So, there's been one upside to the incredible wave of cold sweeping Wilmington...
The oil froze.
The oil froze!!!
And it is has now been removed from the porch and from the life of my beagle, Gertrude. And also from the lives of the stray cats that have been hanging around it. I kind of feel like we just demolished the neighborhood bar or something. The bar of oil.
It is a good day.
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
Sunday, November 09, 2008
So, Hi There
Having just spent approximately 800 years trying to fix this layout, I'm giving up in disgust and just saying Hi.
Hi!
I missed you.
So much has happened, and I totally meant to hop on the NaBloPoMo bandwagon again this year, but I blew it, so we'll just have to see how it goes.
For my triumphant return, I would like to share with you the story of my beagle, the oil baroness.
Every New Years, Thomas and I have a party. It used to always be a Fondue party (or as Thomas calls it, Fun-due), but more recently we've been having Ugly Sweater Parties for New Years instead. Anyway, I think the last time we had a full blown fondue New Years was two years ago. And that's how long the huge jug of peanut oil that we bought and barely used has been sitting on my back porch.
Frankly, I'd grown fond of the jug. It was like my personal thermometer or something. Every morning when I let the dogs out, I'd check the oil. Frozen? Need a sweater. Not frozen? 3/4 sleeves ok. It was just a fixture, like the tree that randomly grew up through the porch. Annoying, but finally just part of the landscape.
Anyway, we went on a mad porch/yard cleaning spree before holding an oyster roast last Saturday, and Thomas tried to throw the jug away. And the plastic that had endured two winters on my porch... well... shattered. So, not all of it shattered, thank God, just the top of it, and we covered it up with plastic bags and vowed that as soon as we got a hard freeze and the oil froze again, we'd get rid of it somehow.
Flash forward to my Beagle, who is suddenly hiding under the house all the time. WTF? Why is she doing this? And she won't come out, even when I offer cheese. I keep having to get a flashlight and go after her. And why is her head so gross and oily?
Because she's been under the porch, rolling around in (and eating, I'm sure) 2 years old peanut oil.
Yum-may.
Hi!
I missed you.
So much has happened, and I totally meant to hop on the NaBloPoMo bandwagon again this year, but I blew it, so we'll just have to see how it goes.
For my triumphant return, I would like to share with you the story of my beagle, the oil baroness.
Every New Years, Thomas and I have a party. It used to always be a Fondue party (or as Thomas calls it, Fun-due), but more recently we've been having Ugly Sweater Parties for New Years instead. Anyway, I think the last time we had a full blown fondue New Years was two years ago. And that's how long the huge jug of peanut oil that we bought and barely used has been sitting on my back porch.
Frankly, I'd grown fond of the jug. It was like my personal thermometer or something. Every morning when I let the dogs out, I'd check the oil. Frozen? Need a sweater. Not frozen? 3/4 sleeves ok. It was just a fixture, like the tree that randomly grew up through the porch. Annoying, but finally just part of the landscape.
Anyway, we went on a mad porch/yard cleaning spree before holding an oyster roast last Saturday, and Thomas tried to throw the jug away. And the plastic that had endured two winters on my porch... well... shattered. So, not all of it shattered, thank God, just the top of it, and we covered it up with plastic bags and vowed that as soon as we got a hard freeze and the oil froze again, we'd get rid of it somehow.
Flash forward to my Beagle, who is suddenly hiding under the house all the time. WTF? Why is she doing this? And she won't come out, even when I offer cheese. I keep having to get a flashlight and go after her. And why is her head so gross and oily?
Because she's been under the porch, rolling around in (and eating, I'm sure) 2 years old peanut oil.
Yum-may.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Sir Memes A Lot
Ok, so Joshua tagged me with the 7 weird things meme.
And because it's Nablopomo, I'm going to try it, even though, for God's sake people, how many more weird things about me am I going to be able to come up with?
Velocibadgergirl also tagged me with a meme that has the best title I have ever heard: Ten Literary Characters I Would Totally Make Out With If I Were Single and They Were Real But I’m Not, Single I Mean, I Am Real, But I’m Also Happily Married and Want to Stay That Way So Maybe We Should Forget This. And I so, so want to do it, but I can only come up with two, and they've already been discussed this month, so...I'm still marinating on that.
Onward.
1. I have only 24 teeth. And what big teeth they are! (All the better to eat you with, my dear). I'm minus the wisdom teeth, of course, but also 4 more because the poor orthodontist couldn't get them all to fit in my tiny, unaccomodating jaw. Please god, let my children have better luck. Turning the key in my palate spreader, growing up, was one of the worst forms of torture I have ever endured. (Side note: Joe McIntyre of the New Kids on the Block also has only 24 teeth, leading my 12 year old self to believe that we must be meant for each other. Why do I keep mentioning the New Kids on the Block lately?)
2. All together, my dogs take 12 pills a day. Between the chinese herbs for Gonzo's epilepsy, the fish oil for their skin, glucosamine for their joints and CoEnzyme-Q10 for Gertie's heart, the dogs practically need those little pill containers to keep everything organized.
3. I absolutely love new/internet words. Snark, squick, squee, blogosphere, celebutante...bring them on. Words delight me, but onomatopoeic ones tickle my heart. I'm also a fan of LOLcats and the "im in ur" phenomenon that predates them. Let's just say internet crazes in general. I once belonged to Mahir's fanclub. I also love co-opting teenspeak into my general vocabulary in an unironic way. I say BFF, Whatev and natch with some frequency. Sometimes, and you have to promise not to repeat this, I will say, "I'm outie." (I know. The shame.)
4. I will dress up for any insane costume party you throw at me. In fact, the first work-party that Thomas brought me to when we were first dating was a pimp and ho party. So I met all of the people Thomas works with while dressed as a hooker. No way to make a better impression than that! I actually have a picture, but it's so hideous that I think I should save it for my next humiliation extravaganza. Thomas and I are throwing an ugly sweater party for New Years and I can. not. wait.
5. I own only one pair of blue jeans that I just wash over and over and over. Or else wear until they are practically standing up on their own. I don't know why. Cheapness, I guess, or the horror of trying on jeans when you carry all your weight in your waist but have slim, athletic legs...I don't know.
6. Cats hate me. I don't know if it's that they sense that I'm afraid of them, or what, but all cats pretend to like me at first and then bite the shit out of me. Or maybe it's that I'm such a dog person that I don't know how to touch cats properly. But yeah, they're always all about me until the hissing and scratching and biting begins.
7. I am obsessed with Threadless. I bought myself 10 t-shirts for my birthday and I pretty much don't wear anything else anymore. My favorites of the ones I own are: Haikus are easy, Loch Ness Imposter, Defend the Kingdom, and Shakespeare Hates Your Emo Poems.
Ok, now I just really want to link to all my threadless shirts so you will all know how hilarious and well dressed I am with my 500 t-shirts and one pair of jeans.
Tagging just seems circular lately. So if you want the meme, take it.
And because it's Nablopomo, I'm going to try it, even though, for God's sake people, how many more weird things about me am I going to be able to come up with?
Velocibadgergirl also tagged me with a meme that has the best title I have ever heard: Ten Literary Characters I Would Totally Make Out With If I Were Single and They Were Real But I’m Not, Single I Mean, I Am Real, But I’m Also Happily Married and Want to Stay That Way So Maybe We Should Forget This. And I so, so want to do it, but I can only come up with two, and they've already been discussed this month, so...I'm still marinating on that.
Onward.
1. I have only 24 teeth. And what big teeth they are! (All the better to eat you with, my dear). I'm minus the wisdom teeth, of course, but also 4 more because the poor orthodontist couldn't get them all to fit in my tiny, unaccomodating jaw. Please god, let my children have better luck. Turning the key in my palate spreader, growing up, was one of the worst forms of torture I have ever endured. (Side note: Joe McIntyre of the New Kids on the Block also has only 24 teeth, leading my 12 year old self to believe that we must be meant for each other. Why do I keep mentioning the New Kids on the Block lately?)
2. All together, my dogs take 12 pills a day. Between the chinese herbs for Gonzo's epilepsy, the fish oil for their skin, glucosamine for their joints and CoEnzyme-Q10 for Gertie's heart, the dogs practically need those little pill containers to keep everything organized.
3. I absolutely love new/internet words. Snark, squick, squee, blogosphere, celebutante...bring them on. Words delight me, but onomatopoeic ones tickle my heart. I'm also a fan of LOLcats and the "im in ur" phenomenon that predates them. Let's just say internet crazes in general. I once belonged to Mahir's fanclub. I also love co-opting teenspeak into my general vocabulary in an unironic way. I say BFF, Whatev and natch with some frequency. Sometimes, and you have to promise not to repeat this, I will say, "I'm outie." (I know. The shame.)
4. I will dress up for any insane costume party you throw at me. In fact, the first work-party that Thomas brought me to when we were first dating was a pimp and ho party. So I met all of the people Thomas works with while dressed as a hooker. No way to make a better impression than that! I actually have a picture, but it's so hideous that I think I should save it for my next humiliation extravaganza. Thomas and I are throwing an ugly sweater party for New Years and I can. not. wait.
5. I own only one pair of blue jeans that I just wash over and over and over. Or else wear until they are practically standing up on their own. I don't know why. Cheapness, I guess, or the horror of trying on jeans when you carry all your weight in your waist but have slim, athletic legs...I don't know.
6. Cats hate me. I don't know if it's that they sense that I'm afraid of them, or what, but all cats pretend to like me at first and then bite the shit out of me. Or maybe it's that I'm such a dog person that I don't know how to touch cats properly. But yeah, they're always all about me until the hissing and scratching and biting begins.
7. I am obsessed with Threadless. I bought myself 10 t-shirts for my birthday and I pretty much don't wear anything else anymore. My favorites of the ones I own are: Haikus are easy, Loch Ness Imposter, Defend the Kingdom, and Shakespeare Hates Your Emo Poems.
Ok, now I just really want to link to all my threadless shirts so you will all know how hilarious and well dressed I am with my 500 t-shirts and one pair of jeans.
Tagging just seems circular lately. So if you want the meme, take it.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Meg, Meg, Bo-beg, Banana-fanna-fo-feg
I know you are not going to believe this, but I've been tagged with the 8 weird things AGAIN. For real.
Last night, I was telling Thomas that he had to help me think of more weird things, and I was like, ARE there even any more weird things about me? And we both agreed that, of course there are. Thomas said, "You kill slugs with beer," and I said, "Yeah, but I've already posted about that!"
So here we go...
1. I'm a compulsive worrier. Last weekend I was sitting on my front porch talking with my friend Kathy, when all of a sudden she hugged me fiercely and told me that I had.to.stop.worrying.so.much. I was kind of baffled. I hadn't even really felt like I was worrying; I was just kind of...vocalizing. So I tried to explain to her my theory which is this: the world is a strange and dangerous place. And it will attack you for no good reason. I don't say this to be dramatic; I've just found that it's true. And the world's MO is to catch you blindsided; it wants to hit you with something you've never considered and are totally unprepared for. So, by worrying about a broad range of scenarios all the time, I'm actually reducing the number of bad things that will happen. Or something. My worrying is kind of like backward prayer.
2. I swear way too much. Sometimes it seems I don't know any adjectives except colorful ones. And yet, the thing I'm most ashamed of (vocally anyway) wasn't technically swearing, though the situation might have called for it. I was on a one way street that has lots of diagonal parking. And I was stopped at a light, about 3 cars back, with several cars behind me, when all of a sudden, a car that was diagonally parked on my left side starts pulling out of its space. I had nowhere to go, so I laid on the horn and the car actually sped up and slammed into my driver's side door. After the car pulled back into its space, I wrenched the door open and screamed, "Are you retarded?!?" I still feel bad about that. The woman cried and kept repeating, "I'm not retarded." Oh, god.
3. I'm always cold. Right now, it's 76 degrees in the house and I feel like my fingers are going to snap off my body. Summer is always the time for the air conditioning wars in my house, in which Thomas and I both surreptiously creep to the thermostat and change it and hope the other person doesn't notice for a while. I'm usually reduced to wearing my pajamas full time.
4. I have trouble calling people on the phone if I've never called them before. I'm sure that is a little bit true for everyone, but I'm kind of neurotic on the subject. I don't mind calling strangers (ok, I do mind, but not overly) but I do have a problem calling my own friends if we've never talked on the phone before. Today I was brave and called my friend Steve (we've been friends for 6 years). Saying, "Hey Steve, it's Meg" nearly gave me a panic attack. I always feel like the person is going to say, "Meg who?" so then I worry (ha!) about whether I should say my last name, too, but then, when you've known each other so long that just seems weird and too formal...and oh, it's just so hard.
5. I seriously would die without the internet. When we have trouble with our machine or our internet service, I feel like parts of me are on fire. I don't even do anything that important or fascinating online. I don't even read the news! I check my usually non-existant email; I read blogs and occasionally blog myself; I check the weather, check myspace, librarything and flickr...and that's it. But if I can't do that, I feel painfully isolated from the world.
6. I hate being called Meaghan. I know I've mentioned that before, but it bears repeating, as lately, many of my friends have taken to occasionally calling me by my full name. And it's always weird when it happens, and right afterward they'll apologize and say, "I have no idea why I called you that." And I'm always like, well, ok...THIS TIME. But seriously, don't call me Meaghan. It's not that I don't think it's a perfectly nice name. I don't hate my name. It's just that I'm Meg and I always have been. I don't know who Meaghan is. A long time ago, my high school boyfriend asked if he could call me Meaghan, and I remember deliberating about it and finally I told him that I would really prefer that he didn't, because I didn't want Meaghan to be someone different than Meg, and I'm still proud of myself for realizing that that could happen when I was so young.
7. My mom used to make me peanut butter and butter sandwiches when I was little and THEY WERE SO GOOD.
8. Once I left my sunroof open and a bird pooped on my gearshift.
That's all I got folks. I'm going to have to cultivate some new weird habits for the next time around. Maybe at the end of this year I'll do another compilation.
If you would like to participate in this Meme, knock yourself out. But I'm tagging Andrea
Kim
Joshua
Kathy
and Lauren
In other news, we found out yesterday that Gertie has developed a heart murmur sometime during the last 3 months. (We are positive that she did not have one in February prior to the tooth surgery). I'm sure you can imagine my worry.
Last night, I was telling Thomas that he had to help me think of more weird things, and I was like, ARE there even any more weird things about me? And we both agreed that, of course there are. Thomas said, "You kill slugs with beer," and I said, "Yeah, but I've already posted about that!"
So here we go...
1. I'm a compulsive worrier. Last weekend I was sitting on my front porch talking with my friend Kathy, when all of a sudden she hugged me fiercely and told me that I had.to.stop.worrying.so.much. I was kind of baffled. I hadn't even really felt like I was worrying; I was just kind of...vocalizing. So I tried to explain to her my theory which is this: the world is a strange and dangerous place. And it will attack you for no good reason. I don't say this to be dramatic; I've just found that it's true. And the world's MO is to catch you blindsided; it wants to hit you with something you've never considered and are totally unprepared for. So, by worrying about a broad range of scenarios all the time, I'm actually reducing the number of bad things that will happen. Or something. My worrying is kind of like backward prayer.
2. I swear way too much. Sometimes it seems I don't know any adjectives except colorful ones. And yet, the thing I'm most ashamed of (vocally anyway) wasn't technically swearing, though the situation might have called for it. I was on a one way street that has lots of diagonal parking. And I was stopped at a light, about 3 cars back, with several cars behind me, when all of a sudden, a car that was diagonally parked on my left side starts pulling out of its space. I had nowhere to go, so I laid on the horn and the car actually sped up and slammed into my driver's side door. After the car pulled back into its space, I wrenched the door open and screamed, "Are you retarded?!?" I still feel bad about that. The woman cried and kept repeating, "I'm not retarded." Oh, god.
3. I'm always cold. Right now, it's 76 degrees in the house and I feel like my fingers are going to snap off my body. Summer is always the time for the air conditioning wars in my house, in which Thomas and I both surreptiously creep to the thermostat and change it and hope the other person doesn't notice for a while. I'm usually reduced to wearing my pajamas full time.
4. I have trouble calling people on the phone if I've never called them before. I'm sure that is a little bit true for everyone, but I'm kind of neurotic on the subject. I don't mind calling strangers (ok, I do mind, but not overly) but I do have a problem calling my own friends if we've never talked on the phone before. Today I was brave and called my friend Steve (we've been friends for 6 years). Saying, "Hey Steve, it's Meg" nearly gave me a panic attack. I always feel like the person is going to say, "Meg who?" so then I worry (ha!) about whether I should say my last name, too, but then, when you've known each other so long that just seems weird and too formal...and oh, it's just so hard.
5. I seriously would die without the internet. When we have trouble with our machine or our internet service, I feel like parts of me are on fire. I don't even do anything that important or fascinating online. I don't even read the news! I check my usually non-existant email; I read blogs and occasionally blog myself; I check the weather, check myspace, librarything and flickr...and that's it. But if I can't do that, I feel painfully isolated from the world.
6. I hate being called Meaghan. I know I've mentioned that before, but it bears repeating, as lately, many of my friends have taken to occasionally calling me by my full name. And it's always weird when it happens, and right afterward they'll apologize and say, "I have no idea why I called you that." And I'm always like, well, ok...THIS TIME. But seriously, don't call me Meaghan. It's not that I don't think it's a perfectly nice name. I don't hate my name. It's just that I'm Meg and I always have been. I don't know who Meaghan is. A long time ago, my high school boyfriend asked if he could call me Meaghan, and I remember deliberating about it and finally I told him that I would really prefer that he didn't, because I didn't want Meaghan to be someone different than Meg, and I'm still proud of myself for realizing that that could happen when I was so young.
7. My mom used to make me peanut butter and butter sandwiches when I was little and THEY WERE SO GOOD.
8. Once I left my sunroof open and a bird pooped on my gearshift.
That's all I got folks. I'm going to have to cultivate some new weird habits for the next time around. Maybe at the end of this year I'll do another compilation.
If you would like to participate in this Meme, knock yourself out. But I'm tagging Andrea
Kim
Joshua
Kathy
and Lauren
In other news, we found out yesterday that Gertie has developed a heart murmur sometime during the last 3 months. (We are positive that she did not have one in February prior to the tooth surgery). I'm sure you can imagine my worry.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Adventures with Wildlife
So, Oscar Peterson is a yellow bellied slider. Thanks goes to my friend Doug for identifying him. I went online to check, and oh yeah, that's him. So I'm happy, because now I know better how to care for him. There aren't very good instructions for "little turtle that must have crawled up from Greenfield Lake." We got him a UV lamp this weekend. He's eating a little more. So far, so good.
We found a litter of 5 kittens in the front yard last night and I am very, very upset about it. I've almost posted several rants about my neighbors and their insistence on feeding the stray cats who are now so numerous that they travel in packs up and down the street. These cats are sickly and flea-ridden and carrying god knows what diseases. They poop in our yards and live under our houses, peeing and pooping under there like it's a huge litterbox put erected for their convenience. They yowl all night and kitten at all times of the year, including January, causing me to have to spend countless hours combing the yard for kittens before letting my dogs out. Because, people, my dogs WILL eat the cats.
It's no life for them. They're always gummy-eyed and being run over by cars. They're not wild because they don't have to hunt, but they're not domesticated because they're not CARED for. Animal control won't come and pick them up--they say they'll come and get them if I rent traps and catch them, but otherwise, it's my problem. The supposed fine for keeping strays is something like $50 for every instance of an unlicensed animal, and $50 for an animal with no rabies shot. I'd love to somehow sic animal control on the neighbors and have them charged for every single cat and kitten within a 2 block radius. Perhaps then it wouldn't be so "cute" to see them all come running up at feeding time.
Look, I don't mean to sound cold-hearted. There are 5 adorable days-old baby kittens in my front yard. Yes, they're sweet, but I know what they are going to grow up into. And I take my responsibilities as a pet owner very seriously.
I tried to capture the kittens, but I only got one (because it's already ill, I think) and it didn't seem fair to take him away from the others all scared and sick, so I put him back and I'm going to try again to get them all together and then take them to the shelter. Until then, it's yard patrol.
In final wildlife news, I'm on a crusade against the slugs that are eating my daylilies. As you know, I'm deathly afraid of worms and slugs are pretty much the same concept. When I unearthed a huge nest of them under the garden edging I nearly died of disgust and fear and rage and shock. So I put out dishes of beer around the daylilies and for the first 12 hours, nothing seemed to be happening. But the next morning, there were 25 dead slugs at the bottom of the beer. I almost took a picture of the death pool to show you, but I also almost puked when I saw it. So I don't think that needs to live on my blog.
We found a litter of 5 kittens in the front yard last night and I am very, very upset about it. I've almost posted several rants about my neighbors and their insistence on feeding the stray cats who are now so numerous that they travel in packs up and down the street. These cats are sickly and flea-ridden and carrying god knows what diseases. They poop in our yards and live under our houses, peeing and pooping under there like it's a huge litterbox put erected for their convenience. They yowl all night and kitten at all times of the year, including January, causing me to have to spend countless hours combing the yard for kittens before letting my dogs out. Because, people, my dogs WILL eat the cats.
It's no life for them. They're always gummy-eyed and being run over by cars. They're not wild because they don't have to hunt, but they're not domesticated because they're not CARED for. Animal control won't come and pick them up--they say they'll come and get them if I rent traps and catch them, but otherwise, it's my problem. The supposed fine for keeping strays is something like $50 for every instance of an unlicensed animal, and $50 for an animal with no rabies shot. I'd love to somehow sic animal control on the neighbors and have them charged for every single cat and kitten within a 2 block radius. Perhaps then it wouldn't be so "cute" to see them all come running up at feeding time.
Look, I don't mean to sound cold-hearted. There are 5 adorable days-old baby kittens in my front yard. Yes, they're sweet, but I know what they are going to grow up into. And I take my responsibilities as a pet owner very seriously.
I tried to capture the kittens, but I only got one (because it's already ill, I think) and it didn't seem fair to take him away from the others all scared and sick, so I put him back and I'm going to try again to get them all together and then take them to the shelter. Until then, it's yard patrol.
In final wildlife news, I'm on a crusade against the slugs that are eating my daylilies. As you know, I'm deathly afraid of worms and slugs are pretty much the same concept. When I unearthed a huge nest of them under the garden edging I nearly died of disgust and fear and rage and shock. So I put out dishes of beer around the daylilies and for the first 12 hours, nothing seemed to be happening. But the next morning, there were 25 dead slugs at the bottom of the beer. I almost took a picture of the death pool to show you, but I also almost puked when I saw it. So I don't think that needs to live on my blog.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Currently
Life is quiet in Meg-land.
Read:
The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri
Shopgirl by Steve Martin
Here We Are in Paradise by Tony Earley
Reading:
Blue Angel by Francine Prose
Listening:
Here Comes Your Man by the Pixies
Slept Through:
For Your Consideration
Actually Watched:
Revenge of the Nerds
Worried about:
Oscar Peterson (isn't eating properly all of a sudden)
Gonzo (screamed when I pet him yesterday)
Rejoicing:
Tax refund arrival
Planted:
Angelonia
Ageratum
Amaryllis
(didn't notice until now that it was "A" day)
Yard Sale-ing Yield:
negligable
Ate:
Chicken Tikka Masala
Tempura fried crab in lueysuan sauce
Spicy Eggplant and Tofu with Thai Basil
Read:
The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri
Shopgirl by Steve Martin
Here We Are in Paradise by Tony Earley
Reading:
Blue Angel by Francine Prose
Listening:
Here Comes Your Man by the Pixies
Slept Through:
For Your Consideration
Actually Watched:
Revenge of the Nerds
Worried about:
Oscar Peterson (isn't eating properly all of a sudden)
Gonzo (screamed when I pet him yesterday)
Rejoicing:
Tax refund arrival
Planted:
Angelonia
Ageratum
Amaryllis
(didn't notice until now that it was "A" day)
Yard Sale-ing Yield:
negligable
Ate:
Chicken Tikka Masala
Tempura fried crab in lueysuan sauce
Spicy Eggplant and Tofu with Thai Basil
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Welcome Oscar Peterson
Yesterday, Thomas found Gonzo trying to eat a tiny turtle. What is his problem with the wildlife? You'd think I don't feed the damn dog.
Thomas was quick and he got the turtle in time; no punctures or anything. He's only about the size of a 50 cent piece. We're thinking of keeping him. Thomas named him Oscar Peterson. I think he has a very grumpy face.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Toad in a Hole
Yesterday, Gonzo dug up a hibernating toad and ate it.
So, far, he seems none the worse for wear. Gonzo, that is. Not the toad.
So, far, he seems none the worse for wear. Gonzo, that is. Not the toad.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Good Wishes
Just wanted to say thanks again to all of you who commented or emailed about Gert. I really, really appreciate it. It's one of those precious few signs to me that the world is good; February will soon be over; These feelings will lift.
Gert is very well, and in my honest opinion, no longer remembers that anything unusual occurred. (Gert has never been known for her mental prowess). She is sleeping comfortably in her chair right now, having woken me at 6:04 to demand food and outside time. These needs satisfied, she has returned to bed, whereas I am up for the duration of the day. Oh well. I'm glad things are getting back to normal.
Happy Belated Birthday to my sister, Ali, who turned 27 yesterday. She came over for a nice birthday dinner of my husband's awesome pork chops (Ali and I both thought we hated pork chops until we met Thomas) and acorn squash. YUM! (Even if I did struggle with the squash and we sort of had to eat it for dessert. Sorry, Ali.)
And so another week begins. A week in which I will no longer use this blog like a diary but will actually post about things that matter. Like Little House on the Prairie.
Gert is very well, and in my honest opinion, no longer remembers that anything unusual occurred. (Gert has never been known for her mental prowess). She is sleeping comfortably in her chair right now, having woken me at 6:04 to demand food and outside time. These needs satisfied, she has returned to bed, whereas I am up for the duration of the day. Oh well. I'm glad things are getting back to normal.
Happy Belated Birthday to my sister, Ali, who turned 27 yesterday. She came over for a nice birthday dinner of my husband's awesome pork chops (Ali and I both thought we hated pork chops until we met Thomas) and acorn squash. YUM! (Even if I did struggle with the squash and we sort of had to eat it for dessert. Sorry, Ali.)
And so another week begins. A week in which I will no longer use this blog like a diary but will actually post about things that matter. Like Little House on the Prairie.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Gert is OK
Not that anyone was waiting on quite the pins and needles that I was, but I just wanted to let the general public know that Gert came through her surgery just fine. She had 5 small teeth removed (none that make her tongue hang out the side--Yay!) and her bloodwork was "excellent for a dog her age."
She's totally doped up and asleep in her chair right now.
Yeah, I love her a little bit.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
S.A.D.
Depression's got me bad, y'all.
Too much melatonin, too little Vitamin D, PMS, Post Drinking Depression...I don't know what all. I've got blog posts stored up, a little list beside the computer, but I just cannot snap out of it. If I had money (reason #347 to be depressed) I'd be going back on the Paxil right now.
Gert's having her tooth surgery on Friday and I'm unreasonably frightened about it. Gert is 14 years old and when she was little, she was so sickly that we never did her teeth because we were afraid to sedate her. Now I'm even more afraid to sedate her. I feel like maybe I love those dogs too much. I feel like if you asked for my kidneys...one for each...or my feet...one for each...if they could just live forever--Well, consider it done. Consider it not even a decision. Those dogs are my heart. I shouldn't love things so much that will die so far before me. I know that seems crazy.
So, Idol's back on. One more sign of spring. And I'm glad because, like the seeds, it let's me know that the winter will end. One of my very first blog posts was about Idol last year and so I also know that I'm about to hit the first anniversary of this awesomeness being a part of my life. Thanks for bearing with me while I hibernate and try to get through February.
Too much melatonin, too little Vitamin D, PMS, Post Drinking Depression...I don't know what all. I've got blog posts stored up, a little list beside the computer, but I just cannot snap out of it. If I had money (reason #347 to be depressed) I'd be going back on the Paxil right now.
Gert's having her tooth surgery on Friday and I'm unreasonably frightened about it. Gert is 14 years old and when she was little, she was so sickly that we never did her teeth because we were afraid to sedate her. Now I'm even more afraid to sedate her. I feel like maybe I love those dogs too much. I feel like if you asked for my kidneys...one for each...or my feet...one for each...if they could just live forever--Well, consider it done. Consider it not even a decision. Those dogs are my heart. I shouldn't love things so much that will die so far before me. I know that seems crazy.
So, Idol's back on. One more sign of spring. And I'm glad because, like the seeds, it let's me know that the winter will end. One of my very first blog posts was about Idol last year and so I also know that I'm about to hit the first anniversary of this awesomeness being a part of my life. Thanks for bearing with me while I hibernate and try to get through February.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Bad Luck February
My friend, Jennifer, believes that bad luck comes from puking before the ball drops on New Year's Eve. This theory was born last year when she had perhaps the worst string of luck ever to befall a human. Needless to say, she had visited the Porcelain Lord at around 11 pm.
Both Thomas and I remained relatively sober on New Years, but somehow this was not enough to appease the Gods for this has been the most damage-ridden February of my life. The TV in our bedroom broke; Thomas' van's brakes started squealing; The dog requires tooth surgery; The heat went out; I had ovary and wrist difficulty; Thomas broke his glasses. DUDE! We just cannot catch a break!
I'm exhausted.
I want to blog but I'm preoccupied with what could break next.
Stay Tuned for:
How I am Obsessed with The Little House on the Prairie
Never Wanting to Leave the House
and
Pictures of the Valentine's Day Dessert
Both Thomas and I remained relatively sober on New Years, but somehow this was not enough to appease the Gods for this has been the most damage-ridden February of my life. The TV in our bedroom broke; Thomas' van's brakes started squealing; The dog requires tooth surgery; The heat went out; I had ovary and wrist difficulty; Thomas broke his glasses. DUDE! We just cannot catch a break!
I'm exhausted.
I want to blog but I'm preoccupied with what could break next.
Stay Tuned for:
How I am Obsessed with The Little House on the Prairie
Never Wanting to Leave the House
and
Pictures of the Valentine's Day Dessert
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Random Thoughts for January 10
Ok, so, first off: Where the hell is the Wrightsville Avenue cow?? We drove by on Sunday and its stall stood empty. Thomas revealed that he had ACTUALLY SEEN some guys loading it into a van. To refurbish the cow? Perform atrocities on the cow? Dude.
Secondly, I am still crying from watching the 1st season finale of How I Met Your Mother. Why did no one tell me about this show before? We started watching because of Jason Segal from Freaks and Geeks (clearly the best show EVER) and it is just so great and funny. Like Friends, but younger and drunker. SUIT UP!
Thirdly, the oppossum is BACK!
Fourthly, earlier, I did my daily four mile walk with my sister, Ali. We were chugging down front street, which, for those who are not Wilmingtonian, is lined in tall brick walls that mask the rich from the pedestrians. Every once in a while, there's a break in the wall where a driveway comes out. So, Al and I were walking, talking about whatever it is sisters talk about for four miles, when all of a sudden a car came speeding out of a hidden driveway and seriously nearly took my sister out.
I made a noise that was not unlike the seal-shriek that my beagle makes if you step on her foot. Ali stepped back. Was she ok? Yes, she's ok. We, all of us, Ali, the driver and I, all stopped there for a second. Did we need to do anything? No, we're all ok. Then Ali and I just went on our way. The driver called out, "I'm sorry!" We waved. "It's ok! I'm not dead!"
Fifthly, thank God for my dogs, who came jingling to my bedroom door this morning as if to say, "Woman! Can we get some service?" because without them, I would have woken an hour late instead of just 20 minutes. Perhaps that was the beginning of all this madness.
UPDATE: Sixthly, I just discovered that the US Senate Sergeant at Arms visited my humble blog today by googling the words, "Hummingbirds Attack." 1. How much do I love SiteMeter? 2. Is there going to be a hummingbird attack???
Secondly, I am still crying from watching the 1st season finale of How I Met Your Mother. Why did no one tell me about this show before? We started watching because of Jason Segal from Freaks and Geeks (clearly the best show EVER) and it is just so great and funny. Like Friends, but younger and drunker. SUIT UP!
Thirdly, the oppossum is BACK!
Fourthly, earlier, I did my daily four mile walk with my sister, Ali. We were chugging down front street, which, for those who are not Wilmingtonian, is lined in tall brick walls that mask the rich from the pedestrians. Every once in a while, there's a break in the wall where a driveway comes out. So, Al and I were walking, talking about whatever it is sisters talk about for four miles, when all of a sudden a car came speeding out of a hidden driveway and seriously nearly took my sister out.
I made a noise that was not unlike the seal-shriek that my beagle makes if you step on her foot. Ali stepped back. Was she ok? Yes, she's ok. We, all of us, Ali, the driver and I, all stopped there for a second. Did we need to do anything? No, we're all ok. Then Ali and I just went on our way. The driver called out, "I'm sorry!" We waved. "It's ok! I'm not dead!"
Fifthly, thank God for my dogs, who came jingling to my bedroom door this morning as if to say, "Woman! Can we get some service?" because without them, I would have woken an hour late instead of just 20 minutes. Perhaps that was the beginning of all this madness.
UPDATE: Sixthly, I just discovered that the US Senate Sergeant at Arms visited my humble blog today by googling the words, "Hummingbirds Attack." 1. How much do I love SiteMeter? 2. Is there going to be a hummingbird attack???
Sunday, December 10, 2006
When Doves Cry
So, this afternoon I let the dogs out and after a few minutes they scratched at the door to be let back in. They often do this when it's cold; they're not wearing their winter coats yet.
I went into the spare bedroom to lay down and read with them for a while before I started my school work. Gertie was prancing about, ready to jump in bed and she'd brought a big toy with her. Gertie doesn't usually play with toys, so I was happy that she was feeling playful.
"What have you got?" I asked her. And then, for real, "What have you got?!?"
I didn't recognize that toy. And it was really big and gray. What the hell could it be?
"WHAT HAVE YOU GOT?????"
It was a huge dead dove.
I ushered her out of the house post haste, but she would not drop the dove. I offered her cheese and carrots; I screamed and yelled. Finally I had to go put on gloves and pry the bird out of her mouth.
I suppose I should be thankful. Years ago, the only other time she's done this, I came stumbling home from Lula's at 2 in the morning, never turned on the light, peeled off my clothes and crawled in bed. With a disembowled bird.
I went into the spare bedroom to lay down and read with them for a while before I started my school work. Gertie was prancing about, ready to jump in bed and she'd brought a big toy with her. Gertie doesn't usually play with toys, so I was happy that she was feeling playful.
"What have you got?" I asked her. And then, for real, "What have you got?!?"
I didn't recognize that toy. And it was really big and gray. What the hell could it be?
"WHAT HAVE YOU GOT?????"
It was a huge dead dove.
I ushered her out of the house post haste, but she would not drop the dove. I offered her cheese and carrots; I screamed and yelled. Finally I had to go put on gloves and pry the bird out of her mouth.
I suppose I should be thankful. Years ago, the only other time she's done this, I came stumbling home from Lula's at 2 in the morning, never turned on the light, peeled off my clothes and crawled in bed. With a disembowled bird.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Happy Wednesday
I miss posting every day. No, really.
Recently, I've been enjoying many happy displays of what Thomas and I refer to as "Dog TV." We don't have cable, and we watched our new box set of the Sopranos in one crazed, drooling bout, and so we have returned to the entertainment provided by the two small, red maniacs that happen to live in our house. (P.S. Whose good idea was it to release the Sopranos season 6 in two parts so that I would have to pay 60 dollars TWICE to get it? Much like when Stephen King released the Green Mile by chapter, I have to say, Um, I think you're rich enough. But thanks for playing. However, unlike me, my husband could not wait).
Episode 1: Triangulation.
These dogs
are watching this cat, out the window
who, in turn, is watching this squirrel, up a tree
None shall move for over an hour!
Episode 2: Drunken Brawl
Episode 3: Beagle Racetrack
Gertie is approaching the speed of sound in her efforts to outrun....no one.
I know, I know. When am I going to grow bored of taking pictures of my dogs? The answer is NEVER. Dude, they are 9 and 14 now. If I were going to get tired of this, I would have done it a long time ago.
Recently, I've been enjoying many happy displays of what Thomas and I refer to as "Dog TV." We don't have cable, and we watched our new box set of the Sopranos in one crazed, drooling bout, and so we have returned to the entertainment provided by the two small, red maniacs that happen to live in our house. (P.S. Whose good idea was it to release the Sopranos season 6 in two parts so that I would have to pay 60 dollars TWICE to get it? Much like when Stephen King released the Green Mile by chapter, I have to say, Um, I think you're rich enough. But thanks for playing. However, unlike me, my husband could not wait).
Episode 1: Triangulation.
These dogs
are watching this cat, out the window
who, in turn, is watching this squirrel, up a tree
None shall move for over an hour!
Episode 2: Drunken Brawl
Episode 3: Beagle Racetrack
Gertie is approaching the speed of sound in her efforts to outrun....no one.I know, I know. When am I going to grow bored of taking pictures of my dogs? The answer is NEVER. Dude, they are 9 and 14 now. If I were going to get tired of this, I would have done it a long time ago.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
In the History of Weeks that Suck
This has been way up there. I don't want to bitch and moan about it endlessly, but dude. Interpersonally, professionally, and in the backyard cat-eating arena, things have been better. Also, for the record, I am currently suffering the second illness of this school year.
I would like to wish a very happy birthday to Miss Gert E. Girl, 14 year old beagle extraordinaire. Gert has consumed an alarming amount of cheese today, and also a gift from one of my students, because oh my god that's cute.
Cheesy school anecdote of the day (please god let no one else compare me to reader's digest): This morning, a bunch of little boys were singing the song that goes "Boys go to college to get more knowledge. Girls go to Jupiter to get more stupider!"
One of the little boys, in some fit of political correctness, said, "You guys are saying that about Miss Meg and Miss JC!" Another little boy looked over and said with great disdain, "Miss Meg and Miss JC are women. They didn't go to Jupiter to get more stupider."
I would like to wish a very happy birthday to Miss Gert E. Girl, 14 year old beagle extraordinaire. Gert has consumed an alarming amount of cheese today, and also a gift from one of my students, because oh my god that's cute.
Cheesy school anecdote of the day (please god let no one else compare me to reader's digest): This morning, a bunch of little boys were singing the song that goes "Boys go to college to get more knowledge. Girls go to Jupiter to get more stupider!"
One of the little boys, in some fit of political correctness, said, "You guys are saying that about Miss Meg and Miss JC!" Another little boy looked over and said with great disdain, "Miss Meg and Miss JC are women. They didn't go to Jupiter to get more stupider."
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Ok, so....onward.
So, I've been doing a little tweaking. I was afraid to host the new background images on photobucket, for fear that I'd run out of usage and the blog would be black with red type. So I had to create a bellsouth homepage and host the images there, but I can see that it's taking longer for some browsers to load them. What is going on at your house? Is it black with ugly red type? Or are you reminded of that lovely peach living room I used to have? Please let me know if it looks crazy. IE (I know!) doesn't always do the best job of letting me know these things.
And now, here is why, at my house, we tend to yell the words cheese and night-night a lot.
When Gonzo-bean was a little boy, I tried to be a responsible parent and take him to dog school. He was only a year old when I got him and he was obviously very bright, so I figured that it would be no problem, shelled out the 60 dollars and started taking him to Petsmart every Tuesday night.
Gonzo did not like the dog school. He did not like the other dogs. He did not like being in such close proximity to great quantities of food that he could neither eat nor pee on. He did NOT like the teacher. In fact, every single time the instructor tried to speak, Gonzo would begin barking as if the teacher were at that moment breaking into his home and harming his family.
The teacher was game, of course. He tried to use Gonzo as an example of excessive barking and demonstrated to the class that when your dog barks at the door or at a passerby, you should shake a tin can full of beans at the dog. This will startle the dog, redirect his attention, and teach him, over time, that barking is not acceptable.
Gonzo took the beans as the greatest possible insult. I think in dog language, the teacher was calling his momma a ho. His barking only increased 10 fold, as if he were trying to drown out the sound of the insulting beans.
After three weeks, the teacher took me aside and indicated that Gonzo was a disruption in the classroom environment. In short, my dog was kicked out of dog school.
I've never had a really big problem with that. If you've met Gonzo, you know that he is crazy-laid back, doesn't bark a lot and is obsessed with the rules. This is not a dog that will eat your underwear or chew up the bathroom trash. He feels bad if he throws up in the house--he's certainly never going to do anything else. He sits only on the furniture on which he is allowed and seems to know instinctively which pieces those are. He is a good dog. And he's small. So if he's doing something I don't like, I can pretty much just pick him up and move him.
His sister Gert is also small. However she is often found on the furniture, eating pencils and pens, and pooping in the corner. I pretty much didn't bother to take Gert to dog school because Gert, God love her, is dumb as a post. It doesn't matter what you say or do, Gert will never follow the rules because Gert cannot remember the rules for more than 25 seconds. She's just a lump of cells in the shape of a beagle, and a better natured dog you will never know. She adores people and turns into a pile of tummy shaped mush in their presence. She almost never barks or makes any kind of sound except to snore. She's amazing. But if you say "come" or "stay" to her, she'll just roll over and show you her tummy again.
In our house, when we want the dogs to come, we yell "Cheese!" Both of them know exactly what cheese is, and woe to the man who tries to substitute carrots at the last minute. We do, in fact, occasionally yell "Carrots!" into the backyard, but we've learned (our education continues, though theirs has ended) that there is a higher success rating with "Cheese!"
When we do not like what the dogs are doing, or if they begging to go outside during dinner or up too early in the morning, we yell "Night-Night!" We can be routinely found yelling "Night-Night!" at 3 o'clock in the afternoon. Night-Night! (tm) means go to your chair and lay down. Both the dogs recognize it as a command and though sometimes they look around like, "really?" They almost always obey it.
Thomas and I were laughing the other day about how we've trained the dogs by accident, though I don't think they could get a diploma for obeying our commands.
In further news of animals learning to associate different stimulus and response, I've found that because the previous tenants of our house had cats that liked to pee into the radiator vent, I've begun to associate the smell of cat pee with winter and Christmas and lovely warm evenings indoors.
Night-Night!
And now, here is why, at my house, we tend to yell the words cheese and night-night a lot.
When Gonzo-bean was a little boy, I tried to be a responsible parent and take him to dog school. He was only a year old when I got him and he was obviously very bright, so I figured that it would be no problem, shelled out the 60 dollars and started taking him to Petsmart every Tuesday night.
Gonzo did not like the dog school. He did not like the other dogs. He did not like being in such close proximity to great quantities of food that he could neither eat nor pee on. He did NOT like the teacher. In fact, every single time the instructor tried to speak, Gonzo would begin barking as if the teacher were at that moment breaking into his home and harming his family.
The teacher was game, of course. He tried to use Gonzo as an example of excessive barking and demonstrated to the class that when your dog barks at the door or at a passerby, you should shake a tin can full of beans at the dog. This will startle the dog, redirect his attention, and teach him, over time, that barking is not acceptable.
Gonzo took the beans as the greatest possible insult. I think in dog language, the teacher was calling his momma a ho. His barking only increased 10 fold, as if he were trying to drown out the sound of the insulting beans.
After three weeks, the teacher took me aside and indicated that Gonzo was a disruption in the classroom environment. In short, my dog was kicked out of dog school.
I've never had a really big problem with that. If you've met Gonzo, you know that he is crazy-laid back, doesn't bark a lot and is obsessed with the rules. This is not a dog that will eat your underwear or chew up the bathroom trash. He feels bad if he throws up in the house--he's certainly never going to do anything else. He sits only on the furniture on which he is allowed and seems to know instinctively which pieces those are. He is a good dog. And he's small. So if he's doing something I don't like, I can pretty much just pick him up and move him.
His sister Gert is also small. However she is often found on the furniture, eating pencils and pens, and pooping in the corner. I pretty much didn't bother to take Gert to dog school because Gert, God love her, is dumb as a post. It doesn't matter what you say or do, Gert will never follow the rules because Gert cannot remember the rules for more than 25 seconds. She's just a lump of cells in the shape of a beagle, and a better natured dog you will never know. She adores people and turns into a pile of tummy shaped mush in their presence. She almost never barks or makes any kind of sound except to snore. She's amazing. But if you say "come" or "stay" to her, she'll just roll over and show you her tummy again.
In our house, when we want the dogs to come, we yell "Cheese!" Both of them know exactly what cheese is, and woe to the man who tries to substitute carrots at the last minute. We do, in fact, occasionally yell "Carrots!" into the backyard, but we've learned (our education continues, though theirs has ended) that there is a higher success rating with "Cheese!"
When we do not like what the dogs are doing, or if they begging to go outside during dinner or up too early in the morning, we yell "Night-Night!" We can be routinely found yelling "Night-Night!" at 3 o'clock in the afternoon. Night-Night! (tm) means go to your chair and lay down. Both the dogs recognize it as a command and though sometimes they look around like, "really?" They almost always obey it.
Thomas and I were laughing the other day about how we've trained the dogs by accident, though I don't think they could get a diploma for obeying our commands.
In further news of animals learning to associate different stimulus and response, I've found that because the previous tenants of our house had cats that liked to pee into the radiator vent, I've begun to associate the smell of cat pee with winter and Christmas and lovely warm evenings indoors.
Night-Night!
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Canine Epilepsy and Other Woes
Following an absolutely blissful half hour in which Gonzo-bean slept on my stomach and left a large drool patch on my right boob, he launched into a nearly 10 minute long seizure.
Gonzo is 9 years old now, an astounding number, particularly when I consider that I have only started to adequately care for myself in the last 4 years, and this has been a part of our lives together since the first week that I owned him.
The struggle of having a dog with epilepsy is the incredible agony of loving something so much that you would cheerfully throw yourself in front of a moving vehicle to protect him, and finding that there is something that attacks him from within, something you have no power to stop, let alone to understand.
I know I should be very grateful that he is doing as well as he is. Two year ago, we started seeing a holistic vet, as Gonzo's seizures were becoming more frequent and debilitating. I've always resisted the traditional epilepsy medications because they come with such high risks. Phenobarbitol, the common drug, does great damage to dogs' livers, in addition to the fact that it is a rather whopping sedative. My bean--you should see him--is such a bundle of life and personality; I can't imagine sedating him for, well, ever. And I've been lucky, too, in that his seizures, while much, much longer than average, only come about once or twice a month, and so I haven't been forced to choose that option.
Brad Kerr, my unbelievable, understanding, talented and absolutely irreplaceable vet, tried acupuncture on Gonzo for a while, but finally Gonzo's anxiety about it made it seem like a ridiculous option, because Gonzo is an anxious dog to begin with, and we've always considered that part of the problem. So now he takes Chinese herbs at every meal and eats a low carb diet and that seems to be controlling the epilepsy to an enormous degree. This was his first seizure in 3 months and while it was long, he leaped up afterward as if nothing had happened, rather than skulking around, hiding and immediately having another seizure, as is his wont.
As a dog-mommy, I can't help but wonder if this happened because I finally made him stop taking a nap on top of me, or because I marvelled aloud to Thomas yesterday about how well Gonzo's been doing. I have to admit that I superstitiously stopped saying the word seizure about a year ago. That always seemed to bring them on.
When a dog hits one year without a seizure, you're allowed to declare them seizure free. In the last 8 years, we've only ever come close once. Oh, well. Clock starts over.....now.
Gonzo is 9 years old now, an astounding number, particularly when I consider that I have only started to adequately care for myself in the last 4 years, and this has been a part of our lives together since the first week that I owned him.
The struggle of having a dog with epilepsy is the incredible agony of loving something so much that you would cheerfully throw yourself in front of a moving vehicle to protect him, and finding that there is something that attacks him from within, something you have no power to stop, let alone to understand.
I know I should be very grateful that he is doing as well as he is. Two year ago, we started seeing a holistic vet, as Gonzo's seizures were becoming more frequent and debilitating. I've always resisted the traditional epilepsy medications because they come with such high risks. Phenobarbitol, the common drug, does great damage to dogs' livers, in addition to the fact that it is a rather whopping sedative. My bean--you should see him--is such a bundle of life and personality; I can't imagine sedating him for, well, ever. And I've been lucky, too, in that his seizures, while much, much longer than average, only come about once or twice a month, and so I haven't been forced to choose that option.
Brad Kerr, my unbelievable, understanding, talented and absolutely irreplaceable vet, tried acupuncture on Gonzo for a while, but finally Gonzo's anxiety about it made it seem like a ridiculous option, because Gonzo is an anxious dog to begin with, and we've always considered that part of the problem. So now he takes Chinese herbs at every meal and eats a low carb diet and that seems to be controlling the epilepsy to an enormous degree. This was his first seizure in 3 months and while it was long, he leaped up afterward as if nothing had happened, rather than skulking around, hiding and immediately having another seizure, as is his wont.
As a dog-mommy, I can't help but wonder if this happened because I finally made him stop taking a nap on top of me, or because I marvelled aloud to Thomas yesterday about how well Gonzo's been doing. I have to admit that I superstitiously stopped saying the word seizure about a year ago. That always seemed to bring them on.
When a dog hits one year without a seizure, you're allowed to declare them seizure free. In the last 8 years, we've only ever come close once. Oh, well. Clock starts over.....now.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
I Dress My Pets in Tutus and Kiss Them on the Mouth
Feeling like I should check in, though there is not much to say.
I'm quietly freaking out about my new job tomorrow--not in a bad way, just in the way that you do when things are new and different and you are likely to make mistakes.
My dogs killed a kitten this weekend. I'm really messed up about it. They've had problems with aggression toward cats since I used to commute to Greensboro every weekend and they had to board at their vet. Apparently there was a vet cat there that tormented them in their cages. My vet mentioned it to me once and told me that she did not suggest my ever getting a cat because of it. Since then, the only cats they ever see are the feral ones in our neighborhood who are foolish enough to come into the yard. In November we had an incident with a kitten and since then we haven't seen any cats in the yard. I've looked into ways of keeping the strays out, but I haven't found any that aren't inhumane or wouldn't affect my dogs as well. The humane society here makes it incredibly difficult to trap the cats and since it was working out, I didn't think about it any more. But yesterday they got a very tiny one. I got there in time and there were no bite marks on it; I think it died of fear. I'm very sad.
Several years ago, Gonzo was attacked by a pit bull. I was so angry at the dog and the owner and what I perceived to be just senseless aggression. But I guess this is the same. I know that dogs, domesticated or not, are animals and that we choose to keep them despite their instincts. I know I am probably guilty of anthropomorphising the dogs in the extreme, but I just can't understand why they would do this. I mean, its not as if they are competing for a food source, or like cats ARE a food source to them. There's no perceived danger, so why attack (or terrify)?
Some time early this year, there was an interview with Tommy Lee Jones in the New Yorker in which he said something like, "I respect animals. I don't dress them in tutus and kiss them on the mouth." Um, I totally dress my pets in tutus and kiss them on the mouth. So I guess that's why it's hard for me to understand why they are not and can never be my small and furry children, and are instead animals, sometimes ruthless ones.
I'm quietly freaking out about my new job tomorrow--not in a bad way, just in the way that you do when things are new and different and you are likely to make mistakes.
My dogs killed a kitten this weekend. I'm really messed up about it. They've had problems with aggression toward cats since I used to commute to Greensboro every weekend and they had to board at their vet. Apparently there was a vet cat there that tormented them in their cages. My vet mentioned it to me once and told me that she did not suggest my ever getting a cat because of it. Since then, the only cats they ever see are the feral ones in our neighborhood who are foolish enough to come into the yard. In November we had an incident with a kitten and since then we haven't seen any cats in the yard. I've looked into ways of keeping the strays out, but I haven't found any that aren't inhumane or wouldn't affect my dogs as well. The humane society here makes it incredibly difficult to trap the cats and since it was working out, I didn't think about it any more. But yesterday they got a very tiny one. I got there in time and there were no bite marks on it; I think it died of fear. I'm very sad.
Several years ago, Gonzo was attacked by a pit bull. I was so angry at the dog and the owner and what I perceived to be just senseless aggression. But I guess this is the same. I know that dogs, domesticated or not, are animals and that we choose to keep them despite their instincts. I know I am probably guilty of anthropomorphising the dogs in the extreme, but I just can't understand why they would do this. I mean, its not as if they are competing for a food source, or like cats ARE a food source to them. There's no perceived danger, so why attack (or terrify)?
Some time early this year, there was an interview with Tommy Lee Jones in the New Yorker in which he said something like, "I respect animals. I don't dress them in tutus and kiss them on the mouth." Um, I totally dress my pets in tutus and kiss them on the mouth. So I guess that's why it's hard for me to understand why they are not and can never be my small and furry children, and are instead animals, sometimes ruthless ones.
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