I'm afraid that anything I attempt to write today is going to be tainted with the fact that I AM SO TIRED. Really, I am. It's true that I didn't sleep particularly well last night. Marc has been gone for a week and finally returned home last night and so after 6 days, I had to reintroduce myself to his nightly activities which include stealing covers, pillows and invading my side of the bed. Understand that I missed him dreadfully and was terribly happy for him to arrive home, but he is as active in sleep as he is in life and it takes some getting used to when you've had all of that mattress acreage to yourself. Kylie sleeps up there with me when he is gone, but the most she does is press a paw into your forehead when she's ready to get up, and that's usually around 9am. Oh the bliss of a pet that follows your sleep patterns.
No, the real reason for my fatigue is that I spent a lions share of this last week and all of the weekend packing the kitchen up for our reno that starts tomorrow. Did you know that two people can have, like, 201 sets of dishes? And almost an equal amount of glassware? I'm not sure where it comes from as I swear we had only 8 wine glasses once upon a time - I think they procreated behind closed doors one night as I was packing and packing and PACKING and wondering if it would ever end and if my life might be much improved if I threw it all into the recycling bin and just walked away. Either that or we need to cut down on our booze consumption. WHAT? Somewhere Marc's heart just stopped.
So most of it is done. I have a wee bit more to finish up today along with making a temporary kitchen on top of our bookcase in the living room so that Marc can still have his morning coffee and toast. He'll most likely take the time between brewing and consumption to read some Camus or Stegner or Rand, what with the proximity to good literature and all. We like to keep our brains working, you know, despite our surroundings.
I'll take some photos of the process but for now I'm focused on the fact that THERE WILL BE NO MORE BIRDS by the end of the week. Sweet fancy Moses, I can't tell you how happy that makes me. The glee in my heart, it's immeasurable. For now, I'm off to pack up the remaining items. Or throw them out. I'll see how I feel after that shot of tequila that's calling my name.
Showing posts with label Kylie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kylie. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Magic
It would appear that everything in my life currently needs attending to. My car just got back from the shop - did you know that if you leave $700 with your mechanic you'll get a new battery and an alternator and lose your will to live? It's true. I know.
There are a few other household things that we've been doggedly ignoring. It's amazing how you can just stop seeing things, like that splotch of paint color in the kitchen that I was "trying out" two years ago and haven't gotten around to painting over, or the hole in the ceiling that makes my brain hurt to think about fixing. It's so high up and people REALLY have to crane their necks to get a view of the gash in the drywall, so perhaps we're ok as long as we just put sparkly things in front of our guests or distract them with jazz hands.
But the dog. The dog cannot be ignored. I started getting notes from the vets office earlier this year that sang the tune of, "Kylie needs her rabies vaccination updated, lalala!" I sort of put it off for a while until a wretched, WRETCHED flea hopped on board and decided to bite the ever living shit out of Kylie which then turned into a full two weeks of scratching scratching SCRATCHING to which I recall saying to Marc, "This doesn't seem right...she never scratches this much," to which he responded, "Meh, she's fine. Did you finish this episode of How I Met Your Mother WITHOUT ME?" And since this is my blog, I feel entitled to point out that Marc will sneeze and IMMEDIATELY take himself to the doctor, all while gripping his throat, clawing at his eyes and screaming, "BLARGH! I HAVE THE PLAGUE AND AM DYING IS MY WILL IN ORDER?" He'll also mysteriously come down with the same symptoms I have whenever I fall ill and sequester himself into the best corner of the couch for a day or two, asking that I stop typing so loudly and will I make him some tea? It's true. It will be interesting to see what happens should I ever bear a child.
Anyways, this flagrant hypochondria does not extend outside of his own orbit, meaning I had to physically point out a raw spot on the dog and say, "I'm taking her to the vet RIGHT NOW!" to which he responded, "Are you sure it's not just the lighting in here that's making that area red?"
So. Fleas. I won't go into what kind of work that caused me as I'm still recovering from all of the laundry and scrubbing and apologizing I did to my dog for not taking her in the minute I suspected something was wrong. BUT, while I was at the vets, I decided it might be the right time to get the rabies vaccination updated. I mean, let's get this shit DONE. Kylie hates the vet and uses each visit to almost physically crawl up my body and wrap herself around my head all while shedding her entire coat of fur. There are not enough lint rollers to combat THAT, let me tell you.
I told the vet we were seeing that day that we ought to also follow the vaccine protocol and get Kylie updated. I should mention that he's not our usual vet and was someone I requested we NOT see again while checking out. He liberally smattered expletives throughout his speech, which is totally un-fucking-professional, and I think had this idea of me the moment he saw me...that I must be the kind of girl who sups on caviar and sleeps in the Chanel boutique at Neiman Marcus. I disliked him almost immeidiately.
So the vaccine. I mentioned it. He looked at me quizzically and said, "I think that vaccines are bullshit. Unless you're in an area where she is going to come into contact with wild creatures, she's fine." Um, like bears and bats and coyotes and things of that nature that you see when you're in the back country? Because she sees those things a LOT - our recreational activities involve carrying large amounts of gear deep into the wilderness where we then sleep on the ground and poo behind trees. I said as much (minus the poo) and the vet looked at me in complete disbelief and then said, "No, I mean, like WAY back in the woods...NOT just car camping." That's when I kicked him in the head.
I finally just said, "Look, just give me the vaccine." He seemed put out that I would at all challenge his opinion, but at this point we were neck deep in tufts of Kylie's undercoat and he fled the scene telling me he would send in a tech to administer the shot. I swear he told the tech to really go for it as she walked in with a needle the size of which I hadn't seen outside of a Halloween novelty store. This thing could have stitched a leather couch together. The tech was bubbly and sweet and trying to coax Kylie out from underneath my legs where I assume she was saying things like, "Fuck, NO!" I asked the tech to ratchet down her enthusiasm a notch since at this point Kylie was in danger of leaving the office bald. Finally, she just sort of wrapped her fist around the syringe all Dexter style and JAMMED! it into Kylie's rump. Kylie just wilted against my legs and looked up at me in a way that said she would rather have been left on the streets of LA if being rescued by me meant THIS sort of abuse. Especially since she didn't even get a fancy band-aid or a lolly pop. Just a smack on the ass and a GOODGIRL from the tech who left promptly...probably to go and find the nearest lint roller.
Regardless, my dog now has super human blood and can go and smack a bat or lick a monkey or harass any feral creature and not be in danger of dying a foamy death. She is magic. Marc is jealous. There is nothing he can come up with health wise to compete with magic blood. Though I'd like to see him try.
There are a few other household things that we've been doggedly ignoring. It's amazing how you can just stop seeing things, like that splotch of paint color in the kitchen that I was "trying out" two years ago and haven't gotten around to painting over, or the hole in the ceiling that makes my brain hurt to think about fixing. It's so high up and people REALLY have to crane their necks to get a view of the gash in the drywall, so perhaps we're ok as long as we just put sparkly things in front of our guests or distract them with jazz hands.
But the dog. The dog cannot be ignored. I started getting notes from the vets office earlier this year that sang the tune of, "Kylie needs her rabies vaccination updated, lalala!" I sort of put it off for a while until a wretched, WRETCHED flea hopped on board and decided to bite the ever living shit out of Kylie which then turned into a full two weeks of scratching scratching SCRATCHING to which I recall saying to Marc, "This doesn't seem right...she never scratches this much," to which he responded, "Meh, she's fine. Did you finish this episode of How I Met Your Mother WITHOUT ME?" And since this is my blog, I feel entitled to point out that Marc will sneeze and IMMEDIATELY take himself to the doctor, all while gripping his throat, clawing at his eyes and screaming, "BLARGH! I HAVE THE PLAGUE AND AM DYING IS MY WILL IN ORDER?" He'll also mysteriously come down with the same symptoms I have whenever I fall ill and sequester himself into the best corner of the couch for a day or two, asking that I stop typing so loudly and will I make him some tea? It's true. It will be interesting to see what happens should I ever bear a child.
Anyways, this flagrant hypochondria does not extend outside of his own orbit, meaning I had to physically point out a raw spot on the dog and say, "I'm taking her to the vet RIGHT NOW!" to which he responded, "Are you sure it's not just the lighting in here that's making that area red?"
So. Fleas. I won't go into what kind of work that caused me as I'm still recovering from all of the laundry and scrubbing and apologizing I did to my dog for not taking her in the minute I suspected something was wrong. BUT, while I was at the vets, I decided it might be the right time to get the rabies vaccination updated. I mean, let's get this shit DONE. Kylie hates the vet and uses each visit to almost physically crawl up my body and wrap herself around my head all while shedding her entire coat of fur. There are not enough lint rollers to combat THAT, let me tell you.
I told the vet we were seeing that day that we ought to also follow the vaccine protocol and get Kylie updated. I should mention that he's not our usual vet and was someone I requested we NOT see again while checking out. He liberally smattered expletives throughout his speech, which is totally un-fucking-professional, and I think had this idea of me the moment he saw me...that I must be the kind of girl who sups on caviar and sleeps in the Chanel boutique at Neiman Marcus. I disliked him almost immeidiately.
So the vaccine. I mentioned it. He looked at me quizzically and said, "I think that vaccines are bullshit. Unless you're in an area where she is going to come into contact with wild creatures, she's fine." Um, like bears and bats and coyotes and things of that nature that you see when you're in the back country? Because she sees those things a LOT - our recreational activities involve carrying large amounts of gear deep into the wilderness where we then sleep on the ground and poo behind trees. I said as much (minus the poo) and the vet looked at me in complete disbelief and then said, "No, I mean, like WAY back in the woods...NOT just car camping." That's when I kicked him in the head.
I finally just said, "Look, just give me the vaccine." He seemed put out that I would at all challenge his opinion, but at this point we were neck deep in tufts of Kylie's undercoat and he fled the scene telling me he would send in a tech to administer the shot. I swear he told the tech to really go for it as she walked in with a needle the size of which I hadn't seen outside of a Halloween novelty store. This thing could have stitched a leather couch together. The tech was bubbly and sweet and trying to coax Kylie out from underneath my legs where I assume she was saying things like, "Fuck, NO!" I asked the tech to ratchet down her enthusiasm a notch since at this point Kylie was in danger of leaving the office bald. Finally, she just sort of wrapped her fist around the syringe all Dexter style and JAMMED! it into Kylie's rump. Kylie just wilted against my legs and looked up at me in a way that said she would rather have been left on the streets of LA if being rescued by me meant THIS sort of abuse. Especially since she didn't even get a fancy band-aid or a lolly pop. Just a smack on the ass and a GOODGIRL from the tech who left promptly...probably to go and find the nearest lint roller.
Regardless, my dog now has super human blood and can go and smack a bat or lick a monkey or harass any feral creature and not be in danger of dying a foamy death. She is magic. Marc is jealous. There is nothing he can come up with health wise to compete with magic blood. Though I'd like to see him try.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
The passing of a friend
This morning I got some sad news that one of my favorite dogs had passed on to the great fire hydrant in the sky. Bodhi belonged to our dear friends and was really the only dog that Kylie had any patience for. They were like siblings and we never laughed more than watching the two of them play together, especially given Kylie's tendency to bitch slap Bodhi into complete submission despite his larger size and greater age.
Bodhi was a dear, a dog who would cuddle, who was just happy and content being around those that he loved. He was, in fact, the reason that we sought out and adopted Kylie, our friends success in rehabilitating Bodhi giving us the bravery to do the same. He was saved from being euthanized at a shelter and so was one of those pups that was given a second chance at life. Given his loyalty towards his people, I think he was always aware of how lucky he was. He had his quirks, as do many rescue dogs who have been abandoned and abused, but overall he was an amazing beast and brought years of joy to those of us who loved him.
Here's one of my favorite pictures of Bodhi and Kylie. You can be sure that two seconds after the shutter went off, the two of them went tearing after whatever they are so focused on. Kylie would be out in front, focused on whatever it was she was chasing, and Bodhi, loping behind with his perky gait, would be happy to back her up. May you have endless fields to run across and squirrels to chase, buddy. You are missed.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Yes. I had a rabbit that I named Darling. Suck it.
Kylie insists on her walks. She is insistent in a way that would make a Jehovah’s Witness banging on your door seem like a melody. There is a lot of pawing, and whining and pacing. You cannot go near your sneakers without her freaking the FUCK out because OH MY GOD she might get to go Elsewhere, which is definitely better than Here, this House that holds her captive.
I’ve determined, through a very scientific poll (consisting of opinions from complete strangers), that she is part Shepherd and part Aussie Cattle dog. She is of dubious pedigree, but those are the two breeds that seem to rise most to the surface. Sweet Moses, if you ever want to have a dog that just sits and wants to be pet and loved on while in front of a crackling fire, do not, DO NOT, acquire an Aussie Cattle or any variation of said dog. They are working dogs, and since I am not planning on acquiring sheep or cattle for her to herd, she needs more exercise than most people can handle. You would think her chores of clearing the dishwasher and vacuuming and peeling grapes for me to eat would wear her out, but NO. She needs an hour long walk EVERY DAY. I’ve tried explaining to her that even God took a day off to rest, but it would appear that Jesus is not, in fact, her homeboy.
We didn’t have REAL pets growing up. There was a passing relationship with two rabbits during the second grade. That era ended with one, Snowy, falling into the pool and drowning and the other, my rabbit Darling, dying, unceremoniously, by the garbage cans. My father put Darling into a lunch baggie and threw him over the fence into a dumpster, which seemed like the right thing to do but put me into paroxysms of grief over not being able to give him a proper burial. I had envisioned a headstone, some touching words and music – in retrospect, I probably felt more cheated out of the dramatics of the funeral than I was upset about Darlings dying. We determined he had suffered from a broken heart, Snowy having taken her final swim only weeks before. We constantly found litters of baby bunnies that Snowy had disemboweled, so we assumed they were lovers. Apparently Snowy didn't want to share Darling with anyone since she kept eating her young. Bitch.
There were also some fish that somehow always ended up being flushed down the toilet, much to my mothers relief. She had raised four children and didn’t see why it was necessary to start all over again with a menagerie of animals that would never be able to pick up their own poop or clean up after themselves. Keenly aware of her workload, I understood her reasoning, but coveted, COVETED, a dog. I got my wish. One that requires more work than I had thought possible out of something that weighs only 45lbs and can't talk back.
I understand her misgivings, now. I think if I had children, in addition to Kylie, I would be an insufferable shrew, wearing a house-coat and curlers and yelling things like “GET YOUR OWN MAC ‘N CHEESE! BE QUIET, MY STORIES ARE ON! SOMEONE BRING MAMA A CIGARETTE!” I would give up based on the amount of Need that was being aimed my direction. But since I just have Kylie, I’m thankful that these daily marches are keeping me in some sort of shape and that I have such a lovely, albeit neurotic, dog to keep me company at all times. Plus, she makes a great martini. That took WEEKS of training.
She’s pawing at me now, her whine reaching a decibel that is beyond irritating, so off we go. There are days when I would welcome the Jehovah’s Witnesses. At least they would let me sit on my ass while they put forth their spiel and would take care of their own poop…though they probably wouldn't be as cute, or have that patch of fur between their ears that smells like heaven. Now THAT would be an awkward comparison test to ask for.
I’ve determined, through a very scientific poll (consisting of opinions from complete strangers), that she is part Shepherd and part Aussie Cattle dog. She is of dubious pedigree, but those are the two breeds that seem to rise most to the surface. Sweet Moses, if you ever want to have a dog that just sits and wants to be pet and loved on while in front of a crackling fire, do not, DO NOT, acquire an Aussie Cattle or any variation of said dog. They are working dogs, and since I am not planning on acquiring sheep or cattle for her to herd, she needs more exercise than most people can handle. You would think her chores of clearing the dishwasher and vacuuming and peeling grapes for me to eat would wear her out, but NO. She needs an hour long walk EVERY DAY. I’ve tried explaining to her that even God took a day off to rest, but it would appear that Jesus is not, in fact, her homeboy.
We didn’t have REAL pets growing up. There was a passing relationship with two rabbits during the second grade. That era ended with one, Snowy, falling into the pool and drowning and the other, my rabbit Darling, dying, unceremoniously, by the garbage cans. My father put Darling into a lunch baggie and threw him over the fence into a dumpster, which seemed like the right thing to do but put me into paroxysms of grief over not being able to give him a proper burial. I had envisioned a headstone, some touching words and music – in retrospect, I probably felt more cheated out of the dramatics of the funeral than I was upset about Darlings dying. We determined he had suffered from a broken heart, Snowy having taken her final swim only weeks before. We constantly found litters of baby bunnies that Snowy had disemboweled, so we assumed they were lovers. Apparently Snowy didn't want to share Darling with anyone since she kept eating her young. Bitch.
There were also some fish that somehow always ended up being flushed down the toilet, much to my mothers relief. She had raised four children and didn’t see why it was necessary to start all over again with a menagerie of animals that would never be able to pick up their own poop or clean up after themselves. Keenly aware of her workload, I understood her reasoning, but coveted, COVETED, a dog. I got my wish. One that requires more work than I had thought possible out of something that weighs only 45lbs and can't talk back.
I understand her misgivings, now. I think if I had children, in addition to Kylie, I would be an insufferable shrew, wearing a house-coat and curlers and yelling things like “GET YOUR OWN MAC ‘N CHEESE! BE QUIET, MY STORIES ARE ON! SOMEONE BRING MAMA A CIGARETTE!” I would give up based on the amount of Need that was being aimed my direction. But since I just have Kylie, I’m thankful that these daily marches are keeping me in some sort of shape and that I have such a lovely, albeit neurotic, dog to keep me company at all times. Plus, she makes a great martini. That took WEEKS of training.
She’s pawing at me now, her whine reaching a decibel that is beyond irritating, so off we go. There are days when I would welcome the Jehovah’s Witnesses. At least they would let me sit on my ass while they put forth their spiel and would take care of their own poop…though they probably wouldn't be as cute, or have that patch of fur between their ears that smells like heaven. Now THAT would be an awkward comparison test to ask for.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
At least she waxes
I just put up that new photo of Kylie and realized that it gives you a clear view up her ass. Why I didn’t notice this before is beyond me…it could have had something to do with not being able to get iPhoto open and then being distracted by a chocolate turkey that I found sitting on the counter that suddenly needed my attention. Because if there is a chocolate turkey, and it is past Thanksgiving, one must attend! And also eat! Which I did, and now I have a tummy ache and a photo that portrays the dog version of a money shot. But will I change it? NO! Because iPhoto is still being cranky and now I must go and search for Tums.
So be patient, and just enjoy the rest of the picture. The pretty trees! The mountains in the background! The big, blue sky! And the knowledge that at the end of this particular hike, we were rewarded with margaritas of such strength, of such mind bending properties that I woke up in the backseat of a strange car with my underwear around my ears and “John 3:16” written in pink lipstick on my forehead. Fa la la la LA!
Anyhoo, I’ll do my best to get a different, less offensive photo up by weeks end so that you don’t have to read my blog with one finger covering my dogs butt. Because that can’t be ergonomically correct or good for your neck. Never say I don’t think of my dear readers first.
UPDATE: You'll note our fair pup is now trotting along the beach, backside safely in the shadows. You're welcome.
So be patient, and just enjoy the rest of the picture. The pretty trees! The mountains in the background! The big, blue sky! And the knowledge that at the end of this particular hike, we were rewarded with margaritas of such strength, of such mind bending properties that I woke up in the backseat of a strange car with my underwear around my ears and “John 3:16” written in pink lipstick on my forehead. Fa la la la LA!
Anyhoo, I’ll do my best to get a different, less offensive photo up by weeks end so that you don’t have to read my blog with one finger covering my dogs butt. Because that can’t be ergonomically correct or good for your neck. Never say I don’t think of my dear readers first.
UPDATE: You'll note our fair pup is now trotting along the beach, backside safely in the shadows. You're welcome.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Kylie's Nature Programming
Mom: So Kylie has a bed in almost every room in this house, doesn't she?
Me: Yes. And she views anything that has a horizontal surface as a potential bed. I'm surprised we haven't found her napping on the coffee table yet.
Mom: She sleeps in your bedroom with you, right?
Me: Yeeeeees? (curious as to where this was going)
Mom: Well, what does she do when you and Marc are...well, YOU know...
Me: No mom, I don't. (because I'm evil and wanted to see if she would say HAVING HOT SEX)
Mom: Well (struggling), what does she do when you're having...a TENDER moment?
Me: OH! You mean like HAVING SEX? Well, when we're HAVING SEX, she usually watches and then rates us based on our endurance and creativity during SEX. It's her version of Mutual of Omaha*.
Mom: That was NOT necessary OR lovely. (hitting me on the arm)
Me: Hey, you asked.
*How RAD was Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom? Do you remember Marlin Perkins? And how he always introduced the show in that room with the really awful wood siding? My childhood living room had such siding. Also, whenever we would watch that show, my mom would turn it off when the animals would have sex. It wasn't lovely. Neither is the fact that I would dare do so the same room as my dog. Take note.
Me: Yes. And she views anything that has a horizontal surface as a potential bed. I'm surprised we haven't found her napping on the coffee table yet.
Mom: She sleeps in your bedroom with you, right?
Me: Yeeeeees? (curious as to where this was going)
Mom: Well, what does she do when you and Marc are...well, YOU know...
Me: No mom, I don't. (because I'm evil and wanted to see if she would say HAVING HOT SEX)
Mom: Well (struggling), what does she do when you're having...a TENDER moment?
Me: OH! You mean like HAVING SEX? Well, when we're HAVING SEX, she usually watches and then rates us based on our endurance and creativity during SEX. It's her version of Mutual of Omaha*.
Mom: That was NOT necessary OR lovely. (hitting me on the arm)
Me: Hey, you asked.
*How RAD was Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom? Do you remember Marlin Perkins? And how he always introduced the show in that room with the really awful wood siding? My childhood living room had such siding. Also, whenever we would watch that show, my mom would turn it off when the animals would have sex. It wasn't lovely. Neither is the fact that I would dare do so the same room as my dog. Take note.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Random rant
Internet! How is your day going? Mine, you ask? Very well, mostly because I'm getting out of this pit of a Bay Area today...yes, I'm on the bitter-bus-party-of-one for no particular reason! Know that if you, say, stand too close to me in line, cut me off in traffic or try to start a friendly conversation, I might seriously cut you. I'm in a mood, people. It will pass.
I'm off to the Eastern Sierras to breathe in fresh air, hang with friends, let my dog run free and perhaps make a dent in some of the writing I was supposed to have done a week ago. Perhaps this will be the trip wherein Kylie finally catches the chipmunk that lives under the great boulder outside of the bedroom in which we sleep. I'm sure that she just wants to add it to her dossier of kills, since she doesn't have "1-chipmunk" on her list, but I have this visual of her making friends with it and walking into the cabin, chipmunk in tow and say "Mom? Can we keep her?" to which I'll have to say no, because I don't think she's ready for the responsibility of a pet - when she starts picking up her own poop, we can talk. And then she'll get upset and wail "MOOOOMMMMM you never give me ANNNNYTHING!" to which I'll remind her that I've spent the past six years doing such things as feeding her regularly, walking her daily, letting her sneak up on the bed when she's not supposed to and not beating her senseless when she pukes on the carpet and then she'll think for a moment with a furrowed brow before replying, "Oh yeah, that...well how about we just raise my allowance?"
Kids.
I'm off to the Eastern Sierras to breathe in fresh air, hang with friends, let my dog run free and perhaps make a dent in some of the writing I was supposed to have done a week ago. Perhaps this will be the trip wherein Kylie finally catches the chipmunk that lives under the great boulder outside of the bedroom in which we sleep. I'm sure that she just wants to add it to her dossier of kills, since she doesn't have "1-chipmunk" on her list, but I have this visual of her making friends with it and walking into the cabin, chipmunk in tow and say "Mom? Can we keep her?" to which I'll have to say no, because I don't think she's ready for the responsibility of a pet - when she starts picking up her own poop, we can talk. And then she'll get upset and wail "MOOOOMMMMM you never give me ANNNNYTHING!" to which I'll remind her that I've spent the past six years doing such things as feeding her regularly, walking her daily, letting her sneak up on the bed when she's not supposed to and not beating her senseless when she pukes on the carpet and then she'll think for a moment with a furrowed brow before replying, "Oh yeah, that...well how about we just raise my allowance?"
Kids.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Sausages!
If this were Kylie, she would be yelling "Chicken, CHICKEN!" and also trying to eat the squirrel that shows up at the end of the video clip. It's so peaceful at our house...which is why I prefer tequila to light beer.
Have a lovely weekend!
Have a lovely weekend!
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Small Game Hunter
My dog Kylie has many, lovely characteristics…for instance, she never poops in the house, sleeps through the night and has the best smelling head on earth. I’m not kidding...that patch of fur between her ears is my own personal nirvana, and if you think I’m crazy, then you’ve never taken a whiff.
What isn’t so lovely, however, is her tendency to hunt and kill small animals. Her current roster looks like this:
3 - rats
1 - hawk
2 - skunks
2 - opossums
2 - squirrels (almost)
1 - crow
A few weeks ago, we had a banner week…two animals over the course of 5 days, which even I find impressive. Not that I like having my backyard littered with carcasses, mind you, but I kind of feel like high-fiving her each time she comes in all excited over her latest conquest. The most unpleasant part, however, is the fact that she completely eviscerates the animals, which, while a nice snack for her, tends to come up later in the form of vomit, sometimes on my feet as she likes to be THIS close when feeling unwell. (After which she looks up at me as though to say “Well, THAT was unpleasant…more for you, though” as I wipe entrails off of my foot).
So today, on our walk, she was off leash and I saw her suddenly take off after what I presume was a bunny, what with all of the frantic hopping and floppy ears. And I thought to myself “Great, I’m going to be late for work because I’m going to have to wrestle a small, woodland creature from my dogs jaws” after which I noted “Who has to THINK these kinds of thoughts before lunch?” Fortunately, her efforts were futile and after some half-hearted clapping and hollering of “Kylie, COME” from me, she returned, tongue hanging down to her knees, exhausted.
I think if Kylie had her way, our entry hall would be an homage to her kills, animal heads mounted on the wall so that when company came over she could lead them through her exploits. And I sometimes wonder, on those days where she doesn’t get a sufficient walk or attention or whatever it is she deems necessary to her happiness, if she doesn’t think “The next time my blond person bends down to sniff my head, I’m seriously going to take her out…I need to add ‘1 - human’ to my list.”
You never know.
What isn’t so lovely, however, is her tendency to hunt and kill small animals. Her current roster looks like this:
3 - rats
1 - hawk
2 - skunks
2 - opossums
2 - squirrels (almost)
1 - crow
A few weeks ago, we had a banner week…two animals over the course of 5 days, which even I find impressive. Not that I like having my backyard littered with carcasses, mind you, but I kind of feel like high-fiving her each time she comes in all excited over her latest conquest. The most unpleasant part, however, is the fact that she completely eviscerates the animals, which, while a nice snack for her, tends to come up later in the form of vomit, sometimes on my feet as she likes to be THIS close when feeling unwell. (After which she looks up at me as though to say “Well, THAT was unpleasant…more for you, though” as I wipe entrails off of my foot).
So today, on our walk, she was off leash and I saw her suddenly take off after what I presume was a bunny, what with all of the frantic hopping and floppy ears. And I thought to myself “Great, I’m going to be late for work because I’m going to have to wrestle a small, woodland creature from my dogs jaws” after which I noted “Who has to THINK these kinds of thoughts before lunch?” Fortunately, her efforts were futile and after some half-hearted clapping and hollering of “Kylie, COME” from me, she returned, tongue hanging down to her knees, exhausted.
I think if Kylie had her way, our entry hall would be an homage to her kills, animal heads mounted on the wall so that when company came over she could lead them through her exploits. And I sometimes wonder, on those days where she doesn’t get a sufficient walk or attention or whatever it is she deems necessary to her happiness, if she doesn’t think “The next time my blond person bends down to sniff my head, I’m seriously going to take her out…I need to add ‘1 - human’ to my list.”
You never know.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Stinson
Kylie thinks that all of her weekends should look like this, and I quite agree. A group of us rented a house in Stinson for the weekend, and it was just enough time to decompress and relax, though I was sad to leave Sunday.
I think I would be a better version of myself if I had a beach house…you know, I could work on building some SERIOUS character while walking barefoot on the sand…with a glass of wine. The world would really be a better place...I'm only thinking of the well-being of everyone who knows me. Truly.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Happiness is NOT...
...having your dog barf on your foot...when you're wearing open toed sandals.
I'm so happy this week is over, I could just spit.
I'm so happy this week is over, I could just spit.
Monday, April 28, 2008
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