Hello from Puppy Dog - Big Boy

 

Hello Friends!

I had to be a big boy today.

I could tell that Mama was in a bad mood, because she was cleaning.  

Whenever Mama de-scents our den, she stomps around and mutters to herself.  I don't always hear what she says, but the bits I have heard seem to be about someone called "Lazy Bastard."  

Whenever Mama gets like this I go and sit on the mat at the front door.  It's my Safe Zone. 

But Puppy Girl just doesn't get it.  I told her to play nicely with some of the toys lying around, or go into her crate, but she ignored me.

So Mama is stomping and wiping and spraying and Puppy Girl starts barking and whining at that new gate thingy we have at the dining room door.  So Mama lets her through to hang out while she cleans, and Puppy Girl goes into the room where Mama and Dada keep their furs, and steals some of Dada's socks!

Mama was not happy.  She yelled at Puppy Girl and I know that she felt bad afterwards because she sighed, told Puppy Girl to sit and gave her a reassuring scratch behind the ears.

Then Mama came to see me - because we hadn't even had a chance to say good morning to each other.  But when she tried to pet me, Puppy Girl kept biting my tail or my back leg.

When Mama told her not to, she barked defiantly!

Uh-oh...

I could feel Mama getting mad again so I decided to be a big boy and step in.

I went and got a toy and asked Puppy Girl to come and play with me.

Mama said I was a very good boy and scratched my back while I played tug with the baby.

I ROCK!

You know, now that we have a baby in the house, I have to be a big boy all the time.  I have to show her she's bottom of the pack (actually, pinning her is quite fun), I have to teach her about where to potty, and which things she can chew and she can't.

I think I'm doing a pretty good job, actually.

Lots of licks and woofs, 

Big Boy Puppy Dog.

Quote Unquote - Mommy dearest

 

"Don't think so much, my girl.  You'll never be happy."

My mother.

I'm jus' sayin' - Can I get one?

 

Hey "Customer service" person, can I get one of those?  You know, that invisible leash that is holding you to the end of this aisle, so you can only point in a vague direction instead of showing me where I can find what I need?

See, here's the thing...

I'd love to be out and about, walking my dog, have people think he's out of control, then reel him in with the invisible leash, like a magician.

I'm jus' sayin'

Dear Diary - Lassie come home

Dear Diary, 

I RESCUED A DOG TODAY!

No, I don't mean that I went to the Humane Society and brought a dog home.  I mean that I found a dog that was lost and took it home again!

It was so amazing!

I want to share the story with you, dear Diary.   

I was at the coffee shop, walking to the car, balancing a latte and a cappuccino in one hand and fumbling with my car keys in the other.  I saw a dog out of the corner of my eye.  

I had no reason to react to it but somewhere, in the back of my mind, I knew something was wrong.

So I put my coffees in the car, grabbed a bag of dog treats and walked down the block to where the dog was.  I saw that he didn't have a leash and watched him run into the yard of a house next to the coffee shop.  We have sat at outside tables next to that yard very often, and I have never seen any sign of the people who live there being dog owners.  

I threw some treats into the yard and then walked in, closing the gate behind me.  The dog was obviously scared, so I gave him more treats, and slowly walked up to the front door.  I rang the doorbell.

The dog looked at me, looked at the closed gate and immediately knew what was going on.  He wriggled under the gate and took off, crossing the street and running up a hill.

Shit!

I ran back to my car, backed out of the parking lot and followed the dog.  I found him in front of a church.  I pulled the car onto the sidewalk, made reassuring noises at the dog and started luring it with treats.  

I eventually grabbed its collar and it was petrified.  The ears were all the way back and it was quivering.  I knelt down and stroked it, petted it on the head, massaged its ears.  It seemed to calm a little, but still tried to pull away a few times. 

This was clearly someone's pet.  He was well fed, well groomed and had a collar and tags.  Just no name tag with his owner's contact details on it.  

More treats, more soft voice, more petting.

Then I started to put the treats on the car bumper, and then in the back of the SUV.  The dog jumped inside.

Success!

I got in the car, cranked up the heat (the dog was wet and dirty and it was cold out) and headed home.  

I called Fluffy Bear out of the house and he brought water and more food.  We checked the tags, but only the pet license one was readable.  I had my laptop and tried to find a place online where I could look up a dog from the pet license number, but I couldn't find anyway to do it.

So we drove across town to the Humane Society and they were amazing.

We met a lovely lady who looked up the pet license, told us the dog's name was Jim, and called the owner.  As soon as she said she was calling from the Humane Society, he must've asked if they had her dog because she said:

  "No, I don't have your dog, some good Samaritans have him."

Then she passed me the phone.  I can't tell you how good it felt to talk to this man.  

Life is full of challenges, irritations, sadness interspersed with little moments of comfort, times with friends, love from puppies.

But, when you live in suburbia and work in corporate America, there are few opportunities to really do good in this world, unless you are one of those amazing people who regularly give their time and effort as a volunteer.  

Fifteen minutes after that phone call we were giving Jim back to his family.

He had crawled under the fence in his own yard (we saw the hole), somehow made it across a very busy road, and run 5 blocks West and 4 blocks South before I found him.

The smile on his owner's face, Jim's wagging tail... What a lovely sight. 

I rewarded myself later, dear Diary, with a Babe Ruth bar and a nice cup of tea.

He Said She Said - Sesame Street humor

  

"Success!" she yelled, standing in pouring rain next to the potty area they'd created for the puppy.

"She peed?" he asked, coming to the back door.

"Yep," she said triumphantly, bending over to pick the puppy up and get her inside with minimum mud accompaniment.

"Yay!" he shouted.  Then, to the puppy, in a high voice:  "Good girl!"

"Can you please just wipe her paws for me?" she asked, holding the puppy's legs up towards the towel hanging on a hook in the mud room next to the kitchen door.

"One paw!" he bellowed, taking the towel and wiping.  "WAH HA HA HA HA HA!"

 "Two paw!" he went on, channeling the Count from Sesame Street.  "WAH HA HA HA HA HA!"

"Excellent!" she whispered, starting to giggle, rain dripping off her glasses.

"Three paw!  WAH HA HA HA HA HA!"  They were both laughing.

"FOUR PAW!" he cranked up the volume for his final guffaw.  "WAH HA HA HA HA HA!"

"I don't think she gets it," she snorted.

"Never mind," he said, smiling, "we do."

Dear Diary - Here's why nothing gets done

  

Dear Diary,

Yesterday, Fluffy Bear had a go at me about not submitting the claim for our new glasses to our medical insurance.  He's right, it's been over two weeks since we shelled out our savings because neither of us could see a damn.  

But I keep forgetting, even though the paperwork is 80% done and is sitting on the coffee table in plain sight.

Me, who is normally so organized.

What's going on?  

I'll tell you what's going on, dear Diary.

Let me give you a snippet of my morning:

I walk towards the couch, determined to sit down, pick the paperwork off the coffee table, get it done and ready to hit the mailbox.  But, to get work done, I have to distract the dogs first.

What to do?

Ah... toy exchange.

So I quietly pick up some of the toys that are still out from yesterday and move towards the Toy Box.  Of course they see me.  Of course they know what is going on.  Of course they decide that yesterday's toys are suddenly deeply fascinating and try to grab them out of my hands.

I wrestle the toys into the box, I make a big deal about pulling different ones out and make very excited whooping noises as I throw them across the room.  

It seems to work.  They chase after the toys.

I head for the couch.

Sigh.  Sit down and do the insurance claim.

Nope, there are dogs at my heels.  All that work and I managed to distract them for a whole five seconds.

Puppy Girl starts sniffing and scratching at the bottom corner of the couch.  There's something under there.

I push the couch back to reveal a nylabone, a hedgehog carcass and a solitary piece of kibble.  They both go for it like T-Rexes.

I kick the nylabone and hedgehog out of the way.  OK, they have all their stuff.  

Sigh.  Put the couch back, then sit down and do the insurance claim.

As I walk across the floor where the couch normally is, I feel crunching underfoot.  Gross.

Time to go and get the Shark - a hand vacuum.

Now we have Puppy Girl growling and bounding at the Shark then running away as I try to suck up the dirt.

Hairballs.  

I have the Shark in my hand, I might as well suck up those hairballs I saw last night.  Now, where were they?

Ah, the usual places:  next to the bookcase in the dining room, next to the armchair in the corner of the lounge, behind the kitchen door.

Right.  Hairballs sucked up.

Sigh.  Put the Shark away push the couch back, then sit down and do the insurance claim.

I go to push the couch back to where it should be.  I have managed to wedge it between the end table and a little set of shelves.  I have to climb over the couch, push it around and into place, then fix the end table, then fix the shelves.  

By this time I'm a bit pissed off.  I need some Nicorette.  Where did I put the Nicorette?

I look on the shelves.  I look on the end table.  I feel in the pockets of my robe.

It takes me five minutes to find the Nicorette, and another two minutes to get the fucking child-proof wrapper off a piece.  I break a nail in the process.

So now I have to find a nail file.  I head to my little basket of nail thingies, stuffed with various colors of O.P.I. polish.  No nail file.

Shit.

Where did I put it?  

Think.

I used it last night after I broke a nail taking Puppy Girl out to potty.  

I walk around the house, peering at horizontal surfaces.  I find it on top of the fridge.  I have no memory of putting it there.

I file what's left of the one nail I have that was longer than 1 millimeter - my hands have gone hobo since the puppy - and consider making a cup of tea.

I'll make a cup of tea, I tell myself, and then sit down and do---

What was I going to do again?

Puppy Girl jumps up at my legs and barks.  Time to take her out in the rain to potty.  

I'll remember what that thing was that I had to do later...

Bucket List - Speak at a funeral

 

The Bucket List is a list of things I want to do/feel I should do before I die.  I've done some of them already, and I'm telling one of those stories here.  To see the whole list, click here.

I was a lucky child.  I grew up in the same house from birth till I was over 21 years old.  My early life was incredibly stable, safe and happy.

I lived in a nice, middle class, suburban neighborhood, and we had a little local gang of kinds, kind of like Charlie Brown and his friends in Peanuts.

From very early on, I was friends with Ellen.  We met when I went to crèche/nursery school at 3 years old.  

I stayed the night at her house more times than I can count.  When we were tiny, I would bathe with her and her brother and sister, all of us fitting into the bath at the same time.  

Her parents were like a close uncle and aunt.  My brother and sisters were so much older than me that Ellen's sister and brother felt like my little siblings.  Her house was my surrogate home.

As we grew older, we were all at her house every day in the summer, because she had a pool.  We played Marco Polo in earlier years, and slathered ourselves in baby oil to get tanned when we were teenagers.  We rode our bikes, we played hide and seek, we went to the movies, we hung out at the mall.

She didn't always see me as her BFF, but I saw her as mine.  At my 21st birthday, Ellen stood up and shocked me by apologizing to me for sometimes having been cruel to me.  I didn't know what to say.  She was 90% friend and only 10% bitch, but little girls are like that... we can be horrid to each other.  I have no doubt that I was awful to her too at times.  

Then we went to different Universities, I left to travel in the UK and Europe, and we grew apart a little.  I didn't like her boyfriend when I met him, but then again, I was always insanely jealous of anyone who took her attention away from me.  

I came home after a year in England to attend her wedding.  She was moving to another country and going to live on a farm with that same guy I didn't like.  This was the exact opposite of the plans that I had for myself, and I didn't agree with her choices, but I was happy that she was happy.

I know her wedding was lovely even though my recollection of it is hazy.  I wish I remembered it better.

Sadly, it is overshadowed by the memory of her funeral, which took place a few weeks later.  I had come home for a short stay, arriving just before her wedding.  As it turned out, I was going to be there long enough to pay my respects to her in person.

A few days after her honeymoon ended, she died in a car accident.

My mother, who also saw her as a daughter, called me, crying, to tell me the news.  I remember it so clearly.  I was visiting friends in another town, I was sitting in the bath, someone brought me the cordless phone, and I just didn't believe my mother.  

"You're joking!" I kept screeching at her.

I can't imagine how hard it must have been for her to make that phone call.

And so, suddenly, I had a funeral to attend.

Ellen was the first child, and her mother's favorite.  Seeing my second mom at the funeral, this lovely woman, in such pain, was one of the hardest things I have ever seen.  I have a mini-video snapshot in my memory of her walking to the front to put a photo of Ellen on a stand, her husband trying to steer her into a pew, and her brushing his hand away, going up there to put the photo up for all to see the beauty that was taken from us.  From that day on, Ellen's mother - previously the light of every party, tanned, fit, well groomed - aged.

I can't remember if I offered to speak, or if they asked me.  I thought long and hard about what to say.  I thought about reading a poem, I thought about talking about our childhood, I thought about saying all the nice things I could remember about Ellen.

But all that seemed like such clichéd bullshit.

And so I stood up and I told the truth.

I don't remember the whole speech.  But I remember saying:

"I don't know how you feel, but I'm angry!"

I think I went on to say that it wasn't fair, that she had her life in front of her and that she was one of the kindest and sweetest people I knew.

It was true. 

Ellen never smoked or drank too much or misbehaved like I did.  She was a really wholesome girl, pretty, sporty, fun and open-hearted.

I also said that she wasn't perfect.  But I didn't give the examples of her sister getting slapped all the time when we were kids for trying to hang around with us.  Or that she hated staying over at my house and always made me go to hers for the night.  Or even that she was the queen, the leader, the controller of any game we played.

I said that, in spite of not being perfect, she was one of the good ones, and she didn't deserve to die.

Because she didn't, for fuck's sake!

When this happened, Ellen and I were 26 years old.

He Said She Said - Getting all scientificky

  

It was 6:30.  She was awake, because she had to take the puppy out to potty.  It made her grouchy.

"Where's the second bag of bark pieces?  I just nearly slipped on my arse in the mud!" she yelled from the kitchen.

"Where's the what?" he said.

"THE BARK!" she barked.

"With the wood," he yawn-yelled, from bed.

"What?" she said.

"The wood," he said.

"It's not with the wood!" she snapped.  "I've just been there!"

"It is," he yawned, rolling over.

Ten minutes later, she came into the bedroom, stomping in that way that meant only one thing: she was in Housework mode.  

His defense radar bleeped him a subconscious warning.

"It was with the woodpile outside," she huffed.

"I said with the wood.  You just don't listen to me," he grumbled.

It was ON.

"Don't listen?  You're right, I don't listen.  Because I make some innocent comment being proud of the fact that I get the Schrodinger's Cat reference on some silly program on the telly and you launch into a detailed explanation and then blab on about the related Split Ends theory and you go on and on and on and this stupid theory is misleading because it has absolutely no useful advice for hair care and my brain just goes onto standby for it's own self-preservation!"

"Don't play dumb with me," he laughed, pulling her back to bed.  "You get everything I talk about.  And it was the Single Slit theory."

"Disgusting!" she gasped.  "Scientists are obsessed with their penises!"

"I wish you were a scientist, then," he joked, pulling her closer.

"Oh, shut up," she giggled, and the conversation ended.

REPOST - Hell is other people - And they're everywhere

 

Why am I reposting old stuff?  Well, here's the thing about a blog.  The good stuff gets left behind to rot, assigned to a date in the past.  So, now and then, I'm just gonna pull out some of the stuff that I like and bring it into the present again.

This post was originally dated Friday, February 20, 2009.

This is the very first Hell is Other People post.

Things irritate me.

When they do, I tend to have a dialogue (OK, OK, a monologue) with the people who cause those things. It's only in my head, of course, but it makes me feel better.

Here's what irritated me today:

• The guy who came up to the roundabout at the same time as me, on the opposite side, and turned left instead of going around it, almost hitting me. It's a roundabout, Asshole - the clue is in the name. You go round it anticlockwise and you give way to the left!


• The person in the Escalade who almost stole my parking outside the Fast Food Joint. Hey! Listen, Asshole. And yes, I know you are an asshole because you own an Escalade. That was my parking! I was sitting here, with my indicator on, waiting for that parking space and you saw me doing it. So nice try on taking to get in there but I guess my little car is more agile than your fucking tank. Tell me, Asshole, did the credit check for that car consist of valuing your bling bling? Does it have a special holder in there for your baseball cap? Did they give you a free velveteen tracksuit when you bought it? Huh? Huh?


• The Receptionist at the Chiropractor who asked me if I had any plans for the weekend. It's five o' clock, Honey, and you've been here since 9am. Have you asked everyone that inane question? Did anyone actually give you an interesting reply? I'd ask what you are doing this weekend but, here's the thing - I don't care.


• The male barista at the coffee bar who sat there reading rather than getting up to ask me what I'd like to drink. Get the fuck up and do your job, Numbnuts. Don't fool yourself that you are above all this because your grungy little music career is "about to take off". You're 29 and you're still here so how about you grab some coffee beans and get grinding.

Hell is other people.

Pic - Oh NO you didn't!

Tasha:  I'll get us the treat! 

[Bounce!]

Puppy Girl:  Oh NO you didn't!

Being a Doggy Mama - Another 10 ways puppies are like human children

 

See first 10 ways here.

1. You think they understand the words you're saying, but they don't
2. They get very excited by new toys
3. They crawl into the smallest places, then you can't get them out again
4. They are adorable when they sleep
5. Their high pitched cry is utterly heart-breaking
6. You can tell when they are overtired, and slightly manic
7. They come this close to shocking themselves to death with a socket or power cord at least once a day
8. They grow so fast it's scary
9. Their little tummies are so pink and soft, it's delightful
10. You know you'd fight - or even kill - to keep them safe

Pic - AARGH! Your fart is disgusting!

Puppy Talk - Fur Blower

 

Puppy Girl:  AAAAAARGH!

Puppy Dog:  What now?

Puppy Girl:  What is THAT?  It's so loud and growly and scary!

Puppy Dog:  Relax, it's just the Fur Blower.

Puppy Girl:  The what?

Puppy Dog:  The Fur Blower.  Mama goes into the Water Room and then she comes out and that little bit of fur she has on the top is wet and so she uses the Fur Blower to make wind blow through her fur.

Puppy Girl:  Wait.  The Water Room?

Puppy Dog:  Yes, you know, the room where Mama and Dada go in and there is water and they stand in it.  They make rain in there, but it's hot.

Puppy Girl:  Oh!  You mean the Magic Poop Room!

Puppy Dog:  What are you talking about?  Magic poop?

Puppy Girl:  Yes.  Mama and Dada go in there and I can smell that they poop but you never see it.  They make it disappear!  It's magic!

Puppy Dog:  No, no, it goes into... oh, never mind.  The point is that the Fur Blower is not scary.  Mama even blew the air at me one time and it was quite nice.  Just a little too hot.

Puppy Girl:  Why don't they just shake the water off, like we do?

Puppy Dog:  I don't know.  Their fur is different to ours.  They have small bits here and there that stay, and sometimes change shape, and then they have the furs that they put on and take off.

Puppy Girl:  Hairless Apes are weird.

Puppy Boy:  I know.  But remember, they have the food.  Anyway, don't worry about the Fur Blower.  It can't hurt you.

Puppy Girl:  Well, it's still very noisy.  I think I'll stay here in the living room till it's all over.  I think I'll chew this rope.

Puppy Dog:  Yeah, you do that.

Dear Diary - Good Morning and here's a punch in the face

 

Dear Diary

Puppy Girl woke me up at 5:30am (I HATE the time change!) so I let the dogs go out, and fed them.  By that time my brain was awake so I put on the telly.

And, in the last five minutes, dear Diary, I have learnt that:

• 2 fires have broken out in an area that seems to be an arsonists playground
• We have an 18 foot, jagged toothed thingy in our waters
• It's going to be rainy and cold today.

See you later, Diary.

Screw this, I'm going back to bed.

Quote Unquote - Unsolicited email advice

 

"I have a suggestion for you.  Get the kids a puppy and make them responsible for potty training.  When they complain, yell “THIS IS WHAT I WENT THROUGH WITH YOU!” very loudly.

I have so much pee and poop in my life right now I swear I must smell like I have liberally sprayed myself with Eau de Caca cologne."

Quote Unquote - Priorities

 

"I'm sorry I'm late.  Ten minutes before I was due to leave the house, my husband and I started an argument and I had to stay until I won."

Being a Doggy Mama - 10 ways puppies are like human children

 

Puppies are like babies/toddlers because...

1. they put everything in their mouths
2. they don't understand daylight savings time and get hungry at what would have been dinner time
3. you buy expensive toys and they play with a stone. a piece of cardboard or an ice cube
4. they scream when they don't want to go to sleep and you put them in bed
5. you are constantly cleaning up poop and pee
6. everything you try to do takes double to three times as long as it used to
7. they wake you up in the middle of the night
8. when they get tired, they just flop down in the closest comfortable spot
9. they wriggle like a ferret in your arms when you are holding them and they want to be somewhere else
10. you're busy, then you suddenly realize there's silence and you just know that means something bad is going on and you find yourself sprinting outside to find out what's happening.

And, finally...

... hugging them to your chest is the most heart-melting feeling you've ever had

He Said She Said - Tea for two

 

"Where's my tea?" she said.  "You said you were making me tea!"

"Its on the coffee table!" he said.  "Nice and hot a fresh and steaming!  It's right next to you! Where I put it five minutes ago when I brought it to you!"

"Well," she said, "you obviously didn't bring it to me with enough pomp and ceremony!"

"HAH!"  he yelled, starting to stalk up to her.  "I hereby sentence you to punishment by the TICKLE MONSTER!"

"AAAARGH!" she screamed, and ran.

That's life - Stimulate your trouser snake

  

I am starting to develop a strange kind of respect and awe for the people who send out spam emails about Viagra and Cialis.  To get through our firewalls, they try their very best to come up with subject lines that look normal, but somehow refer to the horizontal mambo.

Here are a few that were caught in by my spam trap today:

• Let passion be strong!
• Plus to your libido
• Make it rock-like n twitching
• Turn on for your horn
• Your sensual doping
• Be her volcano
• Charge your trouser-warrior!
• Take for hot joy
• Make your coupling spicy!
• Always green light for love!  (this is my favorite)
• Become the king of in-out drilling!
• Make her sweaty with ease
• Amorous explosion recipe
• Remind your wang how to hump
• Give your rod perfect condition

Seriously, I'm not making this shit up.

And that's just in one day.

Update on Monday, November 2, 2009 at 8:06PM by Ittybittycrazy

And since this post:

• Give your rod stand up elixir!
• Pump pant muscle!
• Firm enough to stick in
• Your erotic nights are here to stay!
• Virilying your bulge (kudos to them for making up a word)
• She'll play your ham violin
• Be a king of mating!
• Pump nether muscle
• Realize your fantasy as a sex god

Last night I read the list to Fluffy Bear and he just nodded, sagely.  As his email address is a common English man's name, he gets way more of these than I do...

Bucket List - Try to Surf

 

The Bucket List is a list of things I want to do/feel I should do before I die.  I've done some of them already, and I'm telling one of those stories here.  To see the whole list, click here.

I should actually change this to "Catch a wave on a surfboard," which is something I've never done.  And something I'd LOVE to do.

I lived near the sea in South Africa.  It was sunny.  There were a lot of waves.  Surfing was a big deal.

In university, you could always tell when the surf was up - at least half of the Bachelor of Commerce students were missing.

In High School, the big thing was to get on the bus and take the 30 minute trip down to the beach on Saturdays and hang out with the surfer boys.  

My father, an avid fan of police procedurals on TV, firmly believed that I was going to be abducted by slave traffickers, raped by a pedophile or eaten by a shark and, when he tried to forbid me from going, it was one of the first times in my life that I really stood up to him.

So we'd hang out on the beach, giggling and checking out the tanned, muscular surfer boys (there is nothing quite as sexy as a surfer standing with his surfboard upright, his wet suit half off, dangling at his waist, watching the waves to see how the sets are breaking) and sometimes even talking to them.  Mostly we hung out with boys from our school that we knew.

And, inevitably, we asked some of them to let us try out surfing.

You have to understand that, what an iPhone is to a man is what a surfboard is to a surfer.  Actually, that's not even a good enough analogy, because iPhone users will let you play with their ubercool toys.  A surfboard is more like a Ferrari to its owner.  They're expensive for a kid and, if they have bought a new one, they carefully chose the color and pattern and size of fin and I don't even know what else.

So there's only one reason the boy would let my friend and I have a go at surfing... they wanted to laugh their asses off at us.  And probably see our boobs when our swimsuits were wet.

So, of course, they didn't tell us anything about how to get out beyond the breakers.  You're supposed to push the tip of the board under the wave, dive into it and paddle to come out the other side.

But my friend and I kept trying to paddle over the waves and spent half an hour being tossed back to the shore.

Eventually, we gave up.

It was humiliating.

The boys were guffawing up on the beach.

Little fuckers.

So yes, I've tried to surf, but I never succeeded.

So I'm adding "Catch a wave" to my Bucket List.

Right now.