Tag Archives: dog

Dear Diary, It’s A Lovely day In The Neighborhood

Standard
This is why I can't pay my bills.

This is why I can’t pay my bills.

Except that it is 11 degrees, the snow has melted to reveal the massive amounts of dog poop on my front walk and I jammed my ring finger toe on the step stool in the bathroom. Let’s begin with the 11 degrees thing…

It’s March. It’s the end of March. This should be sweatshirt weather. Instead, we are still hunting for hats and mittens. One of the perks of living where I live is the changing seasons. So, when winter decides to not leave when it is supposed to we feel jipped. Or maybe righteously pissed off is a better phrase. But it has been sunny! Which has helped all the snow to melt. Which means the dog poop is all exposed.

See, it has been so cold that my kid has been just opening the front door and letting the dog do his thing while she stands inside. So, “his things” are all over my front walk. This was a non issue when we had snow covering it up. I have to wonder about the food I feed this dog. I feed him the higher end stuff that supposedly has no chemicals or fillers… then why the hell doesn’t his poop disintegrate? If the sun is strong enough to melt the snow and ice, I have to conclude that it should be warm enough to melt the poop.

The mail lady left a note in my box that I had to go to the post office to get the mail because the front walk wasn’t shoveled. I think that is just a nice way of telling me she doesn’t want to walk through the mine field of  dog turds. I don’t blame her. I also am not going to the post office to get my mail because, why bother? I’m not going to make an effort to go collect bills and collection agency notices and bounced check alerts. It’s just depressing.

So, let’s look at this in the positive. It’s March and 11 degrees which means I don’t have to look at my fat arms in a tank top for at least another two months and the dog poop has successfully kept all of my bills at bay! Really, what do I have to complain about? Nothing!

Except my toe. How does it happen that you see the step stool, you are walking in what you deem (at 41 years of age, having at least 40 years of walking experience) a reasonable distance from the step stool and yet you pick up your foot, sort of lift it up behind you and then SLAM it into the stool you are looking RIGHT AT. How does that happen? Of course it is the most pain I have ever experience in my life including child birth and the canker sore.

Now I am not one of those high drama people like my bff who sounds like she just discovered a dead body when she stubs her toe. No, I am more of an immediately violent person. I want to smack someone and I spill swear words that even I have never heard before. Then I walk it off, laughing because I don’t want to cry. What the hell is that about? It’s like biting my tongue. I have had the same tongue in the same place for 41 years. How the hell can I accidentally bite it. And bite it so hard it bleeds. Or missing the last step of the staircase in the house where you have lived for 8 years. Same amount of stairs, nothing has moved and at least once a month I just forget that there is that last step and give myself a minor heart attack.

All in all, I suppose it’s not a horrible day. Then again, it’s only mid-afternoon.

Sometimes I get water up my nose in the shower through my eye. That is never as fun as it sounds like it would be.

This is what the first day of spring looked like here. It looks like bullshit to me.

This is what the first day of spring looked like here. It looks like bullshit to me.

Advertisements

Dear Diary, Will It Ever End?

Standard
This was yesterday. it was  50 degrees. Today it is a Snownado named Vulcan. Way to be an asshole March.

This was yesterday. it was 50 degrees. Today it is a  Snownado named Vulcan. Way to be an asshole March.

The weathermen have been hyping a massive winter storm for the past week. Today is the day. It’s here. Massive. Winter. Storm. Or is it? I guess the only difference between the winters of my youth and the winters of my children’s youth is technology. Weathermen in my day had integrity and honesty and no live doppler. Today, these weathermen have degrees in nonsense and information that really turns them on. Then they get on the TV with their weather boners and get us all hot and bothered about impending snow storms that they name. Yeah, you heard right. They have started naming winter storms. This one is Vulcan. Real sexy name. Vulcan.Whatever. It’s snowing. The roads are bad.

So, the kids had school but got out early. That’s cool. Absolutely everything is closed. Including grocery stores, malls, churches gas stations and highways. I want to bitch about the weather but why bother. I want to move to New Orleans. I want my dog to be trained. I also want some dental floss but that’s neither here nor there.

I didn’t have work so I made dinner. I washed the dog. I played some games with the kids. We are out of butter and toilet paper. How this happened I have no idea.

I think I am going to start taking offense at people calling other people crazy.

I wonder when I stopped being afraid of the dark.

Just what the hell kind of pair is that????

Just what the hell kind of pair is that????

Dear Diary, It’s Groundhog’s Day

Standard
I call this "Mennonite and Cow" Because it is a Mennonite and a cow...

I call this “Mennonite and Cow” Because it is a Mennonite and a cow…

Six more weeks of winter!! I guess some people were disappointed with this news. Here’s what I think : now we have a timeline! We have an end date!!! Why would that be a bad thing? But other people are weird. I mean, they get all cranky when we “spring ahead” because they think we have “lost an hour”. The way I think of it as we absorb the hour into our bodies. When we “fall back” we lose that hour that we had absorbed and that is when we actually feel tired and cranky…which, if you happen to notice, seems to last all winter until we “spring ahead” and re-absorb that hour. Our bodies know. I also thought the rhyme was “red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in the morning sailor’s be wary” which doesn’t rhyme but I figured that was because it was translated from some ancient Sanskrit or something.

This morning I woke up to the sound of the dog puking in his crate. I have learned over the years to not make a judgement on how my day (week/year/life) is going to unfold based on how it starts. I don’t do well with bad smells in the morning. So, I also puked in the dog’s crate. He’s just lucky that he was already out when I tossed my cookies. See? Good day for the dog!

I got dressed. Went to church. I am currently in the middle of a crisis of faith. It’s ok. I have been here before. But, we had a guest pastor and we found out our organist is leaving for the Presbyterian church. I can’t lie, it made me feel a bit worse about myself than I was already feeling after cleaning up two piles of vomit before 8am.

The kids and I came home, did all the laundry, made chicken wing dip, watched The Puppy Bowl, became aware that the dog must have left over puke somewhere on his head because he stinks and then left for the annual Super Bowl party friends of ours throw. It is so much fun because none of us are die hard football fans. But the guys know enough that it keeps it all interesting. I used to dread Super Bowl Sunday. I hated football, it would inevitably  lead to an argument about me being just wrong about everything that I have ever said. So, going to a really fun party, with funny people and ofcourse chicken wing dip, well, it’s as close to sports heaven as I am ever going to get!

We left, came home, put the kids to bed, told the dog he is getting a bath tomorrow and decided to document this day. I am telling you guys, if I was one of those people who took everything as a sign, I would never get out of bed. If I chose to just accept the way everyone else interprets things, I would be so depressed. Puking in a dog crate? I’ve puked in worse places. Six more weeks of winter? That brings us to the middle of March which is when winter around here usually ends anyway so…

Richard Sherman really does look like Doug E. Doug.

Sometimes I really wonder about me.

I call this one "cows" Sticking with a theme tonight.

I call this one “cows” Sticking with a theme tonight.

Spencer Learns Sign Language

Standard

HUH??? WHAT???? Speak up why don'tcha????

Well, it finally happened. Spencer has gone deaf. I was convinced he was simply ignoring me but it turns out he can’t hear me screaming at him to get out of the garbage. I don’t suppose he went deaf on purpose to piss me off, although it does sound like something he would do. Like getting Coon Hound’s Disease and having accidents right where I would step in them. That’s the kind of relationship we have had over the years.

We went to the vet the other day for a check up and shots. I took Spence, Em and Eddie as Eddie really believes he is a dog. Spencer went first because he is the man of the house. Or because I know he was going to start retaliating for having a thermometer up his butt by farting and it was a very small exam room. Poor Spencer was acting like a scared little kid. He tried to crawl into my lap and hide behind my daughter’s legs. He even tried to get in the cat carrier with Eddie! He didn’t get angry at the vet but he was so scared! He buried his head in my lap when it was time for his shots.

He has all the signs and symptoms of old age. The arthritis, the milky eyes, the balding issues and now the deafness. If the government would get its act together I would apply for medicare for him and see about some hearing aids and a walker. I guess the war is more important than my elderly dog.

I do have to laugh at myself when he is getting into things he shouldn’t be and I am still yelling at the top of my lungs…he’s not forien…he’s deaf!!! I have been working with him on some sign language and he seems to really be catching on. When he could hear he would always ignore my “Look” or my “Tone” and continue on with whatever he was doing. Now, I watch him getting into the garbage and I see him looking around furtively to see if I am watching what he is doing. And when he sees me, he keeps going on the garbage while keeping his eye on me. As soon as I start advancing towards him he starts backing up with garbage in his mouth as he is kicking more garbage into the livingroom hoping beyond hope that I didn’t notice his fancy foot work. I lift my hand and make a swating gesture and he leaves the scene.

When it’s time to go out, I show him the leash and he tries to get up. I have to help him up 9 times out of 10. When it’s time to go inside I point to the door. When it’s time to eat I wave him towards the food bowls. Honestly, we are communicating better now than we ever did before.

It’s sad when I think of how agile he used to be. He was always jumping on people and chasing Cecelia and humping Emma or just humping the air…and now, he can’t hear. But his quality of life is still pretty good. He gets massages from the 8 year old and he gets his butt wiped by the 12 year old and he gets lifted in and out of the car by me and the 16 year old. He still pretends to play with Lucy the pit bull mutt who lives next door and every  once in a while he will look up and see Emma barking out the door and join her. He’s old but he’s still good lookin! He’s deaf but he is still communicating! He can’t hear me yelling my face off for him to GIT but he still attempts his naughty stunts.

He is resigned to the fact that he can no longer hear. He can no longer sing along with the fire sirens. He can no longer scare the pants off the old lady with the toy poodle with his fierce bark. But he has mastered the pathetic dog face and is, as I write, getting love from complete strangers walking down the sidewalk cause he escaped through the screen door……WHAT!!!!!! Gotta GO!!!!! SPENCER!!!!!!!!