Paws for Reflection

Just Another Day of Dog Hair and Slobber...

Total low-key day.  Non-productive to the max.  I'm still not feeling very well, and the pups slept most of the day out in the sunshine. 

Except for when Dora pounced full body weight on my inner thigh to bark at the kids at the bus stop this morning, almost causing me permanent damage with her weight and her sharp nails. 

And except for when Dora then ran outside to run along the fence and bark maniacally at the bus as it drove away, getting her paws full of red clay mud, since she's worn a path along the fence in the last few weeks and we've had three days of rain... (I will eventually plant raspberry or pricker bushes along this path to discourage this... my boy Gabe had the same trailblazing habits...)

Oh! And except for when Dora came back in the house with her muddy paws and jumped on my white bedspread, then came in the bathroom to gaze at me in the shower, leaving orange pawprints all over my white bathmat. 

Other than that, she just chilled out the whole day, and got some good ear rubbing from her Uncle Todd.

A liiiiiitttttllllle to the left, please....

Scritch Scritch Scratch Scratch Under the Chin... Go Under the Chin...

Of course, Uncle Todd eventually got tired of rubbing, and Dora never gets tired of being rubbed... so she tried her wiles on me...

"Please, Mom, scratch me for hours and hours and hours, until it's time to play?"

I'm pretty she regretted this immediately, since her pawing me only brought to my attention that she needed her nails cut, and I am now convinced that this activity pretty much lives permanently on Dora's list of things that she DOES NOT like to do.  She fled, yanked her paws back, and put her ears FLAT back on her head.  We finally reached an agreement where Uncle Todd would hold her in his lap, and she would hide her head in his neck until I was done, and she would only try to yank her paws away 100 times per paw. 

But, like all things terrible, it was over fairly quickly, and once she was released from the torment, she was ebullient, prancing about on her newly shorn nails and ready to go running in the mud.

Homer, of course, was an angel most of the day.  He laid around on the couch, hung around the yard, and sprawled out in the dining room, per the normal routine.

I will give him credit though, we did take a ride to the shake place to get shakes

  and he perked right up for that.

He almost bit me on the way back, though, which I'm not really pleased with - I think I surprised him, and I've noticed that he doesn't startle easily, but he does NOT startle well.  If you surprise him out of a deep sleep, or he doesn't hear/see you coming, he tends to get a bit mouthy and strike.  Granted, he's no ninja, so his Striking Cobra is more like Toothless Grass Snake, but it still gives you a moment's pause.  Hopefully he'll grow out of that as he gets more used to being a house pup and not a ferocious woodland hunter. 

Typical Sunday Stuff

Sundays have historically been family days in my clan.  We get up, we eat a big breakfast together, and then we putter, or craft, or shop, or argue, or watch movies, or whatever, en masse.   It's usually a pretty good time.

Mom made deeeelicious blueberry pancakes, and we had our standard bacon and fruit. (Everything my nephew eats has bacon, fruit, and ketchup with it.  Together with cheese and chocolate milk, these are the Lou food groups.)  Dora tried telekinesis on the bacon plate, and when that didn't work she tried the Vulcan Mind Meld previously practiced by her little brother, with limited success.  I actually ended up giving her a piece of bacon as an incentive to blink - she stared so long and so hard at the plate I thought her eyeballs would be stuck there!

Today was actually astonishingly productive, though I felt like crap the whole day.  Mom and I (mostly Mom, since I don't sew) worked on the curtains for the TV Room.  We needed to replace the IKEA shades in there, since they let in too much light to use the projector, but rather than waste them, we decided just to get a really dark fabric and "repurpose" them.  They turned out pretty nicely, actually.  I'm going to post that whole process with pics over at my Vox blog, probably tomorrow. (http://used2bgood.vox.com - another astonishingly original name - can you sense a trend?)

We has fun today - even Homer hung around indoors, and spent time socializing with the family.  The only dark spot to the day was Dora's butt - she REALLY reeked today, and it's getting bad.  It doesn't seem to matter whether she gets people food or not, but we are thinking it might be the Nature's Recipe food she eats.  I'm going to call the vet this week and see what he thinks, and then maybe we'll try changing her food.  (Either that, or we might try corking her butt, but I'm afraid she'll explode.)

Lou, the bravest boy in the whole world, actually identified the culprit, WITH HIS NOSE.  He went right up to Dora, smelled her butt, and then pointed out to everyone (everyone being hysterically laughing) that the "really gross smell" was coming from Dora.

So, the smells that have been making us gag, that have led us to turn on all the fans, and the reason that all the windows in the house are wide open, even though it is pouring rain outside, are coming from here:

Even Homer was astonished, and this is a dog who can sleep, outside, in the rain he's so chill.

Dodge the line of fire, little brother, duck and cover. 

Speaking of the HoJo, he is doing very well.  I don't like the way his leg is healing, and I am going to give his surgeon a call this week and see if I can move his checkup closer to now.  However, on a home front, he is getting better and better every day.  He wags his tail pretty much constantly, which I love, although he still tucks and wags - his tail is not flying high and proud like Miss Dora, but rather he keeps it low and just swishes from side to side.  Maybe one day he'll be sparkly enough to keep it up in the air, but for right now I'm glad that he's got something to wag about.  It's a definite step up from where he was. 

He's such an angel, mostly quiet (except for the 2.30 am howling frenzies) and pretty polite, and he sleeps quite a lot.  He has fallen in love with the couch in the TV room, which is undoubtedly the most uncomfortable piece of furniture in the house, but there's no accounting for taste.  Every time I see him sleeping, I just want to run up and give him big kisses on his nose, and rub his ears.  I never would have imagined adding a hound mix to the family, but he's such a sweet pea that I'm glad every day we decided to take a chance on him, unknown background, health problems, mystery and all.

BUT.... even the sweetest dogs have a dark side.  I inadvertently triggered Homer's tonight - we had pot roast for dinner, with a side dish of some sweet potato casserole thing that Mom got at Costco.  The roast was gorgeous, but the sweet potatoes were FOUL, and I LOVE sweet potatoes.  (Dora, of course, thought the sweet potatoes were delicious.  Given the places she puts her tongue, they probably were to her.)  So, I cut up some roast for the pups (yes, I feed the dogs $12/lb roast sometimes.)  and fed it to them - Homer is very delicate when he eats, and will take meat right off the fork.  Dora regards the fork as an Instrument of Evil, and will contort herself like a balloon animal trying to eat whatever is on the fork without actually touching the tines.  Dora will also eat indiscriminately, and she often puts more emphasis on speed than on sight, to the point where she will sometimes consume things, only to find 30 seconds later that she does not like whatever it is that she just ate. 

Homer had a Dora moment tonight, when I was feeding him roast, and gulped the fork without noticing that I had switched to the sweet potatoes, which brought his dark side out.

Homer Jess DOES NOT LIKE sweet potatoes.

Duly noted. 

Dora, on the other hand, is getting less picky, not more.  My brother nicknamed her "The Maw" today, which is strangely appropriate.  If she's not opening her mouth to bark like a lunatic, she's either got it wrapped around a Wubba or is reaching for something to eat. Sometimes I'm surprised I even know what her eyeballs look like.

Having said that, it still surprises me to no end that between Homer and Dora, at least 50% of their dry kibble ends up on the floor.  My family room is a hazard course of land mines, and walking across it in bare feet (no matter how many times a day you sweep) is asking to find a kernel with the most sensitive part of your foot, hop on one foot, grab your injured one, come down on another kernel, fall back over the couch, and almost brain yourself on the corner of the coffee table.  Or something like that.  There has got to be a solution to teach these guys to "say it, not spray it" when they eat, but they're too busy chewing with their mouths open to offer any suggestions.  Maybe I'll send them to Kindergarten with Lou, and they can learn manners with all of the other toddlers. 

Speaking of Lou - he is just the cat's meow.  Cutest kid EVER, and smart as a whip.  He put on his Dad's shoes today to see what it felt like to be a grownup...

...and then spent a good portion of the afternoon learning.  One of my clients, the National Science Resources Center, gave me some of their publications to bring home for Lou, and although I thought that they would be too advanced for him, he LOVES them!  My friend Dave also got some for his daughters, who are also enthralled.  These things are great, and the best kept secret!  I am going to go online and order the rest of the series, and if any of you have elementary or middle school aged children, I highly recommend these.  (They can be purchased here: http://nsrconline.org/curriculum_resources/science_readers.html)

So he and Todd spent the afternoon learning about amphibians, crustaceans, caecilians, and how hermit crabs will often swap shells with other hermit crabs, like playing musical apartments.

I am a bit impressed (OK, a lot impressed) by these books - they're simple enough and direct enough to hold the attention of kids, but both Todd and I continued reading after Lou went back home to his mother's house, and I actually learned some cool things about peanut farming and soil nitrogen content. 

I NEED A BIGGER BRAIN!! Although right at the moment, the only thing that seems to be getting bigger are my hips, one blueberry pancake at a time.

Autumn is Here to Stay...

Today is BLAH.  Grey, rainy, cold, windy.  I got up super early, intending to be productive, looked out the window, and said "Fuggettaboutit."  I made coffee, grabbed a book to read, moved Dora back on her side of the bed, and curled up.  I figured I would get some stuff done today, but so far - no dice.  I have not even managed to educate Dora on proper bed-sharing etiquette.  Every time I got up today, whether it be for 30 seconds to go pee or for an hour or two to putter around the house, this is what I came back to:

Given the current size of my own rear end - there is no way that both of us are fitting on that bed.  Especially since I had a chocolate covered donut for breakfast.  OK, two donuts.  But I shared the second one with Dora and Homer, so it doesn't really count. 

I have to hand it to her, though, she is an EXCELLENT heat source.  My toes have never been so toasty warm.  Even with toasty toes, I am grateful that the Homeskillet can't get up on the bed - if I had to fight both of them for space, I'm pretty sure I'd give up and go buy a sleeping bag for the floor. 

So, nothing really to report today.  The pups were chill - neither of them really cares much for the rain, so the only backyard outings were for pee breaks - and Lou played with his Dad all day, working hard at being the cutest 5 year old in the entire universe.  I am sending him a virtual high five right now, since he never took his pajamas off the entire day - so young to have learned the secrets of rainy day protocol, and yet so wise...

Dora and I took a short ride down to the firehouse to give away some Martina McBride tickets, and she had a good time slobbering all down my shoulder and sticking her head out the window.  She loves to go down to visit the firehouse, since EVERYONE there loves to rub on her and scratch her ears.  She goes from person to person to person, shamelessly eating up all the attention.  It was a nice ride, the wind a bit brisk, the sun just starting to set, and it's a long, straight road - so it's PERFECT for riding.  A little Dolly Parton "Jolene" on the iPod, the windows and the moonroof open (it stopped raining for the 40 minutes I was out - fabulous!!) and the sky looking like this:

It really was a perfect night to ride, and Dora thought so too - she sat in the back with her nose out the window and her eyes closed - just chillin'.

We really are blessed - family, friends, a roof over our heads and food on the table - warmth in the cold, shelter from the rain, and gas in the tank to have a perfect ride on an almost empty road during the few moments today free of rain.  Really, does it get better than this?

 

This Dog is DAMN LUCKY.

So let me start out with some background: I have been a Dane owner for over a decade.  At one time, I had three Danes simultaneously, and as any Giant breed dog owner knows, the bigger the dog, the more likely you are to occasionally look like you have been mugged.  I have come to terms with the fact that I will always, as long as I am a dog owner, have bruises of unknown origin, scratches that don't come from cats, and the potential for long term and grievous injury lurking around every corner.

Long ago, (OK - only about 8 years, but it seems like a long time ago) I had a boy Dane named Gabe, who was the sweetest dog EVER but very, very special.  Padded room and rounded corners special, to the point where his nickname was "Short Bus Dog".  Gabey was my honey, and sweet as pie, but he had some sort of adrenal malfunction, so he was always running around at 130mph, and he was a bit of a spaz mentally as well.  (Yes, before you ask, I AM a magnet for this type of dog.)  Well, my boy was a snuggler, and constantly wanted to be in my lap - not that I minded, but having a 135lb dog constantly want to occupy the space immediately in front of your face takes a bit of getting used to.  Long story short, my poor colleagues at work had a very rough time of Gabe's first few months, not because he had any interaction with them, but because they were convinced that I was being abused by my then-husband, and were constantly urging me to call social services.  Bruises here, bruises there, scratches and injuries that I always had a "UH, I have no idea where that came from," or a "No, seriously, I tripped over the dog and fell into a door" type reason coming out of my mouth.  I think the last straw was when I leaned over at the same time that Gabe flung his head back, and he nailed me with his head - right between the eyes.  Two. Black. Eyes. Two. At the same time.  I went to work, and was in HR within moments.  NO, REALLY, I have a dog.  I love that they were so concerned, and I am absolutely not making light of spousal abuse, but it was almost comical the lengths I had to go to to convince people that my injuries were from a four legged dog, and not the two-legged one that I lived with.

So, I tell you all that to tell you this: Dora is trying to kill me.  In the last 24 hours, I have narrowly avoided grievous injury not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES with this pup, and I will be lucky if I remain unbroken going forward. 

Dora has this lovely habit of pawing you if she wants your attention, which is kind of cute (you pet her or scratch her ears, and as soon as you stop, up comes the paw, "Please Mom, just a little more.  Please.") EXCEPT FOR ONE THING.  Dora, having cut all of her Human Anatomy and Physiology classes to go hang out where the food is, cannot differentiate between the human arm (=ok, and even cute, to paw) and the human FACE (=NOT ok, or remotely cute, to paw).  I woke up this morning to a paw to the face, which I can tell you from recent and Technicolor experience is not nearly as amusing as it sounds, although it is an excellent way to wake up in less than 2.4 seconds. 

Ok, so I'm up.  I still have two functioning eyeballs, and only a giant red streak down my face, which will probably go away without me having to learn the score to the Phantom of the Opera.  No worries.  I make breakfast, get some work done, firm up plans for the weekend and set up next week's appointments, and start getting ready to go to a going away party in DC.  Dora is watching all of this from the couch, which is now Homer HQ, and no longer set aside for Human Use.  I don't know why I think this is unbearably cute, but Dammit Dora has this habit of watching me over the back of the couch, where all I can see is the very top of her head. 

Cuteness.  Personified.  Really.

I have NO IDEA what the hell possessed me to lean over and try and kiss her nose, but I will tell you that I have a spectacular fat lip to show for the attempt.  I lean over, she looks up, and the very hard bone in her head that I often blame for the majority of her behavior met the very soft skin that makes up my lip - and her head came out the winner.  It hurt like a muuuug, and I was pathetically grateful in those first few moments that I would not have to waste my Christmas wish on two new front teeth.   

That's two. 

So I look spectac-u-fantabulous tonight at the party (like Angelina Jolie, except only her lips, and then only on one side, but the resemblance was THERE), and then I come home.  I journey home, through the pouring rain, through the perilous night, and I get in the door to be greeted by my joyous pups.  I lean down to take off my shoes, and Dora turns around and NAILS me in the face - with her tail.  Twice, since she's wagging it.  At this point, I am seriously considering sending a text message to my insurance agent asking him to double my life insurance, as I'm pretty sure it won't take much more to kill me. 

So I'm sitting here, aching face, sore lip, paw rash in between my eyeballs, and wondering if I need to get my sanity checked, because even after all that (and it really feels like a 3 stooges episode, here in my house) I look over at her head peeking over the couch and I have the strongest urge to go kiss her nose.  She really is the cutest thing, although she's damn lucky that I apparently have no instinct for self preservation.

Homer, on the other hand, has not caused me a moment of discomfort.  In fact, he is starting more and more to come out of his shell.  He is still not using his leg as much as I'd like, but he is definitely starting to come when called, to whine when he has to go out, and to try and out-gas Dora.  I'm not really that pleased with the last one, and again, think that a text to raise my life insurance limits might be in order, but I'm super glad that he's starting to settle in and take a sense of ownership, even if it is right now limited to the couch. 

Who can RESIST THIS FACE? (Note the position of his eyebrows - this is the "seeking Cheetos" position he uses while attempting to subversively counter surf.)

Well, I'm going to bed while I still can.  Maybe if I heal enough in the night, I'll have a better chance of surviving tomorrow.  I might eat some chocolate before bed, though, just in case I don't.

Just Another Day in Paradise

Phil Vassar has a great song called "Just Another Day in Paradise" that seems apropos for today - it's about kids screaming, the washing machine breaking, phones ringing, and in essence, the chaos of everyday life that sometimes gets overwhelming.  THAT was my theme song today - but only somewhat.  Today was actually a fabulous day - I had a great lunch with a good friend, made some really nice contacts, saw people I hadn't seen in a while, and caught up on the gossip. 

ON THE OTHER HAND, I got a $100 parking ticket from the Commies in DC.  I knew the parking was up at 4, so I went to my car, and AS I'M WALKING UP TO MY CAR, the meter person is writing me a ticket. Meanwhile, it's 4 on the dot, and I'm like "Here I am!  I'm moving my car (as soon as you move away from the driver's door!)."  Nope - no go.  Wouldn't let me in, wouldn't stop the ticket, wouldn't even be civil.  Seriously, is the District that hard up for $100 that you have to be a dick about it?  I'm irked enough that I'm thinking about writing a letter to the city and denying payment, but they're so retarded bureaucratically that it might just be less painful to let the injustice stand and pay the $100.  Unless I get into the principal of the thing, and then it will just be painful for everyone.  *sigh*

So, even though the trip to DC ended on a bit of a sour note (DC Meter People SUCK!) - I did have a rollicking good time with my pups when I got home, AND I managed to catch the "Buy One Get One" special at the fruit shake place on the way home in the LAST THREE MINUTES.  PS, this = one shake for me, and no guilting from my brother when I show up without one for him.  Deeeelicious!

Even though Dora didn't want to play AGAIN today - she was still frisky.  Seriously, is it my deodorant?  My new hair color?  The choking sounds I make when she lets one fly from her butt? 

Homer Jess is still limping, still gimping, and still damned determined not to listen to a damn thing I say.  He has a head like a rock, and has grown inordinately fond of the couch.  In fact, he has pretty much staked a claim on the couch, so when you tell him to get off it so that you can sit down, you get a GIANT heaving sigh, a sideways soulful look out of melting brown eyes, and then (after his eyes close) the teeniest tiniest little breathy whimper... supposedly at the thought of even moving his rear end off the sofa.  Huh, Master Manipulator, Party of One?

Yeah, whatever.  Stay on the couch then.  Just don't be surprised when I don't share my CHEETOS! (<-- This, btw, is the magic word that makes Homer immediately regain consciousness and movement, in the direction of said crunchy snack. Just FYI.)

On another note - as I was both feeling my artistic oats and feeling a little bit homesick while talking to my family, I did a little art project in Photoshop.  I was taking pictures of Dora's paws (mostly because they spent the evening in my lap), and for some reason the shape of her paws reminded me of these tiny little flowers that used to grow in my grandmother's front garden - they were the harbingers of spring usually, appearing at the end of March/beginning of April, which as my peeps know is still the edge of winter in upstate New York.  We always called them Jumping Jacks, but I couldn't find a picture online of the actual flower.  They looked remarkably like pansies, but much smaller, with the flower being about the size of a dime.  So, I found pictures of Pansies instead!  (Yeah, yeah, I know it's not the same - use your imagination for something other than undressing the hotties.  Not that I'm denigrating mentally undressing the hotties, because that's money - just... take a break for two seconds and picture the flower. Ok, one second.  ONE.)

New York Pansies:

Virginia Pansy:

Even though she's a goof, and semi-retarded, and pretty determined to single-handedly increase the methane content of the Universe to a level inimical to human life - she's such a sweet pea that even her PAWS are cute!!

Just Another Day in Wubbaville...

So my date for yesterday didn't materialize - and this will be the second date called off at the 11th hour - in a row.  I like this guy alot, but perhaps it's not meant to be.

On the positive side - I spent the day with the pups.  Once I got home (late) and took care of the errands Mom needed run, it was too late to take the pups to the park, but we got some quality snuggle time in anyway.  Dora had been keeping the bed warm during the day for me, although she slept on the couch at night, and I had dog hair and slobber all over my nice clean sheets when I came home.  Ahhh, the joys of living with dogs...

Today was Wubba Day.  I got up heinously early (5:15 am), don't ask me why - I just woke up when the garbage men came and never went back to sleep.  Dora slept in until about 7:15, and as soon as I had finished my breakfast and coffee, she let me know in no uncertain terms what time it was: Wubba Time.

I can always tell when it's Wubba Time, since I usually get hit in the head (or occasionally, leg) with her Wubba, and then I will look up to see this:

Which is followed by this:

At which point I will throw her Wubba for her to chase, either down in the yard or across the house (better across the yard - less gets broken that way...).

If my girl is feeling particularly frisky, this can on for hours and hours and hours...

A vicious cycle... RINSE...

...LATHER ...

...REPEAT.

There are occasionally tussles, as Dora LOVES to bring the Wubba back to me, then stand there huffing.  She wants me to throw it, she wants to chase it, but she has a hard time letting go, and so we have sometimes epic battles about WHO exactly is in control of the Wubba.  (If you've never had 100+ lbs of snarling fur at the end of a chew toy, I can assure you, it's her.  I am usually simply pathetically grateful that my shoulder has remained somewhat in the socket.)

Meanwhile - Homer Jess is chilling out in the yard, watching the world go by.  His leg is healing - although not as fast as I'd like.  He is getting around very handily, although his leg shakes alarmingly sometimes.  He doesn't seem to be in any pain, and doesn't make a peep when I do his exercises.  He took a trial jaunt around the yard today, although the jogging only lasted about 4 steps, and I think was more to avoid being plowed over by Her Majesty.

He has even left the wound alone, after our first conversation about him licking it.  I took his stitches out today, and he didn't make a peep.  The wound has healed astonishingly well, and is already totally sealed and looks like an old scar.  Now all the Homeskillet has to do is smooth out his gimpy gait and he'll be ready for stage two of the surgery, followed by another 8 weeks or so of rehab.  GOOD TIMES!

Anyway - Homer's Healing is coming along marvelously.  Today was a stunningly gorgeous day - sunny, bright, slightly warm with just a hint of the sutumnal crispness that will soon be lingering longer and longer.  Homer and I sat in the grass, out in the sun, and enjoyed the day, while Dora amused herself with her new toy - the King Tenni - made by the same people that make her Wubba.

I offered to play with her, but she wanted nothing to do with me.  She was having solo play time, and that was that.  I can't even really be miffed - she's the cutest damn thing when she amuses herself - although I will admit I was waiting for her to clock herself in the head with the Tenni.

I wonder how they'll handle the winter?  They won't be able to come and go as they please, and I can imagine that Homer's bones will feel the cold quite keenly, my poor baby.

Then again, who's to say they won't find new ways to amuse themselves?

Missing the Pups...

So I'm at the firehouse tonight.  Again.  I've been here since Friday (which was my own duty shift), and am leaving tomorrow.  I covered for a friend, and I don't mind, but MAN - I'm in puppy withdrawal!  We've been fairly busy here - big stuff, even, though the weather is BEAUTIFUL - and while I love it, it's just not the same.  It helps a little to know that both of the pups are with my brother and are fine.  So fine, in fact, that they are doing the same thing they do every day - sleeping, barking and strewing food all over the floor.

This longing was exacerbated, ironically enough, by an incident here at the firehouse where two neighborhood dogs got loose yesterday, a pug/chihuahua and a black lab/sheltie mix, and proceeded to lead both us and their owners on a merry chase over almost a half mile through rush hour traffic.  They didn't listen at all, wouldn't come when called, took the biscuits offered as a lure through guerrilla warfare, and in general laughed their doggy laughs through panting lips as they led us on a merry chase all through the town. I was worried that they might get hit or cause an accident, but our medic Kevin was very good about slowing down traffic.  I was also a little disgusted that their owners couldn't get them to come when called AT ALL, but I couldn't throw too many rocks, since both of mine have EXTREMELY situational hearing, which only bacon cheeseburgers and pizza seem to increase. Not that mine would run away... as that might involve effort.

Now, for example, Dora is undoubtedly lazing all over the house, only moving to pursue frenzied vocal attempts at intimidation through the windows and the fence, and then returning to rule from her chaise...

Homer is, of course, still in exactly the same position I left him in on Friday.

There may be someone coming in to relieve me tomorrow morning, which would be nice - and I may get home by about 10am.  I am hoping that the weather holds, and that tomorrow is the same type of beautiful fall day that we had today - I'd like to take the pups to the park.  I'm not sure how Homer's hip is going to hold up, but I'd like to take him down and at least give him something new to smell.  He's been a little cooped up lately and has to be going insane, even if it is quietly insane. 

What park I'm going to take them to, I have no idea - there are a ton in Alexandria and around DC, but I have no desire to drive in the Sunday night traffic with two pups in my little car either. I'll work it out in the morning, but right now I'm so tired I can hardly spell my own name, let alone plot end-of-summer outing geography and hope to end up anywhere in the continental United States instead of somewhere in British Columbia trying to dodge all the geese going to Florida.

On the other hand, being at the firehouse this weekend has allowed me to catch up with some friends I haven't seen in a while, get in some quality "WTF?!?" and "Are you f*&king kidding me?" and "Seriously, how did you survive to adulthood?" moments and last, but by no means least, it allowed me to catch up on all the entries to two of my favorite websites - I Has a Hot Dog, and I Can Has Cheezburger.

Here are my favorites, just because they both remind me so much of my own pups.

Dora:

And the HoJo:

But I don't have favorites, really.  They're both so different - Dora is SO aggressive, which is quite odd in a Dane, but such a sweet pea when she wants to be, and Homer is so laid back all the time that I am totally tempted twenty times a day (say that five times fast) to check his pulse and hold a mirror in front of his nose.  Not that he'd even open his eyes to see what I was doing, should I do that, but the condensation from his breathing might make me feel better. 

In any event, I'm off to bed, to dream of milk bones and slobbery kisses, while praying that nobody needs to dial 911 between now and dawn.

Living Life Mel·lifluously

Main Entry: mel·lif·lu·ous

Pronunciation: \me-ˈli-flə-wəs, mə-\

1 : having a smooth rich flow <a mellifluous voice>

2 : filled with something (as honey) that sweetens

I am a big believer in interconnectivity - the idea or concept that everything in the Universe interacts (on some level) and relies on everything else, simply by the fact that they occupy the same system, and every action has a cascading effect that sparks off an endless ripple of response. I also believe pretty firmly in Karma, which I guess can be most simply explained this way: the effects of all your deeds actively create your past, present, and future experiences, thus making you responsible for your own life, and all related rewards, penalties and dividends.  Luckily, since the above can pretty heavy on days when everything seems to be operating back-asswards, I'm a big fan of serendipity - although if you wanted to wax philosophical you could argue that serendipitous events are really karmic rewards. Meh - that's a conversation for cocktails, when everybody gets smarter drink by drink until we all just snort and giggle and pronounce words like "serendipity" syllable by syllable in heavy foreign accents.  In the end, my entire personal philosophy is a bricolage of spirituality, consequence, and guilt (yeah, guilt. My mom *IS* Jewish, after all.).

Now that I have the audience mesmerized...

I tell you all that to tell you this - I've spent the greater portion of my adult life trying to better myself as a human being, without losing the core of who I am as a person.  I've tried to be as contributory to Universal goodness as I can be, without becoming a hemp-wearing, granola-worshiping Hippie, as a friend would say.  No offense to hemp-wearing, granola-worshiping Hippies - I just happen to love no-iron synthetics and bacon double cheeseburgers, with a side of burning desire to Do Good. 

I want to leave Life, the Universe and Everything in better shape than I found it, and leave with the satisfaction that comes from a job well done and the contentment that comes with a life well lived.  I'm getting there, slowly but surely.  I'm paying a bit of a heavy cost right now, financially and professionally, but I am fairly certain that in the end it will all be worth it. Of course, I haven't managed to set up a regular exercise routine, give up coffee, chocolate or baked Cheetos, or call my grandmother as often as I should, but every life is a work in progress. 

Today was a heavy day - much more productive than I thought it would be, but at the same time so full as to be almost overloaded. I had a million things to do, a billion places to be, and nine thousand seven hundred and fifty-six Ideas and Deep Thoughts running through my head with only one free hand to write them all down whilst I was driving down the Parkway at 55 mph.  I think I managed to remember four of the Ideas - like I said... work in progress. 

(Homer, on the other hand, is still seven lines up - CHEETOS??? Ready - Set - Throw!)

Really, dude. 

I started this whole thought process because of my Nephew Time today.  Lou is a precocious kid, a little wild, a lot rambunctious, and a gift.  He is my Serendipity, and though I have decided against having children of my own, I am fiercely glad that my brother chose to have such a beautiful child. 

Today Lou had a bit of an identity exploration - he decided (for about 45 minutes) that he was going to be a dog.  So, he ran around the house on all fours, barking his fool head off (gee - I wonder where he gets THAT from...), and panting.  It was actually pretty funny, and a little odd - he had a lot of the dog behaviors down pat, and his barks were surprisingly realistic.  He's a pretty good imitator already at 5, so I can totally see him having a career like this guy:

See for yourself:

Things like this make me happy.  There are stressors everywhere - information that flows by us at an astonishing rate, responsibilities that increase daily, and debts and obligations that seem to never end - and there is a lack of silence within us - more, actually, that there is a lack of the capacity for silence in our society - that true inner stillness where peace and serenity being.  Small children and dogs, I think, have a gift that the rest of us have lost along the way - they spend time in celebration - that the sun is shining, that the air is sweet, that they can run around outside themselves and BE something else for a moment without concern for appearances.  How many of us would be able to get down on all fours and bark, just because?  Maybe we should.

I think this is why I function best with dogs around me - they connect me to what is Real, and they remind me of Joy.  The months I spent alone after my girls died was terrible - gray and chaotic and strangely muted - as though I had no furry anchor to remind me that all of the detritus and chaff in life was just that, chaff, and that the heart of it was joy.   

I think we narrow our capacity for joy as we age - we lose the sense of wonder that keeps the world around us fresh and interesting, and we being to run on auto-pilot.  I have tried in my own life to be awake for as much as I can - to look around me and see all of the million marvels that exist in every moment.  I invite you to do the same - take a moment, two, five, however many you need, and go out into the sunshine.  Tip your head back, and close your eyes - enjoy the warmth of the Universe cupping your face in wonder at the marvel that is You, and breathe. 

Enjoy it.  Then, take a page from the expert's book:

Grab a cookie, maybe a milk bone, find your center, and run until your tongue hangs out, just for the hell of it.

Blah, Working, Blah, Blah

I really really hate to be inefficient.  I really really hate to be incompetent, too, but I've felt like both today.  I am trying to produce a document that feels as if it being pulled, unwillingly, from the deepest part of my body, and what is coming out is dreck.  Pure and utter dreck.  My test readers disagree, but I think that they have just been deprived of my brilliant prose for so long that anything looks acceptable.  Meh.

Good thing I have my girl to keep my company! She is always there to lend a willing paw (usually holding a Wubba) and lend an ear. 

Or a snore, or a methane burst to pollute the air, you know, whatever she thinks I need to get motivated.

Her and Lou have been communing quite a bit lately - she's discovered that he doesn't throw her toys as far, but that he can be counted on to enjoy throwing it over and over and over and over until even SHE doesn't enjoy chasing it anymore.  The best part is, Lou still thinks the 3,568th time is as funny as the first!

But all in all, Dora has taken my working all day quite well, only headbutting me about 37 times in a quest for attention.  Even Homer came up today seeking ear rubs and affection, and he is normally a pretty standoffish dog, even though he suffers through pretty frequent lovin' with amazing grace. 

Dora actually tried to interest him in a game of chase today, running out on to the porch and back to the couch where he was ensconced several times in an attempt to entice him.  Being a good 7 hours into his pain meds, Homer wasn't taking her up on it, but it sure didn't stop her from trying.  It warms my cold little heart to see them start to interact like that... I can only imagine what the future may hold...

In any event, Homer Jess is healing well, his incision is nice and clean, he has left his stitches alone, and the hair is growing back faster than I thought it would.  The non-naked parts of him are shedding at an alarming rate, and Dora has now synchronized her peak shedding times with my Change to Clean Bedsheets days.  I have more dog hair in my house at any given moment than at a Yeti convention.  Depending on how that continues, I may take a blood sample and send it to the Hair Club for Men so that they can convene a bunch of scientists in a room and end hair loss forever. 

The HoJo's got a slight limp (...a sentence that somehow just replayed in my head as "the ho's Joe is a tight pimp... oh, the humanity) and a shaky wobble to his leg that I find somewhat alarming, but he is starting to use it to get around, and is up to about 50% of the time he tries to balance with it, although he is not using it reliably to walk yet.   I'm not quite sure how this is going to work when he gets his second surgery, but we'll see. 

HE HAS A HEAD LIKE A ROCK when it comes to being outdoors and using stairs - he has gone up and down the stairs at least twice a day, though I have blocked them off with boxes, chairs, you name it.  He is a clever little bastard, and finds his way around.  Once outside, as usual, he likes to bask in the sun, but the gimp leg has not slowed him down a bit.  OK, not that he was Sir Speedy Gonzalez before, but still, going from 2 mph to 0 is still a change. 

I think that I have figured out that Homer is a test - he shares many personality traits with yours truly, and I have now begun to see how it is on the other side of the fence - I now am feeling the things that people feel when they deal with me.  He is stubborn and unshakable when he wants something (ahem), doesn't listen for shit unless he wants to (I resemble that remark), and looks very much like he's listening attentively to all of your concerns, nodding and looking thoughtful the whole way through... until you're finished and he goes on about his business anyway, completely disregarding everything you've just said.  Not that I've ever been accused of that. By anyone available to testify.

He is determined to give me a heart attack, as well as nightmares, as he continues to be Hound on Top, and I continue to see tragic and injurious consequences in my mental movie theater.  Short of removing the table (which weighs about 350 lbs), I have not found a way to keep him off of it, and so I have stacked a short set of stairs so that he doesn't strain his leg getting up.  Oh well, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, and if you can't join 'em ('cause there's no more room on the table), build 'em some f*ckin' stairs.

Though I complain that these two, together with my nephew, will be the death of me, you know I was smiling the whole time they measured me for a casket.  I know that I would be a much crabbier individual if at least part of my heart didn't walk around outside of me on four furry legs, and breakfast just wouldn't be complete without two mouths patiently waiting for gravity to kick in, right under my plate.  And really, who hasn't anticipated the joy of leaning down to kiss a furry nose and getting a wholly unexpected burp, right in the face, complete with smell and soundtrack? Not I, that's for sure. 

It's little things like this that keep me going, and every once in a while, I get positive reinforcement from the Universe.  Today was one of those days - I was sharing my chocolate chip cookies with my girl, taking a break from the frazzlement of report writing, and as we were sitting on the couch, holding cookies in one hand and fending off drooling lips with the other, I reached in the bag for the VERY LAST COOKIE, and guess what I found?

Serendipity - thy name is cookie.  And yeah, it was that cool.

Same Old Homer, Brand New Hip

Homer is home, and mobile!

He came through his surgery, and now he's back home - and we've got our instructions for his rehab and his pain meds.  Homer looooooves his pain meds.  I gave him his pills last night, and within 45 minutes his pupils were the size of quarters, he had a Bob Marley song playing in his head, and a super strong craving for cheeze nips.

 

His hip doesn't look too bad, actually.  The incision is clean, it's not as big as I thought it would be, and he seems to be leaving it well enough alone.

He's been astoundingly good about his exercises - I have to manipulate his leg at least twice a day so that he'll be able to use it after he heals, and I expected him to be a little snarky, since there's no way he can be comfortable with me yanking on his leg all the time, but he's such a lover that he just gives me a long-suffering look, heaves a huge sigh, and then puts his head back down to suffer stoically until I'm done. 

Bless his little heart - Homer is a gem.  The vet staff said that he was an angel while he was there, that he took the surgery like a trooper and was a sweetheart to everyone that came in contact with him.  That's my boy- he's just like me! (Everyone who knows me has just choked on whatever they were drinking. Yeah, that's right, people, enjoy that Coke up your nose, that's what you get for doubting my sweetness.)

He has taken the surgery and the recovery VERY well, and though he is determined to go up stairs that he shouldn't be going up, and whines every so often to go out into the yard, he has been an angel.  I did, however, look out the window yesterday when I heard some rustling out on the porch, and take a WILD GUESS what I saw....

That's right... Hound on Top.

There's my boy Homer Jess, naked ass and all, on top of my patio table.  I'm going to have to call in my nephew again to give him another talking to - although it may have to be a conference of three - Dora has now taken to standing up and putting her paws on the railing to survey her domain.

Well, I should qualify that - she has taken to standing on the railing and surveying her domain when she is not BEING A TARD. I gave her one of those resin-y bones that are supposed to clean teeth as they're being chewed the other day, cos' you know how I love my girl's kisses, but her piehole is RANK.  (Oh wait, tangential comment - not only is her mouth a haven for every odor in North America, but she DROOLS like a CHAMPION!  We were sitting in the dining room playing Uno and drinking hootch last night, and she was slobbering like a fiend over my brother's Wild Turkey.  I don't know why she was so determined to get her lips on his moonshine, because that crap is NASTY, but she was definitely very interested in getting that whole glass down her gullet.)

Yeah, you might not be able to see it, but that's TWO strings of drool - my girl is a MULTITASKER. Don't believe me?  Take a closer look:

But back to the Denta-bone - you've all heard the stories about Dora and her Wubba, but I'm beginning to think that she's Special Ed with all of her toys. I gave her the Denta-Bone, she took it out on the porch... hoarded it for a few minutes...

...licked it once or twice, and then proceeded to LOSE HER MIND.

Here's a longer one, but you can see that she went berserk-o for quite a few minutes.  It makes me wish I had a real video camera instead of just my camera - I could have HOURS of comedy!

She's so damn cute, though!  She's over 4 years old, but you'd think she was a puppy!  She gets all excited, and she ALWAYS wants to play.  I actually think that when the HoJo gets all finished with his hip surgeries and is able to play that they will be chasing each other around the yard like lunatics.  I'm DEFINITELY getting a video camera before then!

But right now we're focusing on getting Homeskillet better so that he has the ability to run around like a lunatic, should he so choose.  We've been feeding him hamburger and rice to try and get his belly settled from the anesthesia, and he has been PIGGING OUT.  Dora, of course, has been insanely jealous of all the attention that the HoJo's been getting, and so we're feeding her hamburger and rice as well.  (Let's not pretend that she wouldn't mow him down to get to the goodies in his bowl unless she had a goody bowl of her own).  I have to tell you though, I don't mind feeding them a special diet, but JEEBUS, does that stuff make a mess.  There has GOT to be a clever way to feed them without having a spray of rice every time the pups take a bite.  I have the feeling that I am going to finding dried grains of rice in every crevice in my house for months to come.  I could get mad about it, but seriously, when you see something like this as a result?

Yes, those are grains of rice stuck to his nose.  His little tail gets wagging, and he'll stand and lick his lips... and lick his lips... and lick his lips.  He LOVES the hamburger and rice, and apparently the love extends to wearing it as well as eating it.

No fashion faux pas for my boy - Homer is on the CUTTING EDGE - his fashion is organic and edible!

Dora, on the other hand...

Yeah, I know.  I'm already saving bail money for her and my nephew both.