Your snowbanks are ever so high and as you can see, my legs are ever so short. The phrase for the season? Frozen balls.
The dumb one? Yeah, Shuggie?...he doesn't seem to mind your evil machinations. He's also got the benefit of being fat and furry whereas I am sleek, sveldt, built for speed and picking up sophisticated chicks at jazz clubs in Harlem.
In other words, I am not built for winter.
See what I mean? Look at this picture! He's packed with insulating fat! He's probably contemplating how he can lure me away from my bowl and eat all my food.
He does that.
And he sticks his entire head in the snow when we go outside. I just look at him and wonder how he is allowed to go outside without his helmet and ticket for the short bus.
He just doesn't get it.
When the owner takes us on our walk, he doesn't protest at all. He just barrels ahead with his empty head and his enormous stomach.
I, on the other hand, let my displeasure be known. I will walk one block and one block only and then I sit down.
This is the signal that the owner needs to call me a cab. I am through.
Winter? You will not defeat me. And I'll be damned if I'd be caught dead in those nerdy dog bootie things. I have my pride.
I am currently investigating whether or not Petco offers a taxi service.
A couple weeks ago I hooked up with a blog reader (Hi Jon!) for a donated little Christmas tree. At four feet tall, it is a perfect addition to our living room. I have another little tree coming from my holiday posse in Michigan (Hi Lu!) which will go in our dining room. Two small trees equals Christmas, right?
The little tree in the living room is covered with red and white lights which match our new paint job with an appallingly Martha Stewartesque charm. After the Great Purge, I saved about ten tree ornaments, all of which have something to do with the kids: Baby's First Christmas, handmade ornaments from preschool, et cetera. In other words, the little tree is a concentrated bolus of holiday cheer.
The concern with such a small tree and two very active dogs was of course, canine holiday annihilation.
Thing is? The dogs are supremely unconcerned.
Thing is? It has become a feline jungle gym.
I remember when I was a kid and we had a tall tree and one of our cats decided to climb it. It was at least possible to extract the cat from the branches with relatively little harm. In this instance though, the cat is fat and the tree is small.
It started with ornament hide and seek. The first few days of having the tree up resulted in finding ornaments in strange places, behind the sofa, under the table. I'd walk into the living room to find the knitted Santa that I made years ago lying splayed on the floor like a victim on "Christmas CSI".
The thing is, I'd never catch him at it. I would be upstairs and I'd hear ornaments being battered around but the second I came downstairs, he would vanish.
Cats are like Baptists. They raise hell but you can never catch them at it.
But yesterday morning was a little different. I came downstairs to discover the entire tree on its side with the ornaments all over the living room and the cat lying directly on the tree in an intoxicated state of misbehaving bliss.
He looked up at me and meowed happily. He was very proud of his achievement, why, he had even eaten a glittered pine cone that was probably fifteen years old! Delicious!
I figure it will at least make cleaning the litter box interesting in the next couple of days.
So, this is supposed to be the season of giving right? The season when we all embrace our fellow man/woman/pets and say "Yes, I know that I treat you like shit 345 days a year but hey, 'tis the season!"
Well somebody needs to sprinkle that fairy dust around this place because someone has failed to tell the pets.
The dogs are having a snit with each other, the cats are having a snit with each other and occasionally a dog/cat combination will have words. Thankfully, both dogs don't throw their weight around when it comes to the cats, they just look at them in puzzlement as the cats hiss and slap them across the face.
Perhaps it was the full moon last week?
I'm working with my "personal dog trainer" (Hey Amy, it makes BOTH of us sound posh!) on the Shuggie issue.
Problem: Dog has been a rat bastard.
More complete problem: Dog has become possessive of his food and will lash out at Kirby if Kirby gets too close while he is eating. While they romp and play rough, I can always tell that they are playing. This though? This is wild eyes and snapping teeth and growling.
Last night though, in the midst of their running around the house and playing, Kirby jumped on Shuggie's back and how shall I say it? "Assumed the position"?
Shuggie might be acting like a rat bastard but Kirby has always been the "cool jazz"dog that will quietly make his point.
I had a mental image of a hillbilly prison guard with a billy club, entering the cell of a non compliant inmate: "You wanna screw with muh food boyh? Let me tell you what we do with your kind around here..."
Yeah, I've got the house all spiffed up and pretty, just in time for it all to go prison gay.
And the cats? The scrawny cat whom we affectionately refer to as Gollum cannot enter a room without walking up to the fluffy fat cat and hissing and smacking him upside the head. Of course, that just makes the fluffy cat roll over on his stomach and give his best "But really? How can you hate something as ADORABLE as me????" Gollum also goes into high end hissy fit anytime she walks into any room and finds that she is not the only pet.
Can you guess which pet in this house used to be an only pet?
So, I started taking steps to alleviate the food issues this morning. I moved the dog bowls further apart and stayed in the kitchen to monitor the "mess hall" during breakfast. If needed, I will bring my sidearm and my kung fu moves.
And perhaps, just perhaps, a little of the testosterone was drained away last night for Kirby (unfortunately NOT the one who needs it most). As we went for our evening walk, we passed a neighbor's house who has a lit up animatronic reindeer. Kirby was extremely wary of it as we started to walk by, growling just a little bit, sticking right by my side...and then it moved.
The hardest thing was getting him to actually keep walking as he was having an absolutely hysterical shit fit and I was laughing so hard I almost peed my pants.
Shuggie just watched us and wondered to himself "And these are the idiots who are trying to steal my food????"
It was evident that there were issues within the first few hours of bringing Kirby home from the shelter, some sort of bronchial spasm I’m guessing.
I went directly from the shelter to Petco to outfit him with a new leash and a bowl and as we wandered the aisles, he started wheezing with a noise I can only equate to a constipated elephant trying to, how shall I put this delicately, clear the chute?
The leash from the shelter was basically the cheapest form of clothes line and I can’t begin to tell you the self esteem boost I got when I was walking around Petco with my wheezing dog on a white trash clothes line.
“Hey lady, I think you need a better leash,” was the verbatim sentence I got from three different customers.
I fought the urge to say “No shit Sherlock, I’ll bet you work for CSI Duluth.” I explained that we were fresh from the shelter and I was at Petco precisely for that purpose.
The thing is, he wasn’t really straining against the leash. He just started making the horrible constipated elephant sound as we were walking around. He didn’t stop in his tracks, he didn’t act distressed, he just kept on going. He was the elderly male neighbor that comes out onto his porch every morning with that hacking smokers cough that you desperately wish would JUST WEAR A SASH ON THAT HOUSECOAT! Either that, or realize that a ratty old housecoat over your naked withered body that is allowed to flap in the breeze is what is known as BEING A FLASHER.
Ahem.
In other words, he was seemingly oblivious.
I mentioned the elephantine condition to the vet when I took him in for his post-shelter visit and she looked him over and said that yes, perhaps he has some sort of respiratory spasms but since he looked healthy and sounded good, it probably wasn’t anything to worry about.
Since then, he has only had a couple incidences of the wheezing, both times when straining on his leash.
Until about 3 a.m this morning that is.
That’s when I was awoken by the elephantine ruckus directly in my right ear.
He usually sleeps next to me and I’m assuming that’s where he was all night but for some reason, he became discombobulated during the night. Perhaps he was sleeping with his head in an unusual position but after he calmed down and stopped wheezing, he started again when we went on our morning walk.
It didn’t last for more than a minute but I’m finding it troubling. Even if I could afford a vet visit, if he isn’t actively wheezing, what are they going to do? X-rays? Bronchoscope? Nebulizer treatment with a big cone shaped mask?
So far I’m just going with the good old treatment of calmly rubbing his throat and snuggling with him when it happens. I suppose I can run a hot steamy shower if it gets too prolonged and have him rest in the closed off bathroom.
I’m hoping that it’s just a passing thing but any other “natural” treatment ideas would be appreciated.
*Added Later: I just found out what it is! Thanks be to the interweb! It is called "reverse sneezing" but really is just a laryngospasm. It's more common in Corgis and Beagles and rubbing the throat is one of the cures!
Just because we had our new dining room table for less than 24 hours before the dogs gnawed on the base, that is no reason to pin them up by their ears.
I don't like to cry around my kids. As a matter of fact, I don't like to cry around adults either.
Crying is a normal activity, best done in privacy, with no witnesses and no regrets. Kind of like murder, only with fewer repercussions.
(Who am I kidding, all the murders I've committed have been VERY public.)
Needless to say, I've been trying to figure out if I get weepy when I'm alone because I am alone or is it my brain and heart finally deciding "Ha! You've been storing it up too long and here is a golden opportunity. The house is empty so let the waterworks commence!"
This might not be the healthiest approach. There is something to be said for the parent that can gently show their children that it is ok to feel emotions and that the world won't end if you have a good cry. It's like dusting your brain and cleaning out the cobwebs.
But when you hide it and then it comes out on rare occasions, it can FREAK THE CHILDREN OUT.
I know this from personal experience. When my aunt was going through her second round of cancer when I was in college, she remained her usual pillar of strength. I always considered myself lucky because I was the youngest and hadn't married and started a family. I was in college but I was still able to come home (and finally came home for good when she died...note my lack of college degree...). We talked about things very matter-of-factly. We were very open about life and death in a way that I'm not sure she was comfortable talking with her biological daughters. I remember many conversations when we both planned out our funerals.
Sounds kind of like a strange conversation between a 58 year old cancer patient and a 22 year old college student but it was actually quite liberating. She had cancer and I was depressed as hell, we were both ruminating on death. She was coming from a perspective of dealing with the inevitable, whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not. I was coming from the perspective of losing yet another pillar in my life. Once the heart of your young home loses its father, brother, and aunt/mother, the walls get a little shaky. We talked about death a lot.
She didn't cry. She went through a lot of awful things in her life and I didn't see her cry. During these last ten months, when I didn't think I could bear to wake up the next day, I thought of her. I thought of her staring off into the distance for a moment, lost in thought, and then shaking herself out of it and saying "Well, what are you going to do?" And then, she would go on.
But there finally did come a time, the only time, I saw her cry about her situation. She was being treated for one kind of cancer and she had come home from radiation and was sitting in her lazy boy chair and she started to tell me how she was feeling worse. She told me that she had tried to explain to the doctors that something else was wrong and they blew her off. They told her that the radiation had side effects and that she was just going to have to realize that.
I was stunned when she started weeping. She said that she knew something else was wrong and no one was listening to her.
I got on the phone with the clinic and I have no idea how, as a naive 22 year old, but I bullied and cajoled my way into speaking with the doctor. I refused to let them call me back and I refused to let them put me on hold. When I got to the doctor, I let him have it.
I told him "She has been through this before. She knows what radiation is. She knows the side effects. How dare you blow her off! She thinks something is wrong and you need to figure this out. Don't you understand??? She's crying!"
Had she told me that she thought she was being blown off with her usual "pillar of strength" attitude, I would have never freaked out. I don't know if the doctor fully understood my urgency in conveying the idea that she was openly shedding tears and we were not at anyone's funeral. That was the ONLY time she cried.
Within a very short time, she had an abdominal scan and come to find out, her cancer had spread. It was all down hill from there.
Those tears have left a lasting impression on me. That's why I cry privately. There is nothing more helpless than seeing your protector brought to her knees.
And so I cry when I'm alone. Well, kind of alone. In this house, with two cats and two dogs, am I ever REALLY alone?
My pets do not understand therapeutic keening. My pets are empaths. My pets can sense a disturbance in the force from three rooms away and within fifteen seconds, I will have two cats sitting on my chest and two dogs at my feet, looking most concerned.
It sounds ridiculous, but they really are bumming my stone. How can I step off that ledge when I have four furry characters to pull me back?
My daughter drew this and when I saw it on her site, I burst into tears. I'm sure, of all the things that she has created, this is probably the one drawing that you wouldn't think would make a person cry but it made me lose it. For all the hours of therapy, there are only four creatures on this earth that see me lose it on a somewhat frequent basis.
Here I am at Camp Harkness. You remember, the place that you left me while you went off to have fun? FUN WITHOUT ME????
I'm not sure if you read the brochure well enough before you decided on this establishment but I highly doubt they're up to current ACA standards. Maybe you got your "ACA's" confused?
This is the home of the footstools isn't it? Those footstools that came and stayed at my happy home while their mother abandoned them.
I don't like those bastard footstools mom. They eat my food when I'm not looking.
And no, it's not because I ate their food first, THAT'S IRRELEVANT. I'm a growing boy and I need nourishment! Footstools have no nutritional needs. They need to be stuffed with fiberfill and put in the corner.
But I have been busy here mom. This place is infested with gray fuzzy things that hiss at me from the top of the stairs.
They force me to stand guard right here. All day. All night. THE GRAY THINGS WILL NOT ESCAPE!!! I WILL NOT LET THEM!!!
Did the brochure mention the gray things? Really mom? Did you even ask????
I keep trying to let everyone know about the gray things. I make sure to bark at them, especially in the middle of the night. I'm on patrol mom, it's a very important job.
The lady here? She actually LIKES the gray things. She carries them down to the basement and then carries them back upstairs. Sometimes the gray things hiss at me and try to climb to the top of her head.
I think the gray things make a funny hat.
I also think the gray things would be delicious...perhaps served with some fava beans and a fine Chianti? I'm thinking they would taste like sunshine and cotton candy and unicorn farts.
That's why I'm standing guard mom. Unicorn farts. I want to know what they taste like.
And the lady really isn't any fun at all mom. Did the brochure say that they lady was supposed to be fun? Cuz if it did, the brochure lied.
Mom, you know how important exercising is for me to keep my svelte physique. Remember how the vet told you I needed more exercise? The lady actually YELLED at me mom! She yelled at me when I tried to run after the neighbor's dogs. All I wanted to do was play and so I ran after them and chased them down the sidewalk.
Was it my fault that she was too dumb to let go of the leash? After all, I'm twenty pounds heavier than she is, if she were actually smart, she'd just let me have my way but nooooooooo. She has to start yelling at me and when I turned around she was laying on the sidewalk.
Don't worry mom, I wasn't hurt.
But she kinda left a lot of skin on the pavement. And some blood. And maybe some clothes.
Don't worry, I'm sure her precious footstools and gray things will take care of her.
It doesn't matter how much I cajole, coerce, or herd Kirby into walking on the sidewalk, he insists on walking in the street.
Traffic or not.
Puppy Prozac anyone?
Perhaps, he's just a bit special. After all, he did bark in anger at a helicopter yesterday as it flew above our heads. I suppose I should be thankful that should I ever get attacked by a Black Hawk in Lakeside, he's got my back.
I probably wouldn't make a good Navy Seal. I just need to come to terms with that.
Whew! That is one big goal that I can eliminate from my list.
I am just not the queen of covert ops. I'm not even the princess of subtlety.
This morning I took the dogs for their a.m stroll at around 5:15. I am always conscious of being out way to early for some and I try my hardest to be verwy verwy qwiet. I put on my sneakiest of sneakers and I speak in a low dulcet tone to my pets that could get me a full time job with benefits on any call in sex chat line.
But...I live in canine-land. I live in the lost paradise where per capita, there are 5,000 dogs to every human. This means that all I have to do is walk silently past a house with my corgis in stealth mode and every single dog starts to bark.
There are big dogs wolfing, there are little dogs yipping, and I'm sure there are medium sized dogs doing whatever medium sized dogs do. There are owners falling out of bed swearing, there are little old ladies hushing their dogs in little old lady stern voices, and there is even an occasional cat yowl with accompanying shooting flames from the windows and random lighting strikes.
I'd like to introduce myself. I am your morning wake up call.
Like all other sane pet owners, I often find myself orally writing my pet bios for their e-harmony pages. Hey, it keeps me out of the bars.
"My name is Kirby. 'Kirby Student Center' when I find myself in trouble with 'the powers that be'. While not outwardly professing my beliefs among the family that I am currently associating with, I do see my role as one of infiltration and information gathering. I was far happier with the governmental structure BEFORE the last election IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.
I am fully able to support myself on the stipend of dog treats sent from the Cheney bunker twice a week and really, since the downfall of the last (great I might include here) administration, in all reality, my covert operations are done.
And yet, I persist. My accommodations are reasonably comfortable, the physical affection adequate, the walks frequent. I must also admit to a fascination with 'the other side'. These self professed granola crunching hippies and their many friends with, shall we say, less than desirable personal habits in the eyes of Jesus (same sex marriage for people who have been partnered for decades would ROCK the very foundations of what it means to be a heterosexual married person in this WORLD) never cease to amaze me.
While outwardly appearing to be happily partnered and raising, (yes, even I must admit this), while raising beautiful kids, IT IS NOT RIGHT BY JESUS.
As all right thinking people will agree, Jesus must be our personal savior and those who do not abide by this principal obviously do not remember what this country was founded upon.
The absolute unquestioning authority of the church to guide every last minutia of our lives.
Why, that's why our founding father's left England. To escape the intrusive nature of the church.
Why do these birkie wearing hippies NOT GET IT!
Anyway, I am interested in meeting young available lady Corgis who share my views, will stay in the dog house where they belong, and will work hard on getting my 25 prints of Sarah Palin framed and hung.
Unfortunately, do to the dangerous nature of my undercover work here, I was forced to sacrifice my balls. Yes, the hippies cut off my balls. A perfect metaphor for the present administration.
Unfortunately, we will not be able to pro-create. This means, we must redouble our efforts at converting the unwashed masses.
My name is Shigure, commonly called "Shuggie". I like bananas. I like ice cubes. I like things that sparkle.
Whenever I feel I'm a little too obsessed with my dogs, it's nice to see people who put me to shame. I have one refrigerator magnet and a Corgi calendar. If I ever get a Corgi throw pillow, please shake me.
You know those females that you look at from afar and wonder how they have gotten to this point in their lives without having someone grab them by the scruff of the neck and shake the shit out of them?
The kind that are so self absorbed that the very earth that they walk on does not exist when they are not present?
Nations rise and fall, humans are born and slaughtered, man's indifference to man plays out on the stage of the world but DAMNIT! If they can't find the exact a) shade of lipstick b) shoes c) purse or d) catnip mouse, everything else is MOOT!
Yes, I did say catnip mouse.
Do you think I'm talking about a human female? No. I'm talking about my female cat who I sarcastically refer to as "Golem".
She's been here the longest among the pets in the house. Twelve years ago she and her brother came to live with us. Her brother is no longer here and for a few glorious years, she was the queen of the castle. She was pleasant and amusing at times.
Then came one dog.
Then came another dog.
Then came the ambiguously gay boy cat (who I should totally bring to an event at Pride this weekend. He would be hailed as a god).
With each successive animal, she has gotten crabbier and crabbier. She hates you. She hates you because you breathe oxygen. She hates you because you refuse to acknowledge that at one time, SHE WAS THE QUEEN AROUND HERE.
She's like Betty Davis on a bender.
Except, that is, when she decides that she will grace you with her presence. This means that whatever you are doing, DROP IT NOw BECAUSE ROYALTY IS IN THE ROOM!
You are not allowed to sit at the computer without her at your feet, constantly trying to get onto your lap and then into your face and onto your keyboard. It doesn't matter how many times you brush her aside, she just keeps trying. It gives me flashbacks to "dating" in middle school.
Early morning? Middle of the night? Any exposed part of the body that was foolishly left out above the covers will be licked, bit, and cajoled into an ear scratch. MUSTN'T KEEP HER MAJESTY WAITING!
And god help the poor human who is enduring this demand for attention if one of the lesser pets happen to jump onto the bed during this occurrence, for example, a Corgi perhaps. The queen will flip tits if she is gnawing on the top of the human's head, demanding reverence, and suddenly a dog appears practically on top of her. On top of the human's head as well.
That's when the proverbial cat fight begins. It's Betty Davis and Joan Crawford all rolled into one, screaming and hissing while they slap the crap out of the poor retarded child that just happened to stumble into this scenario.
All on top of my head.
I will never...never...need to rely upon an alarm clock.
In the event of a loss of cabin pressure, a bag of cotton candy will descend from the ceiling. Place it on your face and inhale.
While doing nothing for the loss of cabin pressure, it will allow you to dream of unicorns, rainbows, and fairy princesses before kissing your sweet ass good bye.
If you feel that you are not receiving the proper customer service on our airlines, please dial 1-800-Fly-Delta to register your complaint.
No, this isn't our phone number...do you really think we'd be dumb enough to give you that? You are free to use our in flight banana phones. They come equipped with multi-lines and plenty of potassium.
We are back in Duluth. The proverbial eagle has landed.
These handsome gentleman met me at the airport, along with their dog watching goddess who is counting on that jumbo martini, jumbo margarita, and twenty seven six packs I promised her.
Yeah, a certain thing happened while we were gone. The cats seemed to run out of food and water and apparently decided to take it out on my knitting. Ever see a half eaten sweater? Chewed up knitting needles? A destroyed skein of sock yarn? Well, I could have taken a photo of it all but that would have been evidence that I had to look at in the future. I decided to clean up the mess, feed the cats, and pretend that it never happened.
Then one of the cats took a poop in the hallway AFTER we got home.
ALRIGHT ALREADY! Four bowls of food and three bowls of water were not enough!
Why couldn't you be like your cousin Missy in Michigan? All sorta stuffed and acting like a doorstop...I saw no poopage going on with her!
All I know is that I will pretend that it never happened. I will not be forced to call and ask to borrow my brother's cool toys.
(The voices in my head have told me that paranoia is overrated.)
Living with two herding dogs can be a paranoia inducing experience. Especially when they see you as their alpha-mom (a.k.a shepherd, a.k.a ringleader, a.k.a bringer of food, water and ear scratches).
Gotta go to the bathroom? As any mother of any toddler will tell you, 'alone time' means being watched intently in the most personal moments of your day. You are a member of the herd. You will be corralled. You just might escape their grasp while ascending the stairs so it is imperative that they form a semi circle around you as your escort. They will shield you from the paparazzi.
Sitting comfortably? Good! Now your captors will form a semi circle around the toilet and sit politely, tilting their heads to one side, waiting for you to utter words of wisdom.
Ba-Ram-U Ba-Ram-U
Yeah, I tried it. It didn't work.
What? Time to get dressed? Your posse will be sure to see that you find your way to the closet but no matter how many time you ask, their fashion advice is not forthcoming. (Which is why I look like I threw my clothes on with a pitch fork. If I had smart dogs, I would no doubt be a fashion model. Unfortunately, I'd probably get a gig on an Alpo label.)
Time for coffee? Why, just let them escort you to the coffeemaker! They have witnessed it a million times but it never fails to amaze them. When you turn back to face them, cup in hand, be sure to take a bow. Congratulations! You're addicted to caffeine!
This will definitely be the most appreciative audience you will ever have.
But there always will be a spoiled sport. There will always be that jerk out there that has to ruin it all.
And here he comes. A fat ball of gray fluff on four legs. He is the bum to your stone.
He marches up to one of your audience members and smacks him flush across the nose and then turns tail and is gone in a flash.
It takes about .05849 seconds for both dogs to look at you then look at each other and look back at you one last time.
And then they're off.
You are history. It's been real but there are other other animals to be herded. Other mammals that are far more interesting.
We're heading down to the cities after work today.
My daughter's flight goes out at 7 am tomorrow morning.
Her new school starts Monday.
I find myself stopped dead in my tracks every hour or so on the verge of tears. Then I'll remember something funny she said or did and it will make me smile and then I'll want to cry even more.
I'm bi-polar bear. Set up your cameras and make your nature film. Be sure to document my home dissolving before your eyes.
Having my head in the clouds has been rather inconvenient as it was only a couple days ago that I realized that I hadn't made any plans for the dogs. We're staying with relatives tonight and friends tomorrow night (not saying that my relatives aren't my friends but I'm guessing that my friends are glad they're not my relatives...). Thankfully, they can stay with the same AMAZINGLY SUPER AWESOME PERSON that they will stay with when we are on vacation. (I can butter you up some more Jess, just give the word). She is still ok with it even after reading that Shuggie has been splatter painting with his butt. She is either a very good friend or her problems with illiteracy have finally been found out.
By the way, the carpet is gone. It is in shreds in the garage. Their new food has been switched back to their old food in the interest of global peace, harmony, and hygiene.
So I'm hoping that I won't see my daughter off and then, two minutes later get a text message from my friend that says "Pick up carpet cleaner and drive it back to Duluth...NOW!"
One of the first things I did after life hit the fan was to get new sheets for the bed. It sounded like a ridiculous expenditure at the time but I needed a clean slate at the very basic level of life.
But yesterday I went out with a friend to garage sales, something I hadn't done all summer since I am in the purging mood.
But I did forget about my garage sale karma. If I have no other true super power, I can make items appear at garage sales with the sheer force of my mind.
After getting our phone number changed, I realized I didn't pay for messaging services. When Qwest "followed up" with me on my new service and tried to get me to buy more, the saleswoman tried to strong arm me into getting messaging for "only $7.00 a month!"
Uhhh, no. That translates into $84 every year. Can we ask how much an answering machine costs?
How about $1.00 at a garage sale? It works like a charm.
Then we went to another sale where I found a business type outfit suitable for interviewing or that career in life insurance sales for $5.00.
Next up? A new Nautica comforter for $15.00
At that point, I had tapped my mad money but then we found a feather mattress cover and a set of Woolrich bedding. My friend gave me an early birthday present and I took it all home to set up my new nest.
After moving the bed and purging crap from the bedroom, my new nest is ready.
Life has really sucked for quite a few of my friends lately. I spent my morning walking the dogs and thinking about them, all the while paying close attention to Kirby, the wonder dog.
Kirby doesn't like cars unless he's in the passenger seat on the way to the bank where he can get a dog treat.
Kirby doesn't like motorcycles.
Kirby doesn't like traffic cones.
Kirby doesn't like flashing construction lights on barricades.
Every single day, twice a day, Kirby seeks out all of these things to pee on. (I don't let him actually pee on the motorcycles or cars but he sure tries. He'll strain to the end of his leash and then pee as close to them as possible.)
I like to think that he is reiterating his values. This is his mantra.
"I do not like this and I will not put up with it. My opinions will be registered and then, with all the smoothness of cool jazz, I will go on."
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