Waging the War On Fleas

Klea got a flea.

I want to say that she got it from one of the thousands of leaves that my apartment complex has failed to rake up. And truth be told, she probably did.

But it would have died on site if I had been diligent about her flea treatments. I usually am in the summertime. This fall called for a variety of cutbacks as I was scrimping to pay off the last of my debt.

All the same, she scratched for a few days but it didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary. She's always been the one to drag her body around my carpets. But I came home and she had scratched a bald spot into her fur. I decided to give her a bath and a good brushing, hoping that she was just dirty. Instead, I found a flea.

Immediately, I went to the store and bought shampoo, drops, and carpet cleaner. I'm trying to avoid bombing at all costs. This is not the first time I've had to deal with fleas. I had a very filthy roommate with a very filthy cat.

Poor Klea has endured a flea bath every week for the last month now. I've been checking her everyday since Sunday and I haven't seen any inkling that there's anything still hanging out in her fur. Not even any tiny flea carcasses.

This is the hardest battle I've ever fought. I know my generation hasn't made many stands or organized any national protests, but I feel like I have, if only in my own home.

Where There's a Flea, There's a Major Meltdown

Sunday night is bath night for the animals. It's been that way since I can remember. Now, I know that some people don't believe in doing any work at all on Sundays but we are not those people. As I brushed Klea to get her ready for the inevitable, I spotted a tiny, black, walking spec in the clump of fur. I pulled the fur ball out of my ShedEnder and whispered, "Please don't be a flea".

Slightly panicking, I pulled her thick fur apart to look for more of these minute bastards. I found one. Angry, at myself not at Klea, I picked myself up off the floor, threw on my coat, and made way to my local pet store. I cannot explain how pissed off I was/am at myself. Klea's been scratching for days. When I got home on Wednesday, she had scratched a bald spot into her fur.

If you remember what we went through with Ginger, I thought that Klea might be going through the same thing. Or that it could be stress or the change in her diet. It never once crossed my mind that it could be fleas because she's never had fleas. It never occured to me that she didn't have fleas because I was super vigilant about treatments. (Just thinking about that tick makes me want to upchuck all over again).

Anyway, around 7:30 last night, Klea got a flea bath so serious that it turned her fur blue (which then took 3 rinses to get out). And then she got the flea dip. Then I put her in the storage room so that I could sprinkle carpet fresh for fleas and get it all vacuumed up. I will not tolerate bugs.

You got me once Mr. Flea, but now its game on.

Weekend Plans

This past weekend, Klea and I played it pretty safe. I spent more time at home than I have in the last month and she spent all of her time trying to bury the rawhide bone I gave her over a week ago.

First, she put it in my shoe cubby. Which I discovered as she growled at me while I was busy putting away my shoes. Then she put it in the storage room between the ironing board and the pantry shelf. But she nearly lost her mind when I went to fold the ironing board up and put it away.

When I was tired of picking up and decided to sit down to a delicious Greek meal, she hopped up on the sofa next to me and did this:

That's her digging up my coat to plant the bone safely beneath it. (I got several shots of her nudging the coat back over it to rehide her bone but they didn't come out as well.) She took one look at me looking at her and promptly unburied her bone to hide it someplace new.
This morning when I woke up, I stepped on the doggone bone. There it was, laying in the middle of my bedroom floor unattended. She came speeding into the room when she heard me yelp and after looking at me with indignance, picked up her bone and carted it somewhere new.

I really want her to just eat the stupid thing already.

Morning, Neighbor

I woke up this morning to discover Klea's newest trick.

She can get on the bed. I'm impressed because I have my bed frame on six inch risers. The bed is lifted high enough off the ground for her to walk under it without incident. So now that I see that she has managed to propel herself on to the bed successfully, I have a whole new bag of issues.

Corgis are already susceptible to spinal damage. And while jumping on may not cause too much damage, jumping off is incredibly dangerous for her. So, I'm going to buy her some doggie stairs. And mourn the loss of the last fur free spot in the apartment.

P.S. -- You like how I keep my clothes? This is why I never know what I have.

Early Morning Snack

This morning Klea managed to eat something while we were on our morning walk.

Yes, this is blog worthy. Because over the last 4 weeks, we've been having a major power struggle. She's getting more attention than she knows what to do with. Everyone loves "that kind of dog". Even I knew that I loved Corgis before I knew the name of the breed. One neighbor expressed breed envy with his Dachshund in tow.

The Old Marine looks for us everyday at quarter to six. Where he'll mosie from his porch with treats in his hand ready to tell another tale about the Corgi his father used to have. Klea and I stand and listen to another one of his stories before we all part ways. I think she likes this time the most.

Yesterday during our afternoon walk, she sniffed and sniffed and sniffed the same spot until finally! She sat down. I was flabbergasted! A passerby thought that was just the cutest thing ever and asked if he coud pet her. "Of course!", I say, "She's a good dog". He rubs her back and belly. She looks at me like she just stashed 50 million in jewels. He points out where he lives and lets me know that if we ever stop by he's got treats for her. She knows that she's won.

I've been trying to cut back on her treats and food. She's getting 1/4 cup less than normal because, quite frankly, she's 10 pounds overweight. And her legs are so little that I'm sure it's not going to be good for the longevity of her joints. Besides, she's a herding dog that's not herding. And if I can't get her the activity she needs to stay fit then I've got to regulate her caloric intake. It's the good mom thing to do.

Only she's resisting all of my efforts to get in shape. She likes to sit during our walks. And she won't fetch unless I run for the stick as well. Her GMa had been putting chicken stock on her food but I put the kibosh on that, so K-Dubs decided that she would eat... and then throw it up an hour later.

And since I won't give her 3 treats a day, she now tries to eat  absolutely anything she finds on our walks, up to and including, a dead goldfish, another dog's poop, a popsicle wrapper, a squirrel, a dead bird, unidentifiable roadkill, Burger King trash, lunch box remnants, ants, spiders, the contents of any abandoned cup, and a chihuahua. Yes, a chihuahua. The poor guy got loose and wasn't trying to go home. Klea was gonna send him to Jesus.

I've stayed vigilant. Carefully inspecting anything she puts her nose against. Always on the lookout for "the sideways glance and nibble" - the move that let's me know that she is definitely up to something. But this morning she got me. She managed to pick "it" up without skipping a beat. I'm convinced that her nose never hit the ground because one minute she was beside me and the next she was two steps ahead happily munching away.

Gotta love a good win.

Cats, Cats, Everywhere!

This is an email I sent my Mom today,

"By the way, Klea has been waking me up at around 5am for the last 3 days with her barking. So this morning I finally got up to see what she was going on about. We went on the porch and there’s a cat! Sleeping on my patio chair! Like he lives there! What do you suggest?




Keep in mind that I already told Mr. Cat that he can’t live there but I’m looking for more suggestions."

This is what she sent back,

"Well, if that didn't work, I can't think of what might!!!! :)




Seriously, Gram used to plant Merigolds each and every year because they supposedly keep cats away ... and come to think of it I rarely ever saw any around ... .but then again we also always had dogs on the premises .... coincidence???"


So, I guess I'm in the market for marigolds. Yay, me.

Completely Unacceptable

I woke up this morning to find this:

And I let Klea know that it is completely unacceptable. We went on four walks yesterday. Four! The last one at 10:30p.

I got up at 6:00 this morning to find this still warm. Normally, we don't go out until 6:30 because she's afraid of all the buses. So, I can think of no reason for this outburst.

Which is why she's spending today in her crate. Like I said before I left, she wants to turn out like a puppy she can be treated like a puppy.

Say La Vee

Wilbur is in her new home now.

It feels like it took forever and I even accused the little booger of being cursed. Each time she was supposed to go to a new home something mysterious happened. The last time, my mom came down with a righteous cold that kept her off work for a day.

But the woman who took her was absolutely stoked. I gave her everything she would need to care for Wilbur, including her cage cleaning gloves, because, quite frankly, I wouldn't need it anymore. Except the microwave cart. I kept the cart.

I knew that taking care of Wilbur was too much for me. My love for animals doesn't run that deep. And I was sure that finding her a new home was the right thing for both of us. I just didn't plan on missing her so much.

Well, not so much but just enough. There is a noticeable absence in my home. There's no chirping. No scurrying. No bedding on the living room floor. All of things helped to make up the essence of Wilbur and I miss them terribly.

However, I can check one more thing off the To-Do List.

I'm not sure how Klea is handling it all. She still looks forward to our walks but there is a definite distinction between this Klea and the Klea of 3 weeks ago. She just mosies around now. We don't get much cuddle time and there's no one (Ginger) for her to have power struggles with. I think that losing Wilbur is only making it worst.

This morning while I was getting ready, she just laid under my bed feigning sleep. Even as I made for the front door to leave she didn't move. I had to call her and still she sauntered with no energy. I just hope that she's not falling into a depression.

We'll keep going on our half hour walks and enjoying some play time. And I'll try to implement more snuggle time. She absolutely loves that. Until next time...

This Is The Face Of A Killer

Yesterday, I came home to find things amiss in the new apartment. It wasn't just that my coffee table was moved. It was that Klea didn't want to go outside. She was leading me to the storage room where I found everything moved.

The dresser was in the middle of the floor with all the broken down boxes thrown around randomly. My luggage was thrown on top of my collection of grocery bags. I use those for Kay Dubs waste. And my black storage shelf was crooked.

My first inkling was to not panic and to call my Mom. I mean, Klea was just fine. And it didn't look like anything was stolen. After 30 seconds on the phone with Mom, it was clear that she hadn't been there. So I grabbed Klea, her leash, and my purse and headed to the car where I planned to call the police. That's when I noticed the ivy was missing.

I called Mom back and told her that I figured out the mystery and it had to have been the maintenance people. I did a walk through of the apartment and all of the little things I'd put on the move-in checklist was in a state of repair. I let Klea do her business and then booked it to the rental office. We had a contentious conversation about the purpose of a move-in checklist and the importance of 24-hour notice.

Apparently, Kay Dubs bit a repairman and I told them that's her job - she is a dog after all. We discussed appropriate scheduling for them to come and complete the work; it will be on Friday. And you know what else is happening Friday? I'm getting one of those sturdy chain locks that can also release by key. If they stomp in here again unannounced, I'm pressing charges.

Mommy's New Room

Little Miss is having the time of her life in the new place. You can't really tell in this photo but the whole apartment is jammed as tight as my room is. It's weird trying to fit 1100 sq ft worth of stuff into 600 sq ft of rooms. But that's OK, Klea seems to be acclimating well.

At least before the night drags on. I've put risers under the bed to lift it higher. She can now walk under it without stooping but it's harder for her to jump up onto it. A plus for me. A HUGE minus in the Book of Klea. She's used to sleeping right next to Ginger or in her crate. Her crate is set up in the storage room. She's not about to sleep in there by herself. And Ginger didn't make the transition with us. I've noticed that she keeps checking every room; presumably for Ginger.

She looked a little sad when I left this morning. It's not the first time I've left her in the new place. Sunday, I made sure to leave for little stretches of time just to get her used to the idea. And yesterday, I was gone for several hours picking up new things for our small place. But today, she seemed to understand that I'd be gone all day. It breaks my heart that she will be alone all day but Klea is pretty easy-going. And she acclimates well.

Fingers crossed for a smooth transition.

Trying To Leave For Work

Please ignore the jeans and clothing baskets you see scattered around haphazardly (I'm one week away from moving to a new apartment) and just look at that sweet little face. Blocking my way, of course, to ensure that I don't leave without her.

Final Post

I'll be closing down this blog soon.

When the summer ends, major changes in my life will occur. Ginger will go back to living with her mommy and Wilbur will be in the hands of some adoring little child (or God, whichever really).

Klea and I will be living in a much smaller place on a completely different side of town and loving it.

And so, I bid you all adieu.

I hope your days are filled with your own pet's shananigans.

Unbreakable

The worst day of my life was the day K-Dubs ripped up the carpet at the foot of my stairs. Sure, she was a teething puppy, but I was certain that she should know better. And then she threw it up. All over the place. Yellow, runny fuzz was dispersed throughout my downstairs area. I was disgusted and livid.

Then she pooped in my house.

You know, I used to think that there was nothing worst than poop on the floor in my house. Then I was exposed to doggy diarrhea. I tell you, I was so elated to see regular poop on the floor again because it didn't involve rubber gloves, paper towels, rags, and a bucket of scorchingly hot, soapy water that I could have hugged her just for feeling better.

Not to say that I wanted or would allow her to continue pooping in my house but I had come to terms that things could definitely be worst. Much, much worst. Over the years, I have managed to break Klea of many things (except her constant need for petting and attention - but I think that's just her thing).

Ginger on the other hand was never broken. To this day she still does whatever the eff she wants. You can take it or leave it. And living with me these last two years hasn't broken her of her bad habits and Klea only tries them once in a blue moon so I've not been too terribly hard on her. But all that's about to change.

Last night as I relaxed on my couch, I smelled poo. It was volatile with the way it attacked my nostrils. I searched the apartment high and low, under tables, moving boxes trying to find this horrible stench. It wasnt until I went to check under doggy tails that I realized the stench was coming from Ginger. More specifically, her mouth.

I ran and threw up.

They get walked at least 3 times a day. She's not malnourished. She's not underfed. The very expensive food that they eat is because of Ginger's very delicate stomach and her allergic reaction to corn. So, I have deduced that this is just her way of winning. Again.

This is her "Aha, Bitch". Because she knows that if I find poop on the floor, she will spend some quality time in her crate.

No evidence, no crime.

Well, someone told her wrong because we've got a whole different kind of battle on our hands.

Oh, Damn!

Wilbur is a girl.

She is in heat.

Her name is still Wilbur.

I'm not about to change that because a vet can't tell the difference between a boy guinea pig and a girl guinea pig.

If she has babies, I'm putting her out on the street for being a harlot.

And for not paying the house.

R. Kelly Syndrome

Someone told me that it's not the dog that's crazy, it's the owner. So, let me make it very clear that Ginger is not my dog. There. That's my full disclaimer.

We all know that she likes to chase things. There's nothing better than baby geese in the morning. But on yesterday's evening walk, she did something she's never done before. She tried to chase birds... that were flying. She just kept jumping and jumping. Throwing her body into the air. Limbs flailing. Looking re-damn-diculous.

Now, I hate birds as much as the next person. Wait. Allow me to clarify. I hate birds in the morning because they don't seem to understand that the sun comes up at different times throughout the year and just because it's up doesn't mean I need to be up so they should just shut the hell up. And I hate birds when they are flying because I had one crap on me when I was walking, once. Unpleasant to say the least.

In my humble (ha!) opinion, the only good birds are fried or filled with a savory stuffing. I fully advocate the dogs submitting to their natural instincts. I don't want them getting too comfy. They need to become stone-cold killers if someone tries to break in. However, I'm beginning to wonder if Ginger has a disease. Or maybe she's just playing mind games with me.

You know, like that guy from M*A*S*H. He pretended to be gay so they would discharge him. Maybe Ginger thinks that if she acts super duper crazy and makes me look like a fool then I'll give in to all her crazy whims like 24-hour toy play (all toys, all the time), or 3-day long walks, or ice cream stops every time she gets in the car. Do you think she's trying to wear me down emotionally? I feel like I'm in Animal Farm and that any moment she's going to start walking on her hind legs and using Wilbur as her bodyguard.

Oh Gawd. I think it's already too late.

Four-Legged Lawsuit

Yesterday, when taking the dogs on their afternoon walk, Ginger was feeling frisky. She had tried to chase a rabbit, a new family of geese, and a bathing bird. There was also the occasional leaF or piece of trash but for the most part it was the live prey that she watned.

So I shouldn't have been surprised when the following occurred.

We were crossing the bridge that divides the complex into good and Mexican when a cyclist rode past. She was going pretty slowly and didn't announce herself (I suppose she didn't want to startle the dogs). Neither of them seemed to notice she was even there... I thought. Because as soon as her ankle got within sniffing radius Ginger leapt forward and started barking and snapping. Scared the poor woman clear off her bike! And onto the ground! And I'm.laughing.too.hard.to.type.

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAAA!!!!!!!!!

Oh goodness.

So, after pulling the dogs back and reining Ginger in, I ask if the woman is ok and tell her I wish I could help her up but "...you know. My dog and all". Oh! Oh! That was the best walk ever.

Oooooo! Somebody's In Trouuuuuubblllllle!

Every morning I wake up to new and exciting smells. It's the smell of random feces. Feces in my hall way. Feces in my guest room. Feces in my living room. Feces that's half eaten. (*wretch*) It's quite menacing actually. But I've grown so tired of the sad dogs face and I can only ask "Who's poop is this?" so many times before they both begin to ignore me. It's to the point now that getting professional carpet help is the only way to go.

So, I've decided to go old school on their asses. The dogs now sleep in their crates at night. Just like they did when they were puppies. Because at 4 and 6 I fully expect them to keep their feces to themselves at night. Especially when we go on our customary "last call" every night at 10 o' clock.

They don't know it yet, but I bought ear plugs for this occasion. That's why I don't care that their feelings are hurt. It hurts my feelings every time I step in something damp in my hallway. It hurts my feelings each time I ruin a pair of socks. I become emotionally unstable at the thought of having guests because my house stinks to me so, I can only imagine what other people think.

This is also a test. If they continue to act out then there is no hope for them when I relocate. Especially if I have to spend 30 odd days couch surfing. To tear up my shit is wrong, to tear up someone else's is completely unacceptable.

So, we shall see.

'Til then...

I need to wear more make up

I've noticed when I'm walking the pups that we are getting a lot of attention.

There's Milo'sDad who is so, so very sexxy. He makes me want to walk the dogs all day just so I can keep seeing him. *cougar growl* Or the guy with the deep voice. I like to listen to him talk. But what's most important - aside from them being gorgeous male pet owners - is that they always give me and the pups the appropriate amount of space. They control their dogs accordingly and so when Ginger goes off on her tangent it's all good because they're over there and I'm over here.

Granted, it doesn't work well with my "Catch-a-man-using-the-pups" plan but it keeps me sane during the half hour I have to walk them. She on the other hand doens't believe in this rule. She is a "non-blonde". You know. Like Four Non-Blondes. She has hair like the aloof one in the back, a face like the one in purple and dresses like the kid in the plaid. It's just all bad. And I think she's a taco lover. Where as I am an avid supporter of all kinds of sausage. For breakfast, for dinner, in your mom's house, anytime really.

I've tried keeping my distance but she always feins an inability to control her mongrels. This irks me as it causes Ginger (who is looking quite dapper now that she's groomed) to go into fits. I've tried being polite and asking her nicely to keep her mutts at a distance. Now, we're at the point where we walk across the grass to avoid her. But much like yesterday, she just met us halfway.

I'm over it really. And I'm terribly close to telling her that I don't swing that way. Which is sure to hurt feelings but hey, she shouldn't be stalking me then.

Grooming

The dogs both had appointments with the groomers today but that's not going to happen due to some other circumstances. Instead, I will attempt to groom them myself later this evening after having busted hump with my mom on her spring projects.

1. remove the rest of the leaves from her yard. I raked for 8 hours and put them under a tarp for her to put on the curb once a month until they were all gone because her city picks them up for free. She never got them to the curb.

2. lay down mulch.

3. pull up the dead, fall flowers.

4. pull up that crazy, prickly bush that we pulled up in November but managed to grow back twice as large.

5. get an estimate for getting that damned stump out of the flower bed.

6. manage not to fight while accomplishing tasks 1 - 5.

Yay, Me!

Empty Nest

All of my family has finally returned to their respective homes. My brother was the last to go and now the house feels empty. Not just for me, but for the dogs too.

For two whole weeks, they've had someone there constantly to give them treats, fresh water, play fetch or, in Klea's case, rub a bald spot into her fur.

I had gotten used to being greeted by human voices and not by furry noses (those traitors stopped coming to the door altogether!).

So now they wait for me eagerly, ready to do all the things that we used to do like 15-minute brushings, baths (well, maybe not baths), long walks (hurray for spring!) and stuff.

But we all miss the noise that comes with having a full house. I miss the little surprises like played out pets and clean kitchens.

I miss Grandpa's voice trying to teach them to roll over and to bark on command.

I miss Cam occupying them with constant games of tug and fetch.

I miss Ethan letting them get juuuuuust close enough to be considered nice but not close enough to be considered cuddling.

Mostly, I miss the human conversation.

*sigh*

A Boy and His Pig

Last night, when I was on my way out to take the dogs on yet another walk (I've got to stop walking in and out of the house so much), my brother meandered over to Wilbur and asked, "Do you ever let him out of his cage?".

"Yeah. You just saw me put him in his ball so I could clean the cage."

"But, other than that? You know, to just run around."

"A couple times a week. Except now, you're staying in the office so he doesn't have anywhere to run right now."

"Oh." Sad, sad little man face.

(Reaching his fingers into Wilbur's cage)
"Why is he trying to bite me? Do my fingers taste good to him?"

"He just wants to know you. If you want you can take him out."

"Ok."

The dogs and I come back from our walk to find my 6'4" brother holding Wilbur close to his chest in his massive man hands.

Wilbur is splayed across his hands, eyes bulging and feet holding on for dear life.

"I think he's scared of me."

"Hahahahahahahaa!!! I need to get a picture of this."

"No! I don't want people to know I was holding a guinea pig!"

"Well, be prepared for them to know because I'm putting it on my blog."

Home Alone

I had a very long Saturday. And by that I mean, I HAD ONE HELL OF A SATURDAY.

Ahem...

With the whole family being in town, I knew that I'd be running around a lot. What I didn't know is that that would automatically make my house "the spot". You know? That place where everyone gathers because it's convenient.

But my house is not convenient. In location or otherwise.

Getting back...

Saturday, we picked up my little big brother (I'm older and wiser but he's definitely taller. Definitely). And because he hasn't had leave in over two years he wanted to do everything that he could think of.

Which left my poor babies in the house until 1 the next morning. But you know what? There was no poop anywhere. There was pee in two places but that's to be expected when your mom leaves you at 830a on one day and doesn't come back for 17 hours.

I didn't mean to do it; it just happened.

So I'm proud of my babies. And I know that they love me or at least they eat their poop.

Not Even a Twinge

Dad just left without me to go on a family outing. You would think that I'd feel ashamed, but I don't. It's nice to not have anywhere to go, anyone to see, or anything to do today.

For someone on vacay, I've been running around non-stop and I'm really tired. I think I'm going to sneak a nap in while he's gone.

And it'll finally be quiet for a few hours. Ginger has not stopped barking at him since he came in here last Friday. She even barked on his way out the door as a final farewell.

Klea is going crazy trying to love so many people at once. Cam is her new fav person because he rubs her belly non-stop. Like for hours. It's kinda crazy.

And I'm pretty sure that Wilbur is trying to chew his way to freedom because he doesn't want to be touched/held/petted/spied on anymore.

And I need to clean because the dogs are losing their minds with all the extra people smells in here.

But first I think we're going to take a family nap.

Temporarily Broken Hearted

Yesterday, I came home in the middle of the afternoon to find Wilbur laying on his blanket, eyes closed, and not breathing.

I called out to him. And he still didn't move like he normally does. He didn't squeak or chirp or even acknowledge my presence.

So, I reached out my hand to open the crate and...




he shot up like a rocket!!

Apparently, he sleeps in the mid-afternoon when I'm not around.

And he is not happy with me right now. I'm getting the sense that he wishes that I would just mind my own damn businees.

... and that's how the fight started

Lately, the dogs have been tussling more than usual. Like last night, I assume it's over nothing. Mostly because it goes like this:

*Time - 8:40p. Location - my bedroom floor. I hear -
Klea: Grrrrrrr
Ginger: Rwwwwrrrrr
Klea: Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr Rwwwwwwrrrrrrrrrrrr *breath* Rrrrr
Ginger: Rwwwwwwwwrrrrrrrrrrrrr Grrwwwrrrrrwwwwwwwrrr *pause* Rwwwwrrrr
Klea: Ggrrrrrwwwrrrr Rwwwrrrrrrrrrrrrr Grrrrrrrrwwwwwwwwrrrrrrrrwwwwwwwrrrrrrrr *breath* Grrrrrrrrwwwwwwwwrrrrrrrrr Rrrrrrrrrrrwwwwwwwwwrrrrrrrrrr
Ginger: Rrrrwwwwwwwwwwwggggggrrrrrrrrrrr Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr Grrrrrrrrrwwwwwwwwwrrrrrrrrr Rrrrrrroooooooowwwwwwwwwwrrrrrrr
Klea: Grrrrrrrrrrwwwwwwwwwwrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!
*Time - 8:42p. Location - from atop my bed.
Me: SHUT UP!!

*Time 8:43p. Location - my bedroom floor

The tussle started anyway and just like when Jimmy cracked corn... I didn't give a shit.

Contact Free For Me

This morning, I woke up at 5:30 like I always do. Rolled over and slept for another 15 minutes, like I always do. Finally, at quarter to six, I got up and got dressed to walk the dogs. I sashayed into the living room to greet Wilbur and what do I find? A 2 oz. bottle of contact solution chewed open and drained of its contents.

Normally, I would have lost.my.mind. Because this means that someone was in my purse. But alas, my purse was on the dining room table, where I'd left it the night before, and was seemingly untouched.

I don't want to say that I didn't care but, quite frankly, I don't care. There are worst things, right? It's just saline. And I hope that the culprit gets the shits. That'll teach them better than anything I could do.

Besides, thanks to the timothy hay I finally bought for Wilbur, my left eye looks like someone stuck a dirty poker in it. All sexy and inflamed. I couldn't get a contact in here if I tried. And I did. That's how I know.

Saying Goodbye

I've been a pet lover my whole life. It's something that was handed down from my Great Grandfather. We've had some sort of furry creature living in our homes for as long as I can remember.

I know first hand the love that pet can bring. They never remember the mean thing you said or when you forgot to take them for a walk. It doesn't matter how many times a day you walk through the door, for them its just like the first time.

And as we get older it's comforting to know that we have someone. Someone soft and furry and who loves you unconditionally. Someone who will just sit with you when you're having a bad day. Someone who hugs you with their eyes.

I also know what it is to lose a pet. I've lost pets to the elements, to poison substances, and to old age. I even lost a pet when we moved once. Jodiah kept running and my parents wouldn't let us stay another day to search. We had to move on without him... and it hurt. But I've never lost a pet - I've never lost anyone - to murder.

This brings me to the story about Mrs. White. She's a sweet woman in her seventies and was a proud parent to Muffin, a Shih Tzu. For years they lived together just the two of them. Mrs. White's son (who is fifty-one) has been living with her for the last three years since his divorce. Like any mother would, she made space for him and his two dogs. But she banned his dogs to the yard to protect herself, Muffin, and her spotless carpet.

On Friday, dear Mrs. White lost Muffin due to a careless act by her son. He placed Muffin, a house dog, out in the backyard with his Dobermans instead of taking her for a walk. When Mrs. White returned looking for Muffin, she had been mauled and was beyond help.

Please say a prayer today for Mrs. White. Pray for her in her moment of grief as she tries to accept what has happened. Pray that we can all help her to move forward. Pray that she may find it in her heart to love again. Pray that she can forgive her son, that she can forgive herself, and that she may live her life without blame.

Grandpa's Visit (or Why I'm a Bad Mom)

Grandpa's coming! Yay!!!

The pups are super excited. As they should be. They've never met Grandpa before. I always travel to see him and if you haven't figured it out already, they are a hassle to lug around. Plus, he gets to meet Wilbur too.

Now, I want to be excited but all I am is stressed the eff out. Just thinking of all the things I'll have to clean is driving me insane.

Plus, they all need haircuts. Ginger's so matted that I can't get a brush through her without yelps. So while they're all giddy about Gramps impending visit, I'm screaming like a banshee everytime something is put out of place (like that toilet paper roll that Ginger found God only knows where and decided to strew all around my apartment).

Needless to say, I've been sleeping worse than normal resulting in the occasional animal/human confrontation. This morning for example:

Klea: yawn and stretch
Me: "Move"
Ginger: "rawwrr. rawwrr. rawwrr."
Me: "Shut up".
Wilbur: "SQUEAK. SQUEAK"
Me: "Seriously?!? Don't I feed you every morning?"

I'm working on my attitude but I make you no promises. I'm already ready for this visit to be over so I can relax again.

To Feed or Not To Feed

I feed the dogs like I shower, once a day, in the morning. But that's now. I used to feed them twice a day. In the morning after our walk and in the evening when I got home from work. Even though I was portioning it correctly, they still managed to gain weight. After talking with their vet he advised feeding them all their food, once a day.

The problem? They have been eating twice a day for 5 years.

Now, when I come home I get no peace. None. There are bowls clattering. Hoarse barking. Eye batting. Tear shedding. Just all around mayhem. Every where I go Oliver Twist and Pip are close behind pleading their case and beseeching me with their eyes.

I guess, what I'm saying is that I'm not sure what to do. Who am I to say that they're not really hungry? I'm following the feeding guidelines on the bag and I don't want to give them more than that because we're not an active bunch.

What I do know is that they are driving me nucking futs over this new eating schedule and I'm about to give in just so I can sit down and breathe for five minutes.

Not that I can breathe now. I'm sick... again.

Mystery Thief

Last night, I was feeling snacky and decided that I was going to eat my last pilfered Fiber One bar. This one was especially desirable because it was of the Dark Chocolate Almond variety and my mom only let's me have the chocolate chip. I've been hoarding it for weeks and was really looking forward to sinking my teeth into the chocolate covered morsel held together with light caramel and sprinkled with toasted almonds.

As I lay on the bed, I decided it was time to shut the house down. The kiddies had been tended to and were winding down themselves. So I shuffled to the kitchen, put all my dishes in the dishwasher, put up the leftovers, and wiped down all the primary surfaces. I practically skipped back to my room to find my snack was missing.

Appalled, I snarled at the dogs. I cursed them and told them that I hoped they got diarrhea. All I got in return were puzzled looks and a yawn.

Pretty sure I paced my tiny apartment four times looking everywhere. Cabinets. Counters. Table tops. Even the top layer of the trash can (I mean, I wanted this thing but not trash-digging want). Frustrated, I gave up and finished getting ready for the new day. I grabbed my keys out of my coat pocket and threw them in my purse. Right next to my Fiber One bar.

I know one of them hid it from me. It was probably Wilbur.

Giving Up Mommyhood

I have been made the offer of the year!

I could leave behind this city, this state, this "job" and have a place to stay that is reasonably within my budget. It's in a warm city, a big city, a real city. I mean, it's Atlanta, y'all!! How could I not go?

The price, that's how. It would mean that I'm far from all my family (except my 1st step-dad's in-laws but you can see how that would be... messy), all my friends, and my babies. See, my potential roomie has never lived with an indoor dog and since it's their house I can't really put down the proverbial foot.

So, I'm torn. First because this is a HUGE OPPORTUNITY. And I don't want to let this pass me by. But, I don't want to give up my babies, well, just Klea. However, I'm sure she would be unhappy as an outside dog. Or at least I think I'm sure.

There's many other things to think about like getting a job down there.

I'll let you know when I decide... I think.

Looking for Love...

I love the kiddies, I really do, but sometimes a girl rolls over at night and just wants to be able to say, "What are we gonna do?". And that's the situation I found myself in this weekend. I just didn't want to face another weekend alone. Plus, being open to love is on my list of resolutions (12! Ambitious, no?)

Some things are on hold until I can shake the rest of my financial burden (like getting my car fixed), but that has nothing to do with me opening myself up to love, right? So, Saturday, I joined eHarmony. I'm really excited about it. I tried their service once before and had success. I'm sure I would have found The One from their database of users if I hadn't found someone during one of his routine sales calls.

So, I'm giving it another go. I mean, what girl doesn't want to have a boyfriend? Plus, these two make me want to have a wedding soooooooo bad.

found here

Spoiled Rat

I'm low on funds at the moment. At least until tomorrow morning when my check arrives at the bank (Amen for payday!). That means that the brood will have to do without some of their luxuries until then.

Correction: Wilbur will have to do without some of his luxuries until then.

See, he has decided to go on a hunger strike. Everyday, for the last three days, he has tipped his food bowl on to the ground. And I know why. It's because I started out feeding him those simple little guinea pig pellets filled with Vitamin C and that probably taste like cardboard.

His grandmother bought him this gourmet rodent food filled with dried veggies, seeds, and nuts with the occasional wholesome pellet.

On Monday night, Wilbur got a sunflower seed stuck to his two front teeth. I pulled it off and declared that was it. No more gourmet food mix, he was going back to pellets.

He hasn't eaten since.

Who Runs This?

Last night was supposed to be a peaceful night. I got off work early and was looking forward to a leisurely afternoon of picking up, straightening, and - finally - yoga. All was well until yoga.

I set the mood with soft lighting, calming music in the background, the room was a perfect 70 degrees and I stood ready in my flexi clothes and bare feet.

Somewhere around minute 15, the dogs began to wrestle. I chose to ignore them because that's the key to yoga - blocking out the rest of the world. Then around minute 20, I hear snarling but I'm not going to let them do this to me. I deserve some rest.

During minute 24, in between my third deep breath, I'm in downward dog and then get bumped in the left ankle. Frustrated, I look up and then fall to the ground in shock.

Klea is trying her best to run away with Ginger on her back... thrusting... feverishly.

I can't handle it so I yell, "Get off of her!!" and immediately reach for my phone. Obviously, Ginger needs to have a chat with her Momma.

I'm telling you right now, that these two need to work out their issues because it is stressing me the F out.

Caring for Carrion

Klea (see fig. 1) is disgusting.

figure 1

I will help you understand how I have come to this conclusion. Carrion is grotesque (see fig. 2) and that's putting it mildly. Animals that eat carrion are revolting. Animals that roll in it are merely disgusting. Klea enjoys rolling in carrion. And dung. And anything else stinky that requires an immediate bath just to continue residency in my home.

figure 2

Today, I went home for lunch. Mainly because I forgot it on the kitchen table and only live 3 miles away so it's not really a hassle to drive there and eat it. When I walked through the door they got excited and jumped around like they always do. And because they are creatures of habit, everyone instantly had to potty.

We went out without leashes and I let them sniffle and frolick for awhile (I believe everyone deserves a bit of freedom). But while I was preoccupied with picking up Ginger's excrement, I heard snuffles and grunts (which are distinctly different from sniffles and moans), I turn, and there's Klea assuming the position and preparing to rub her face on something dead.

My heart stopped. My lungs opened. And I screamed. It was enough to make her jump up straight and case the area.

Thank God.

Because I couldn't call my boss and tell him I'd be late from lunch because my dog smelled like road kill. Leashing her to the front door would break several laws. And she can't come in the house smelling like that.

Home, Sweet Home

It's official!! Ginger will be staying with us, indefinitely. My sister did find a new place but she will have 2 roommates and she's "never home". So, I agreed to keep Ginger with me. Klea is not too fond of this idea. She rather liked being the Alpha while Ginger was away. And the fact that Ginger is very aggressively seeking to reclaim her role as Alpha has caused some... spiffs. At least Ginger still has her BFF, Wilbur. :)

The terms of the agreement are that sis will give me Ginger's portion of the pet rent, 1/2 the cost of food and the money to keep her groomed and updated with her shots. (I'm not holding my breath on the shot & grooming money).

I'm just glad that it's all settled now. I've been offering to take Ginger on as my own for years now. I'm sure that sis loves her very much, it's just that she never wanted (or fully accepted) the responsibility of having a dog. For her, it was more like a cute accessory than a living mammal with its own unique personality.

So, there you have it, loves. More news on another day.

Puppy Strings

All I wanna do is lose some weight. My jiggly bits are everywhere and it's quite embarrasing when you like summer clothes as much as I do. And I figure, if I'm going to get into shape then K-Dubs and GB should follow suit.

Poor Klea is at least 5 pounds over weight and Ginger is somewhere around 3. It's time for us all to drop some el-bees, ya know? So, I'm starting with their food. My sister and I came together and found a high-quality, low-fat food with better protein that's perfect for dogs with sensitive stomaches (Ginger). It's only $15 per 7lb bag! (groan). Yes, we split the costs.

Well, sis was kind enough to front me on the 50lb bag until Friday (Luv you!) and my apt was starting to smell like a kennel, so I decided that after their nice meal of super-healthy, bank-robbing dog food that I'd clean like a mad man.

Only, it didn't go as smoothly as I would have liked. Klea kept turning off the vacuum with her nose (she taught herself. cute, huh?) and Ginger spent 20 minutes crying at the office door trying to get to Wilbur. So, I did what any self-respecting parent would do... I gave them toys to distract them. Then the gagging started...

Poor Ginger didn't stand a chance. I spent a good 5 minutes pulling pink strings and fluff from her throat. Some days, I wonder if I need to bother thinking about having human children.

Just Do It!

okay, the rules for this little cutie are:

a. post 10 things that make you happy
b. try to do at least one of them today
c. pass some lovins on to 10 other bloggers

aaaaaannnnnndddd GO!!

10. Blog surfing: ok, this may seem a bit stalkerish, but there's nothing I love more than reading the writing of others. The connectivity of the internet reminds me that I'm not alone in whatever problems I'm facing at the moment.

9. talking with my brother: he's an absolute nut but I remember life without him and it was not grand. plus, there's no one who gets me the way he does. and what would life be like without sand on the beach :)

8. K-Dubs: she's a roly poly little thing but my whole life changed when she first licked my ear. she's an a-plus cuddler and knows just when I need some love... or a good burp in the face.

7. snuggling under blankets: warm, toasty blankets that are fresh from the dryer. there's nothing better.

6. being outside: it's true that I hate bugs but there's nothing better than being outside amongst all the natural wonders.

5. spending time with loved ones: its a big deal to know that I have so many people - friends and family - that are there for me and will support me. I love just hanging out, watching movies, talking, or getting absolutely plastered!! Whoot!!

4. crafts : I don't come off as a Betty but I totally am inside. and I dont think there's anything more relaxing than sitting down with a good piece of needlework. it's a productive way to do absolutely nothing.

3. singing: I'm not winning any contests but I believe that there's no truer way to express yourself than through song.

2. dancing: it's the ultimate release and I am one kick-ass booty shaker

1. accomplishing my goals: as a control freak I have a natural fear of failure. that being said, there's nothing better than setting a goal and achieving it. it's empowering on a whole other level. it reminds me that I can do anything if I believe and put in enough hard work to meet God half way.

Now, I'd like to share the bloggy love. Check out these fine bloggies:

Katy @ The Incredible Shrinking Mrs. G. She's got the biggest, softest heart on the planet. And will remind you how the little things mean a lot.

Crystal @ The Story of Us. I'd never met anyone with a constant smile until I met Crystal. The best part is that it's authentic and you just want to be like her.

Jack Shit @ Jack Sh*t, Gettin' Fit. If you don't know Jack then you need to get on this ASAP. He checks in everyday with something fun and witty to keep you inspired on your weight loss journey. And with over 90 pounds loss Jack knows his shit!

Jenny @ Little Green Notebook. I love her decor ideas and am always stealing her style inspirations.

Erin @ Dishes & Wishes. That girls life is crazy but she's holding it all down. And there's nothing funnier than finding your husband finding your ring in the pile of clothes you just destroyed.

Karla the Determined Dancer. she's focused, she's driven, and she's a dancer. Is there more to love?

Jen & John @ CakeWrecks. She's always good for the laugh I need and the horrendous cake pics to keep me on track.

Paulius the Brit. There's no one funnier.

A Cup of Jo. You're probably already a fan and rightfully so. Her posts are sweet, delicate and oh so fun!

Jen @ Green Wedding Shoes. I love what inspires her and can't wait to be engaged just so she can design my shoot. Plus, I'm totally jealous of her SoCal living. Love, love, love.

Check. Check. 1, 2, 3...

So, yesterday I made a list of all the things around my apartment that need done. And last night, I got two of those things accomplished. I bought groceries and then I put them away. It was 7p before I even ate.

So tonight, my goal is to do either the kitchen and my laundry (<- heh) OR the kitchen and the pets. I'm leaning toward the pets because Wilbur's cage is atrocious and Klea's itching up a storm.

I figure I'll take baby steps. It'll all be done eventually, right?

I Would if I Could

I have been feeling tired all of the time lately. Tired and irritable. I don't want to say that I don't know why because I do. This is how I always feel when I have too much responsibility and no outlet. It's not that I want to shirk my responsibilities, it's that I am becoming overwhelmed with the stress and pressure.

The brood is doing well. Maybe feeling a bit neglected because I'm really not in the mood to play. I can't even tell you the last time I let Wilbur run around. The last few weeks were hectic what with both dogs being sick at some point and me having the world's longest running cold and fever. Plus funds have been really tight and I can't seem to get enough sleep (I've already given up on it being restful).

So, basically, on the list of things that MUST get done some time this week are:

* fold and put away 6 (yes, six!) baskets of clothes
* buy groceries (I have one box of spaghetti, one jar of sauce, and a yellow pear that started out green)
* vacuum and clean stubborn stains in carpet
* clean bathrooms
* wash 2 weeks worth of laundry
* clean kitchen
* clean Wilbur's cage
* buy toiletries (have 1/2 roll left and its in guest bath)
* buy dog food
* pay all utilities and car

People, I have only one excuse. I was so sick and it lingered for weeks. Actually, its still here dripping from my left nostril. But now, everything's so grody that I don't want to do it. I know it's going to take forever and there's no one to share the load with. Unless you're volunteering...

Who Needs Humans?

So the whole thing with my human friend did not work out. Am I bummed? Yes. Naturally. I feel like I failed at something, yet I don't know what that something is supposed to be. The pups will be happy but I still want to find something else to put that energy in to.

Maybe working out? Yeah, working out. I need to work out again. I haven't been to the gym since Thanksgiving. Its not something I'm proud of, that's just the way it is. Changes, here we come!

In Sickness and In Health

I'm sick. Or should I say, I'm still sick. I was sick all weekend. I'm pretty sure I have the flu. And while I would have liked to have taken some NyQuil and passed out until I felt better, I didn't have that luxury. Because to leave the children unattended is to ask for the fires of hell to rain down upon my head.

Klea could tell that I wasn't well and so just wanted to lie with me. All day. Under my arm. Across my belly. All day. Just touching me. It got old quick. Because all I wanted was enough space to breathe without having to inhale dander, hair or the essence of kibble.

Ginger took it as her opportunity to bark. at. everything. I could have strangled her. Because the migraine I had going was threatening to take me to the edge of my sanity. And her high-pitched yap was going to kick me over the edge. I found myself yelling at her incessantly and threatening to put her in a kennel until I felt better.

Wilbur. God love him. Because since he's discovered that I am the source of all things good in his life, has begun to chirp for me whenever he hears my voice or senses my presence. And so he chirped. And chirped! And Chirped!! AND CHIRPED!!! Until I finally put him in his ball knowing that Ginger would take him for a spin (thusly, fixing two problems with one solution).

Do I feel like a bad mom? No. Not at all. Because a bad mom would have locked herself in a dark room only emerging to eat if inclined. I, on the other hand, maintained their schedule, kept them groomed, cleaned Wilbur's cage (he was being spun around by Ginger. I totally owed him), and made sure that they didn't destroy my house. I just did it all with less patience than they're used to.

Besides, I'll atone once I'm feeling better.

Whheeeeeee!!!!!!!!!

I always knew that Wilbur was Ginger's favorite thing in the whole house. That is until yesterday. Now, Wilbur in his ball is Ginger's favorite thing in the whole house.

I decided that it would do us all some good to get out and run around in the snow (all of us except for Wilbur, of course). I dressed the doggies in their hand-made, Christmas sweaters and let them frolic. It lasted all of 4 minutes. While I was making snow balls and launching them playfully, all I received in return were looks of disdain and the sudden realization that I'd been left alone, as they were sitting on the porch.

Inside, we got dried off and warmed up. I made warm broth and carrot juice for the pups and decided to let Wilbur run around a bit. Put him in his ball AND... he sat there. Like a lump of coal. Totally letting me down emotionally because, let's face it, he was my last hope.

Ginger immediately launched past me to be next to Wilbur. This is when the mayhem ensued. She began to bark at him, bouncing around in circles, her red, curly fur bouncing in time. It was adorable. Until she realized he could roll.

At first, it was an accident. She wanted him to play, so she nudged him with her nose. And that's when he went on his first official tour of the apartment. She rolled him in and out of every room and corner she could wedge them in to.

I'm sure Wilbur enjoyed the ride at first. But after about ten minutes, I'm sure I heard the distinct sound of a guinea pig vurp. I tried to get by her to pick him up and you would think I'd brought a hatchet with me the way she growled. GRRRRRRR!!!!! Translation: Back off B*tch!.

I finally managed to get Wilbur away from his protector. When I pulled him out of the ball and laid him against my chest, I'm sure I saw him sway. I totally made up for it with a yogurt treat.

But he might want to get used to it. Because now that Ginger's on to his mobility, I'm sure the good times will never end.