hell is up with Jin speaking PERFECT ENGLISH in the promo for tonights episode???)

Hanso Foundation

Dharma Initiative

Oceanic Air

What is *up* with this show?? I'm boggled I tell you... boggled... and a little creeped out by the Hanso guy to be perfectly honest.

I Quit. I’m Going Home and Bringing My Toys With Me.

I’m trying to approach this in an amusing manner, because that’s what I do. I laugh things off and quite frankly, how entertaining is it to the internet to hear me whine. But y’all, it’s really hard to be funny about the fact that your 7 month old puppy may be dying right in front of you and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. Of course, he also may not be, but quite frankly the not knowing is almost worse and either way you look at it THIS SUCKS. And WAAAAH.

Apparently the reason he was being kind of a twit on his walks this weekend was because he was incredibly sick. With an assortment of things. And I just thought he had a little puppy cold. I am the world’s worst mother.

His hookworms are back, he’s still fighting off the tapeworm, he’s running a fever, coughing, has large amounts of nasal and eye discharge, his appetite is waning, he has no energy, and he’s become a little disoriented.

Unfortunately it’s those last few things that sort of make my vet throw up her hands in confusion. I know I’ve made fun of them in the past, but she’s been really great trying to find out what’s wrong with him. There’s a dog flu going around in some states (although no cases have been reported in Arkansas), it could be a particularly virulent strain of kennel cough or pneumonia, it could just be the hookworms, or most terrifyingly it could be distemper. Here’s what Dr. Google has to say about distemper:

Canine distemper virus is passed rapidly through coughed or sneezed droplets of saliva. It then invades the lymphatic tissue. Within two to five days lymphatic tissue throughout the body is infected. By the sixth to ninth day, the virus is present in the blood. It then spreads to the surfaces of the lungs, intestine and bladder and, on occasion, to the nervous system. Labored breathing and an unkempt appearance are common. By the third week most dogs have either died from the infection or recovered. Exceptions are the cases in which damage to the brain is delayed for up to three months. These delayed cases often show no respiratory or intestinal signs before delayed nerve damage occurs. In a few cases, the virus persists in the eyes, footpads and nervous system. Mortality from the disease is about fifty percent with mild cases showing very few or no disease sign. Most dogs that die from distemper die from neurological complications."

Um, no thank you! We won’t have any of that if you please. Anyway, all we can do is wait. He got his de-worming medicine yesterday for the hookworms, some of his blood has been sent off to Florida to get the flu test but the results won’t be back for 2 weeks, and the best I can do is just see if his new medications work on his symptoms.

It just makes me so angry that some asshat out there had a litter of dogs that they didn’t know what to do with so he just decided to beat on them for a little while and then kick them out on the streets to fend for themselves. It just makes zero sense to me—how does that ever seem okay to someone? Jack never would have gotten this sick if it hadn’t been for his time on the streets and in the shelter, and oh, the fury that it inspires in me is just indescribable.

Yeah, so that’s been fun.

And last night I shot soap in my eye. Because apparently a very persistent someone upstairs wants me blind and the toner didn’t quite do the trick.

Oh, and one last thing, to all of you who keep googling Jackie: The 627 Lb Woman, I’m sorry, this must be a very disappointing letdown for you. Same thing to those of you looking for Brigdette, Holly, and Kendra—sorry, wrong number.

Walking With Paul Anka

For any of you who haven’t been watching Gilmore Girls lately, my title will make absolutely zero sense, however those of you who have no life and have been watching obsessively (like moi) know that Lorelai recently adopted a puppy and bestowed him with the mystifying name Paul Anka. All I’m saying is that the writers of this show HAVE to have adopted a dog before, or at least spent time with a shelter puppy, because they’ve hit the nail right on the head. This dog, much like Jack, is afraid. Of. EVERYTHING. So, I’ve taken to calling Jack Paul Anka 1) because it’s funny 2) because I think it annoys him and that’s even funnier. Not that he probably even knows his real name since I usually call him Peanut, or Bunny, or Bug, or some other sickeningly sweet term of endearment.

Anyway, yesterday I took him for a walk, and his antics were even more creative than usual. Before we go out for a walk I always take him potty in our special potty place where I don’t have to pick it up, because no matter how many times I pick up dog crap, I just don’t think I’ll ever really get used to it. So he did his thing and then we proceeded jauntily on our way. Typically about 5 minutes into the walk he’s dragging behind and begging me to “pleeeeeaaaaase go hoooooooome”, but being the tyrant that I am, I keep dragging him along for at least 30 minutes. So I didn’t think much of it when he started lagging behind on our way up the first hill… until I noticed that the people in the car driving by were laughing… at me… So I turned around and Jack is just trucking along behind me in his little poop squat with an impressive poop trail in our wake. I hadn’t brought a poop bag with me, so I found a stick and did my best to scrape it into the gutter. (Also, it's just now occurring to me that I talk about poop way too much.)

After this adventure we met with the usual--fear of fire hydrants, large bushes, bags of leaves, large fake rocks (??), gutters, etc--but we kept walking and we came upon our friend Yappy Dog, whom I would very much like to shoot pet and love. It’s so bizarre, because most barking dogs don’t have too much of an effect of Mr. Anka, but for some reason he starts getting all excited when we come withing a 200 foot radius of Yappy Dog's house. He starts dancing and prancing around, trying to dart across traffic to get to this dog, practically drooling in his zeal to go bark in harmony with his little friend. I kept him reined in, and got a fabulous arm workout out of it, and made it by the house creating a cacophany as every dog in the neighborhood decided that they wanted to play too. Then, with my ears still ringing Jack seems to decide he’s had about enough of this whole walking business. He planted himself in the middle of the sidewalk, and no amount of sweet talking or tugging would convince him to move on—even when I promised to stop calling him Paul Anka, he still just sat there and stared at me glassy eyed. Finally I got his butt moving again and we made the slow, painful progression home and collapsed in a heap in front of the tv--where we truly belong.

So all in all it was quite the adventure, and when we got home he proceeded to cough the entire rest of the day and of course into the night and through the morning, so it’s back to the vet we go this afternoon. They know us by reputation now “Oh! Is that the little shelter puppy?!” It’s cute and yet sort of sad at the same time. He really needs to stop with the whole sick thing though, because mom is totally going to Washington in a couple of weeks and he needs to be healthy enough that I can desert him at the vet to be boarded for three weeks. I’m not thinking they’ll take too kindly to my dog coming in and spreading pneumonia amongst the masses.

Doctor Google

Well, the visit to Dr. Hackemoff (as it was put so genteely) has been postponed once again. I have also found that in this day and age of Google those 7 years of schooling to become a doctor are just completely unnecessary. I went online after I saw the worms and typed this technical information into the search engine “small flat white worms + dog” and found more pictures than I could ever hope for of nasty tapeworm segments. So, I then called the vet and got the secretary and told her that his kennel cough had come back in full force and that I was pretty sure he had tapeworm, and she’s all “okay, well just stop by and we’ll give him some medicine for it.”

Huh? That’s it? You don’t even want to see him?

So I go in after work and pick up his medicines and when I got home I was looking at them and I didn’t recognize the name of the antibiotic from the sites I had been reading so I called the vet back to reschedule his neutering and book him for the kennel for the 3 weeks that I’ll be out of town and I asked what the antibiotic was for because “I looked it up and all I could find was that it could be used to treat urinary tract infections or pneumonia, but you know, maybe I’m wrong? Help?” (oftentimes I’ve found that playing dumb and asking questions I already know the answers to gets people to help me out a lot better than saying “hey doctor I told you my dog had tapeworm and you gave me a UTI medication, have you been doing coke with Kate Moss?”) All that I had read about tapeworm said that it could be treated with a medication, but more quickly with two injections spaced 3 weeks apart. I had been hoping for the injection, but figured they’d just given it to me in pill form. So, she tells me “oh, honey, that won’t treat the tapeworm, that’s for his cough”

Again, huh? I did call yesterday about the tapeworm, right?

Oh, yes, he’ll need an injection for that, bring him by anytime!

(In my head: Sort of like when I took him in yesterday to pick up the medicine?)

In real life: Okay, we’ll be in after I get off work either today or tomorrow… thanks…

So, yeah. Just call me Dr. Angela, veterinarian to the stars… or my dog… or you know, whatever.

Anyway, moral of the story: Kids, if you ever want to get your hands on some drugs, just invent a pet and call with all kinds of afflictions that you’ve self-diagnosed through the magic of Google. Works like a charm!

Also, I’ve reached the depressing conclusion that this is become very frighteningly like a mommy blog, and I don’t even have a kid… I promise, the next few entries will have nothing to do with Jack. Or at least very little mention of him. I realize that this is really only interesting to me, and if you are still reading it’s probably only out of some kind of twisted loyalty. It’s too bad I don’t drink heavily and party all the time; this could be a much more interesting place.

One Sick Puppy

Wow, thanks to everyone for the tornado suggestions—both serious and facetious! Although I must say, my particular favorite was the one involving cookies, cottage cheese, and John Corbett… Also, very excited to note that The Devil Wears Prada is being made into a movie! I love it when favorite books come to the silver screen and I can see how horribly wrong they manage to convey the characters from the book, ah well, apparently it has Anne Hathaway in it and she’s pretty cute so we’ll see.

Poor puppy Jack has gotten quite sick again, his cough was nearly gone, but it’s back in full force now and last night he had to sleep in the kitchen because his breathing was so sniffly I couldn’t get to sleep. He’s also got these hideous white wormy things that make me want to throw up everytime we take a potty walk. (Eating breakfast were ya? Want more details? No? Okay! I won’t tell you about how they’re all squirmy and tiny and flat and I have to use a stick to wipe them off the hair on his bum before we go back inside… mm mm good, kind of makes me want to throw up just thinking about it…) Called the vet last night, waiting to hear back from them, but I’ll probably call again after lunch if they still haven’t called back. I’m supposed to bring him in tomorrow to get his manhood whacked, but I’m not sure the doctor will want to proceed if pup is still under the weather.

Oh, and nothing like flipping the channel and being faced with Jackie: the 627 pound woman, to make you want to go burn all those delicious lemon sugar cookies you just baked on a whim.

I Require Constant Adult Supervision

Okay folks, honestly, oftentimes I wonder how it is that I’ve gotten this far in life without killing myself, or at least incurring a serious injury. I stand by the old saying that God protects fools and children—luckily I made that enviable transition from child to fool with no problems and am still in one piece as a result.

Seriously. Last night I put my toner on a cotton ball and proceeded to remove my eye makeup with it. Yes, your read that right—I basically poured toner in my eye. Y’all, the bottles don’t even LOOK or FUNCTION in the same way.

The toner is orange and one must squeeze the bottle to get product onto the little cotton ball. To use the eye makeup remover, a lovely serene blue, one must only remove the cap and product will flow freely from bottle simply by pouring it on the cotton ball.

So, anyway, the screaming pain in my right eye alerted me to the fact that I was indeed using the incorrect bottle and then I cried. It was quite sad. And painful.

Then, I brought Jack out for his nightly potty run before bed time. Since it’s pretty dark when we go out I bring a flashlight. We’re crossing the pavement to “Shit Hill” (mom, I didn’t name it so you can’t be mad at me) and Jack’s ears flatten and he just stands stock still. So, I’m trying to see what he sees and not flip out when I see this dark, skulking creature over by the trees. I came seriously close to crying again then did that thing that you always yell at people in horror movies for doing and I moved closer to investigate. As I got closer the thing got bigger, but when I would try to flash the light on it, I couldn’t see what it was. Because? Can you guess? Yeah, it was our shadows. I’m a complete idiot.

And my favorite thing to do! Went to the dentist this morning for my annual visit. Because the Air Force has decided that 3 out of 4 dentists are wrong and a dental visit every six months is just silly and not cost effective (although $500 toilet seats are) and we don't actually need airmen with teeth, no they'll just bite their supervisors and that's a bad thing. So, while I was there I decided to talk to the precious young doctor about my jaw issues. And isn’t this cute? He actually told me to take motrin and call him if it didn’t get better! I mean, I thought that was just one of those things that you say when you’re making fun of doctors—you know “take 2 tylenol and call me in the morning”. No! Apparently, you can go to school for 5,000 years and still not come up with anything better than “take a motrin”! I tried not to roll my eyes too hard since he was quite young and small and I didn’t want to scare him if my eyes were to pop out of my head. So apparently your jawbone ball actually popping out of the socket is fixable by motrin, a lack of chewing gum and not eating “sandwiches that are hard to eat”. Yep, ladies and gentlemen, that’s your tax dollars at work. Of course our conversation went something like this:

Dentist: Does it hurt when I do this?

Me: Bwarh fweg mehg leh

Dentist: Ah, I see, and what about when you open and close your mouth?

Me: Mehsz eljges jeabesl pehgl

Dentist: Okay, well, that popping sound is really nothing to worry about, as long as the pain isn’t severe.

Me: Oh.

So, you know, maybe he just didn’t really understand everything I was saying since ALL TEN OF HIS FINGERS WERE DOWN MY THROAT. But hey, whatever, I’ll live. I don’t actually deserve a painfree existence anyway; I’m not a good person. Perhaps this will be like penance or something. I shall become more Christ-like in my pain and suffering. Or perhaps I shall just grow more pissed off over time and call back and try to get in with a different doctor. Either way only good can come of this!

You know, if my mom had been there, she would have given him what for! And she probably wouldn’t have let me pour toner in my eyeball.

Things That Make You Go Hmm...

I don’t know, I’m having a hard time coming up with titles that don’t reference a song or movie. Titles have always been the hardest thing to come up with in my writing… I have many short stories all with some of the lamest titles known to man. My favorite title was “Working Title” (which I thought was somewhat creative based on the content which I won’t go into right now because oh how mortifying to actually discuss something I’ve written) but my writing teacher at the time told me I might have trouble getting it published with that title because they might thing that it was actually a still in its working title stages rather than it’s official name. I think I had stopped listening at that point because I was still marveling at the idea that he thought I would ever even try for publication!

Anyway. Onto the pointless rambling that comprises my site funny.

Today was Funny Friday on the radio show I listen to on the way to work. The comedian that was on hailed from Manchester, England and had me in stitches all morning.

DJ 1: (recently found she’s pregnant and has bought a number of baby magazines, to her surprise one is a UK edition and uses a great deal of terminology that most Arkansans aren’t exactly familiar with) So, they used words like nappy and pram… blah blah (you get the general idea here)

DJ 2: So, funny comic hailing from Manchester, England what other words do you use that are different from ours?

Funny Comic Hailing from Manchester, England: (henceforth known as FCHFME… that’s catchy) Well…

DJ 2: Like, breast-feeding, do you have another word for breast feeding?

FCHFME: Yeah… fun.

Oh my God. I died. And almost caused a 10 car pile-up. But it would have been so incredibly worth it!

Jack Anecdote of the Day: Because I just can’t go a day without one! Tonight while I was cooking dinner he had a toy in the middle of the floor and I had to keep kicking it out of the way. When I went to the stove to check on my quesadilla I heard him behind me picking up the toy, so I figured he was going to play with it. Instead he carried it out to the hall and put it against the wall, then came back and curled up by my feet. He was just moving it out of the way for me! So cute…

And finally, tonight when I went out to get the mail, there was a brilliant cool breeze blowing and I SMELLED FALL!! I always get excited when I can smell the seasons changing, and I get particularly excited when fall is coming since the next 3 months are my most favoritest of the whole year! Hooray! Commencing count-down to presents!

Days of (no) Wine and (much) Poop

Thank God this week is almost over, and it appears that I’m finally back on a normal schedule at work. Normal is perhaps not the right word, but at least I won’t be coming in at five one morning, noon to nine the next day, working 12 hour shifts over the weekend and so on. In other news, I think after this last week, having a human baby some day is going to be a piece of cake. Because seriously? The furry baby? I love him to pieces and would do anything for him—but I truly believe that he is the spawn of Satan. Or at least Satan’s cousin.

Because of this light of my life, I’m probably going to be homeless in the next few weeks. I got a call from the front office while I was at work on Tuesday saying that they had “received numerous complaints” about my dog barking ALL FREAKING DAY while I’m at work, and that basically I need to get it under control or else. Yeah, because it’s super easy to convince a dog who lived in an abusive home, then on the streets, and then in a shelter for the first 6 months of his life that, “It’s okay sweetie, mom is just going to be gone for a little while and you just stay here and eat your Science Diet quietly like a good boy”. To which he responds “POOOOOOOP. Oh and also PEEEEEEE” all over the damn kitchen. Which is where the much poop reference comes in.

I don’t even know where it came from. He still hardly eats anything unless I’m hovering over him and shoving his face in his bowl. He drinks water like it’s going out of style, so I can understand the whole pee thing, but y’all. The amount of crap on the floor was simply astounding… and the icing on the cake was that he had then proceeded to tramp through it and dance around on the carpet, on and then poop some more there, because why not?

Then I get home and our conversation goes something like this:

Me: (Walks in door, smells stench and cries, enters kitchen, cries harder)JACK!!!!

Jack: (Tongue lolling, sitting preciously and kind of falling down because damn this floor is slippery) Hi Mom! Look, Cute! Look, I pooped! Oh, and peed too! Cute!

Me: JAAAAACK!!!!

Jack: Hmm…

Me: Where in Christ’s name did all that poop—oh God, stop walking in it—DON’T EAT IT!!!

Jack: Not going as well as I’d hoped… Puppy dog eyes! Cute! Lick, lick, lick!

Me: Don’t lick me with your poop coated tongue you spawn of… oh, puppy dog eyes… awww, so cute… but POOOOOP EVERYWHERE!!!

I then proceeded to spend 45 minutes on my hands and knees in whatever oasis of clean floor I could find with the paper towels, pet cleaner, and Swiffer Wet Jet cleaning up the encrusted kitchen floor and various overflow onto the dining room carpet. I then had to take him outside where he proceeded to do nothing, change into something somewhat cute and de-poop my odeur, frantically spray air freshener and open windows then jump in car to leave the poop-machine once again and attempt to stay awake during dinner with friends.

You know you’re reaching adult-hood when you sit around a table at a restaurant with 20 other folks and every blessed one of them is married, two of them brought babies along because they couldn’t find a sitter, another woman continuously makes caustic comments to her husband about how their dogs would not pay for them to live in an old folks home 30 years from now, and the majority of your conversation revolves around projectile vomit and scheduled feedings every 3 hours. And that you’re afraid to order a glass of wine because you might fall asleep on the way home. And that truly, you’re at your happiest sitting on the couch with a puppy curled up by your feet watching commercials and sleeping through your favorite show. That, my friends, is the life!

Jack's Big Debut

Alright folks, you’ve waited with bated breath for this moment. At long last the highly anticipated puppy pics! Upon review of these pictures I’m even more convinced that the day of the digital camera is drawing near. The hard copies turned out pretty well, but somewhere between the film and whatever scanning program Wal-Mart uses, the pictures turned out pretty grainy… Well, we’ll just look at it as though I did it as a purposeful artistic gimmick. So, without further ado, drumroll please…

Puppy Pics 2005!! (And believe it or not, this is highly edited down from the total number of pictures I actually took—scary.)

Heeeeeeere’s Jackie!!! (Only please don’t call him Jackie, because that name actually gives me cold chills of fear)

Drinking—one of his favorite things to do... Lush. Oh, and you can also see one of his pink toys that I bought when I thought he was going to be a girl, and are now his *favorite* things to play with. Sigh, what a man. All he needs now is a spangly clutch and dangerously high hooker heels and he'll be ready to go.

Oh my God, isn’t that so cute it hurts?? This is Baby, his other favorite pink toy. Hang on a minute, I need a hug.

Here you can see the Baby Gates of Death… see how there are only vertical slats? And they’re about 3 feet high? Yeah, that’s what he climbed over. Please don't ask me how.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy… (Okay I’ll stop with the psycho Shining references now)

And here we have the Crate of Doom… let’s just not even discuss right now.

I’m sorry, I have no funny caption for this, but it just cracks me up. Any suggestions?

Let’s see… which toy should I get out of my basket, bring to the other side of the room, and then proceed to not play with…

Oh, yes, the bed that I shelled out big bucks for and now have to bribe him to so much as step foot in. When I took this picture? I was holding a cookie in one hand to keep him in there.

Here is the Demon Ball that is my personal favorite… it’s supposed to stimulate his mind as he rolls it around and realizes that food comes out of it. In fact, it just scares the crap out of him. Is it terrible that I find great entertainment in his neuroses?

And my other babies, lest they think they have been forgotten… Which, honestly, they kind of have a little bit. I’m a terrible mother...

Okay mom, get off the damn computer and play with me! Remember, part of the reason you got a puppy was so you would get off your fat ass and do something other than watch The Soup?

My Weekend in Vignettes

Sigh, yet another weekend almost over. Colby is on his way to get beaten in a box for three weeks and it’s back to work for me tomorrow. Fortunately, sense has finally come to those in charge and we’ve come off of 24 hour shifts. I was supposed to work this weekend, but thankfully for Jack I got a call Friday night telling me I didn’t need to come in. Huzzah!!

To celebrate this fact, we decided to go for our first real walk around the neighborhood. And locked ourselves out. Great. However, the joys of apartment living are that you can always have a parental figure in your life who will come change a lightbulb, fix your toilet when it overflows, and provide you with a spare key anytime, anyplace! I should never be a homeowner—I have a feeling that could be disastrous.

Watched The Thorn Birds this weekend—it was a bit long, but all in all I enjoyed it. Gotta tell you though, Richard Chamberlain? Just didn’t really do it for me. I mean, he’s not hideous by any means, but I certainly wouldn’t be so gaga for him that I would tempt him from his priestly ways. ~~Controversy alert! Controversy alert!~~ Watching shows like this and then hearing all of the reports of molestation committed by priests, it always strikes me how bizarre the lives are that priests must live. I can’t help but think that maybe if they were allowed the normal instincts of human nature maybe there wouldn’t be so much perversion and secrecy necessary in the bowels of Catholicism. I mean, lets face it, priests, bishops, cardinals, probably even popes have been having sex and pursuing monetary gain for centuries—why kid ourselves? Anyway, stepping off that soap box before I am either stoned by one of you or struck down by the hand of God.

Stock tip of the day: If you were planning to invest in Bounty or Pet Odor and Stain remover do so quickly. Seriously, at the rate I’ve been going through the stuff, the price should be jumping drastically in the next few days. The pup has done quite well thusfar in housebreaking, but every now and then he’ll still slip up, or on a day home alone he just can’t hold it for that long. I had to leave him out in the apartment on Friday since he can climb over the gates, and I came home to a couple of gifts and a wee bit of chewing on my coffee table. Good thing he’s got the best puppy dog eyes I’ve EVER seen! I had attempted putting him in his crate that morning, but he didn’t bark, he didn’t cry, he was SCREAMING in abject terror and was having none of it. I made it out the door before I caved and then came back inside and let him out. It’s funny because I’ve always said that when I’m a parent I’ll be incredibly strict just because I have so little patience with kids, but if this dog is any indication, I’m going to be a complete pushover. I *must* work on that! It’s probably not a good sign that he’s wagging his tail when I fuss at him about something…

Oh, and just a carryover from my last post—I’ve decided that the best course of action for the Katrina victims is that we just move them all in with Celine Dion. I’ll bet she has lots of pretty things for them to play with, and since she so generously put that thought out there, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind following through on it! I should get in touch with Michael Brown’s replacement and see what he thinks about that… I’m brilliant!

Last random thought of the day before you head out, it’s such an amazing sensation to love so much that your throat hurts. I’m so lucky to have so much in my life that brings me that feeling.

Puppy photo essay coming soon consider yourself warned or notified—your choice!

In Which I Bore You All to Tears by Continuously Rambling on and on About a Dog

Okay, well, the photo essay that was promised, and I think most eagerly anticipated by you all, will have to be delayed until I catch up technologically with the rest of the world. My darling boyfriend has a number of priceless photos of my precious baby, all of which exhibit his absolute loveableness and adorableness. However, he’s gotten out of dodge and taken said displays of adorableness with him AFTER REPEATED REQUESTS TO DOWNLOAD THEM ONTO MY COMPUTER.

I love you darling.

So, as I am living in the Stone Age of photography and still use “film” in my camera, I’ll just have to go take about a hundred pictures of him in various stages of cuteness, wait an hour while they are "developed", and then display His Handsomeness on the world wide web for all to see. (For those of you who do not understand the terms in quotes, you can try dictionary.com for assistance.) And maybe, just maybe, someday I’ll buy one of these “digital cameras” I hear so much about.

< Subsequently, as I have no pictures to share with you, I will now ramble on at length about him as I have absolutely nothing else to talk about since I’ve done nothing but work and sleep lately…

Anyway, apparently, among Jack’s other feats of greatness, he can also scale walls. I keep him in my kitchen with a baby gate, about 3 feet high—keep in mind, Jack only comes up to about knee height. I got home from work last night, expecting to go release him from his hellish prison, and was greeted at the door by his bright shining face and little wagging tail. Upon further inspection, both of the baby gates were still closed and locked. I decided to use my Encyclopedia Brown-like investigative skills, so I put him back in the kitchen and locked him up then hid around the corner (aren't I sneaky?) This kid is amazing—he hooked his front paws over the top of the gate and then starts to basically do a pull-up to climb over the top of the gate… I mean, dogs climb like that? Who knew? He’s got to be part monkey or something…

So I left him home alone for a full day for the first time today and my stomach is absolutely in knots. All I can think is that he’s going to try to climb over the gate and get his paw stuck, or fall over the top and break his neck, or choke on his food… or some other equally catastrophic event that is so outlandish I can’t even fathom it. Or that he’ll just poop all over my carpet, you know, whatever. I’m thinking I’m going to have to cave and just get a rope of some sort and attach it to the pantry door and then hook him up to that during the day. I just hate to do that, because there are a lot of indicators that he spent a great deal of his puppyhood chained up and has some bad associations with that.

But bless his little heart, his personality is really starting to shine through now that he's warmed up to me, he’s extremely loveable, fantastic with other people and other dogs, and he’s starting to catch on to the whole playing thing, although eating is still presenting problems. But hey, we’re making progress—now if I can just get him past the whole being terrified of fire hydrants issue we’ll be a-ok.

“She’s A HE?!” and Other Misadventures in the World of Girl and Dog

Well folks, life just never ceases to surprise. Just when you get past one curveball, another one gets thrown your way. I’d finally come to terms with the fact that I was going to be a mother, albeit to a very furry baby, when I find out that “Ellie” is in fact a “Jack”. Hooooooooly crap.

Like, as in little puppy wieners and peeing in all of the corners of my apartment? The terrible mother that I am my heart fell a little when I found out that my little adult princess was actually a wee little 6 month old boy, but then the vet brought him out and I fell in love all over again. Those same sad eyes and the trembling… just broke my heart and I felt terrible for wanting him to have been a girl. (That being said, I’ve decided that someday when I become pregnant I don’t think I want to know the gender beforehand because DAMN I’d be mad if for 9 months I thought I was going to have a little girl and then out comes this twee kid with extra bits, or vice versa… I’d much rather just be surprised!)

With the great lack of confidence I have in the organizational skills of the shelter (ie bringing out the white and tan dog, having the cards mixed up, etc) it’s not exactly shocking that they sent over the wrong puppy. That being said, I’m so incredibly happy with him. He had a bit of an identity crisis as I’d gotten “her” a little pink collar to tide “her” over until the pretty one comes in the mail, with a precious little red heart with “Ellie” engraved on it, and I think he was a bit mortified to be seen in public wearing pink, but we remedied the situation quickly with a stop by Petco for a nice manly blue bone engraved with “Jack” and a lovely red collar.

Interaction was a bit rocky at first, but now he trails me around the house, already understands that he needs to go outside to do his business, and now we just need to work on the whole “playing” and “eating” thing. Colby and I have both tried showing him his toys and how they work, but he mostly just looks at us like we’re a little nutty. He’s into the little edible chew bones, but the ropes and squeaky toys are still a bit perplexing to him. It’s so bizarre going from my family dog, Belle, who practically mauls you if you so much as mention the word “cookie” to Jack who sort of looks at it and licks it a little then drops in on the floor and comes back every now and then to lick on it some more.

He is a great deal like having a baby though, Colby and I took turns last night waking up and bringing him out to go to the bathroom, he cries about things and I have NO IDEA WHAT TO DO, he cries his head off when we leave—the only discernible difference I can find is that I don’t have drawers full of tiny clothes that he’ll wear for a week before he grows out of them. Anyway, I bring him in to have him fixed in three weeks—right now he has hookworm and a kennel cough, both of which he’s medicated for, and the vet didn’t want to do anything while he was sick. So, his manhood will be stolen away, and then I can begin dressing him in the fluffy pink tutus and sparkling, feathery tiaras—Just kidding!! Or am I….. stay tuned for future episodes and probably an obscene number of photo entries dedicated solely to the furry one of the household.

Bringing Home Baby

Okay, if this much time and effort goes into bringing a wee little doggy home, then I don’t think I’ll ever have children--ever—good God, it’s insane!

Colby and I went to Wal-Mart and Petco yesterday armed with my list of “must buys” that I’d compiled after scouring every single “Bringing Home Puppy” site on the web… and y’all, I’m not kidding you when I say that in a single day I spent HUNDREDS on this dog. And that’s not even including the big ticket items like the bed and crate that still must be tackled this evening.

I just can’t help spoiling her rotten—when I think of the life she’s had so far, all I want to do is hug her, and since I can’t do that yet, I just buy her things! Like biscuits, and toys, and nifty little food bowls, and biscuits, and most importantly the collar.

It’s ladybugs! And shamrocks! And it’s her color!

Because, you know, she has colors… pink and red… for those of you who couldn’t make it to the puppy shower but still want to send gifts...

Anyway, it’s probably a good thing I couldn’t take her home on Friday as I’d originally planned, because this has really involved a hell of a lot of logistics. Like, baby gates. I had to find the perfect baby gates to put in the kitchen. They have a door that opens—a DOOR! So I don’t have to take them down and put them back up every day—I’m THRILLED!! (I’ve become that person that talks about nothing but their children—only it’s a dog—not only a dog, a dog that I don’t actually have yet…)

And I’m terrified that she won’t like me—that I’ll put her in her crate on the way home from the vet (just like I’m supposed to), walk her on a leash outside for 20 minutes so she can get used to her surroundings (just like I’m supposed to), and bring her inside still on her leash (just like I’m supposed to—can you tell I’ve been reading waaaay too much?)—and she’ll turn tail and bolt, because good God, this woman is insane, who owns that much Gone With the Wind crap?? Are those RATS up on that shelf?? You have got to be kidding me, there’s no DOGGY DOOR?? And obviously, running the streets with your bitches (see, haha, funny, it’s a dog joke!) is far better than living in a home filled with miniature Scarlett’s staring creepily at you from every angle, two rodents who have outlived their lifespan, and NO DOGGY DOOR—GOOD GOD WHAT WAS I THINKING???

But her collar is cute.

So Long, and Thanks For All the Peace...

So… I took the plunge today. I’ve been agonizing and thinking and analyzing it from every angle for over a year, and today I’ve finally made a commitment to another living being to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, till death do us part. I never thought this day would come, and I’m excited, and nervous, and scared, but mostly just so, so in love.

Yes, that’s right.

I got a dog.

You: OH MY FREAKING GOD—WHAT????????????

Yeah, that’s right, I went down to the shelter today and met the love of my life. I know I’d said I’d wait until after the holidays, but I’ve been watching the shelter website photos for a couple of months now, and I saw this little girl who was eligible for euthanization on Friday September 2nd, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about her. She’s a border collie mix and was found wandering around a nice neighborhood with a couple of other collie mixes and a spaniel mix.  She looks like she’s maybe a year or two old, so she’s out of the puppy stage, but she’s still got a precious puppy face.

When the shelter man brought her out the first dog, it was definitely the wrong one--beige and white, still cute, but definitely not the face I'd memorized.  When she finally came out she was terrified and shaking, and didn’t make a peep. She just kept her head down and he dragged her behind him, yelling at her every now and then to come on. I just about jumped out of my skin and had to really restrain myself from knocking his asshat head off. Instead I just crouched down, so that I was still over her, and started petting her and talking to her very softly.

After a while she looked up at me with these sad, soulful eyes and just shot me through the heart "Saaaaaaaaave me, taaaaaaake me"—that’s what she said, I swear it. So, I signed on the dotted line and I pick her up from the vet on Tuesday afternoon—goodbye peace and quiet, goodbye clean excrement-free flooring, goodbye freedom…. Honestly, I feel like I’m having a baby or something. Now I just have to decide on a name… is it ridiculous that that’s what stresses me out the most about this whole situation??