Being a Doggy Mama - Another Lost Dog

 

We found another lost dog last weekend.

We were driving along and he ran across the road right in front of us.

Having seen a dog run over and killed a few months ago, Fluffy Bear is very sensitive to this stuff, and immediately pulled over.  

I called the dog and it came to me, very friendly.  It had a collar, but no tags.

We put it in the car, in the back seat because our two crazy mutts were in the back of the SUV, and headed up to the nearest vet.

I've been to this vet before and the receptionist totally put me off registering there.  We still go to our old vet close to where we used to live.  He's worth the drive.

The receptionist was just as rude and incompetent as when I'd first met her.  She was clearly not interested in helping us, and kept scanning only one spot on the dog's back.  Fluffy Bear tried to explain to her that our dogs have their chip in their shoulder, and asker her to please move the scanner around, but she just kept waving it at a spot on the top of the dog's neck, saying that there was no chip.

She was utterly useless.

We put the dog back in the car and decided to head down to the Animal Shelter.

The dog was very sweet, very well behaved and sat down quietly next to me.  This was clearly someone's loving pet.

At the Animal Shelter we met a very nice English Vet Tech who helped us out.  She took out her scanner, waved it and it went BEEP in less than 5 seconds.  I swear to God!  She found the chip right away.

She also realized that the number, being 15 digits instead of 10, meant that this was a foreign chip.  Apparently America uses a different standard to the rest of the world for dog chips.  No comment.

Anyway, she said she'd trace it and we left the dog in her capable hands.

Two days later, we were driving past the Animal Shelter, so we stopped in to see what had happened to the dog.  

And here's the crazy thing.

The couple had come into the shelter less than an hour after we dropped off their dog, looking for it.  They had just moved to town, and they are English!

So everyone involved in this story of the lost dog has a British accent!

No wonder the dog came to me when called!  He was probably thinking:  "Oh yes, you sound right.  Unlike all the other strange hairless apes I've been around for the last two days!"

Imagine how freaked this poor dog was.  He had just been on an 8 hour flight, come to a very strange place and then got completely lost.  

We were so happy to hear this story had a happy ending.

Hell is Other People - Honking Wanker

 

Fluffy Bear and I have decided that there is something about us.  We have a magnet for lost dogs.

We were on our way to our local coffee shop today when we saw a dog, another Weimeraner, lolloping along a busy main street.

There was a guy walking by it and we asked him if it was his.  He said no, but he was on the phone with Animal Control.

I called the dog and it came towards me.  It had no collar, so I caught it but couldn't hold onto it.  As it came near Puppy Dog, it freaked out, so it pulled away, toppling me over.  I hit the road pretty hard on my knee.  I have a lovely bloody scrape now, reminiscent of when I was a tree-climbing, Hide-n-Seek playing child.

(Hello, Neosporin.)

I kept calling the dog but it ran across the road, in front of a Land Rover.  Thank God, the woman in it stopped in time, and saw what was going on.  She stopped, got out of her car and asked me if it was my dog.  I explained what was going on.  She got hold of the dog but, like me, was struggling to hang onto it.  I asked her if we could please put the dog in her car.  She said yes immediately.

So the guy who was on the phone to Animal Control, the woman in the Land Rover, myself and another couple who were walking dogs were all stopped, talking about what to do.  The Land Rover was still stopped in the middle of the street.  She had had to stop there to avoid hitting the dog in the first place.

I was explaining to the woman that, last weekend, we took a dog to the Animal Shelter and they scanned the chip and the dog was back with its owners in an hour.  I was trying to convince her to do this because she was talking about taking the dog to her vet and that made me think she was going to keep it overnight, today being Sunday.  

I didn't think this was a good idea, especially since she said she had two dogs.  The lost dog was already freaked out - we all agreed it probably ran away because it's Seafair today and the Blue Angels jets were zooming by, very loudly, overhead.  It didn't need to spend the night in a strange house, and its owners would have 24 hours of pain and worry.

So, anyway, we're all standing there trying to establish next steps.

And some moron comes along and honks at me because he has to overtake the Land Rover and I am standing a foot into the street on the other side, making his passage through a little narrower.

Now, here's the thing.  You're driving along a main suburban street.  It's a Sunday.  There is a car stopped in the middle of the road.  5 people are standing around, all clearly discussing something.

And you overtake, get mad, and HONK?

You're a fucking Arsehole of the First Degree, a Pillock of the First Class, a Dickhead of the Smelly Smeg!

I don't have to tell you, do I, that I yelled my head off at him.  If I hadn't been dealing with the hurt knee, I swear I would've run after him, hit his car, made him stop and gone Full Crazy Bitch on his ass.  Trust me, with an English accent, it can be very, very effective.

Damn!  Now I wish I had done that.

Ah, well.

The Land Rover lady connected with the guy on the phone to Animal Control and decided to go to to the Shelter.  So hopefully this will all end well.

Oh, and just by the way, the people that left their dog without a collar on, on Seafair afternoon, when there is a cloudy sky and the Blue Angels are obviously going to do their low flying show, are arseholes too.

Hell is other people.

Dear Diary - Wonderfully Wistful Walk

 

Dear Diary

I had a lovely walk home from work last night.

For some strange unknown reason, I got a 2nd wind at around 4:30pm - after feeling tired and drained all day - and ended up working till almost 7pm.

Now that I no longer work in the Hellhole, leaving the office that late is a rare thing.  But it's summer in the Northern latitudes, and that means a light sky and a balmy breeze at 7pm.

iPhone streaming the Beatles Pandora station in my ears, I headed across the bridge to start my journey.

I try to enjoy my walk.

There are a myriad of routes I can take home, and I try to turn a different way each time.  I slowly wend my way through semi-suburban blocks and parks, heading in a vaguely diagonal direction.

I stop to gently sniff roses hanging over people's fences, and try to pay attention to the rainbow of flowers along the way.

 

I look up to see the pattern of the day painted by the clouds.

There are many grasses and hedges that people use to border their properties, and I let my hand stretch out to feel their spiky stickiness, or soft woolly touch.

Sometimes life surprises me and I get to see a hummingbird, or a butterfly.

And, of course, I smile widely at everyone's dog.  

Sometimes I forget that there is an owner attached... one notable moment being me saying "Hello Handsome!" quite loudly (remember I'm plugged into Pandora) to a Golden Retriever attached to a man who was somewhat taken aback by my greeting - until he saw I wasn't looking at him.

Walking home is the perfect way to unwind from a day at the office.  Annoying meetings, empire building colleagues and the ever growing task list melt away when I pass two women in downward dog on a grassy hill, or smile at a little boy with a flaming shock of red hair waving shyly back at me when I flap my right hand at him like a crazy lady.

Sometimes, life is good.

[ICYMI] Hell is other people - A Fall

In case you missed it...

This is a repost.  This was originally posted Sunday, March 22, 2009 at 4:09PM.  But the thing with blogs is, new people find them all the time, and who the hell has the time to search through all the crap I've written in the past?  So, now and then, I'm gonna regurgitate some of it for you.  Think of it as happy vomit.

 

 

 

"So," the massage therapist said, reading my intake form, "you had a fall?"

I answered with a monosyllabic affirmative, but a thousand thoughts were going through my head.

A FALL?

Since when am I old enough to have A FALL?

Why am I freaking out about this? Simple. The way in which we describe an unintentional rapid communing with the ground beneathe us is one of those little things that changes as we age.

For a child or toddler, we make light of the fall, scooping them up and making high pitched noises that communicate to them that it is nothing to be worried about. After all, children are as strong as cyborgs and bounce like rubber balls.

Hence:

"Did you go boom? Huh? Huh? Baba go boom-si-daisy? Oopsie! Boom-boom! Oopsie!"

When we are kids and teenagers the key is to cover up our deep embarrassment at drawing any attention to ourselves and pretend the entire thing never happened or, if you are quick-witted enough, turn it into a clever joke.

Hence:

"Dude, you just totally kissed the sidewalk!"
"Goddamn! Did you see that? I just ducked and rolled like James Bond, Yo!"

When we are adults, we tend not to fall, unless we are drunk, which is funny in anyone's book. No need to comment, just giggle and guffaw along with anyone who happened to see you.

But then old age sets in. The muscles waste, the skin bruises easily, the bones are fragile. Falling down turns into a major hazard, a source of real injury and possibly even a trap, if you can't get up again. At worst, it can compromise your dignity and become the final straw that sucks up your last vestige of independence, leading to constant supervision and a sense of being a burden till the Grim Reaper comes. It also becomes a conversation point that can last for weeks, especially in the lives of those who are no longer very active and therefore make a lot out of a little.

Hence:

"Did you hear? Mary had a fall."
"No! When?"
"Last night. She got up to go to the bathroom."
"Is she hurt?"
"Oh, yeeeeessss. They found her on the floor this morning when they went in to help her dress. She had peed herself."
"They'll be transferring her to the main building soon, she'll be with us!"
"Well she won't be sitting at my table at dinner time! She smells of cigarettes!"

And so, maybe I'm being a bit paranoid here, but I have always dreaded getting to the point where bumping Mother Earth was described as a fall.

In fact, when Puppy Dog pulled me over yesterday, I was pretty impressed at how quickly I bounced back up and how I didn't feel terrible afterwards. Even this morning, when I woke up and couldn't move my neck, I decided all I needed was a good massage and I'd be fine. I was handling it.

Till that skinny little bitch spoke to me like I'm an eighty year old.

Worse still - and I am not exaggerating - she gave me the worst massage I've had in years.

Hell is other people.

[ICYMI] Couch Potato - Showgirls

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In case you missed it...

This is a repost.  This was originally posted Saturday, April 4, 2009 at 5:32PM.  But the thing with blogs is, new people find them all the time, and who the hell has the time to search through all the crap I've written in the past?  So, now and then, I'm gonna regurgitate some of it for you.  Think of it as happy vomit.

 

 

 

 

 

I recently saw the most misogynistic, facile, puerile piece of excrement ever to grace the movie screen.

 

Showgirls.

  

Here is a sample of the script:

 

Our "heroine", Nomi, is at lunch with her nemesis/mentor/potential lesbian lover, Cristal. Nomi is a new chorus dancer in the topless horror of a stage show, Cristal is the "star" who emerges, almost naked, from a fake volcano.

Nomi Malone: [befuddled by the fancy menu and sarcastically referring to the diet prescribed by the manager of the dance troupe] Don't they have brown rice and vegetables?
Cristal Connors: Do you like brown rice and vegetables?
Nomi Malone: Yeah.
Cristal Connors: You do?
Nomi Malone: Sort of.
Cristal Connors: Really?
Nomi Malone: It's worse than dog food. [Cristal laughs]
Nomi Malone: It is!
Cristal Connors: I've had dog food.
Nomi Malone: You have?
Cristal Connors: Mmm-hmmm. Long time ago. Doggy Chow. I used to love Doggy Chow.
Nomi Malone: I used to love Doggy Chow, too!
[Cristal and Nomi toast each other with their potato chips.]

And, trust me, the rest of it is even worse.

The only way to tolerate this piece of crap is to laugh at it, and that's what David Schmader does.  He is a Showgirls officionado, and gives live commentary throughout the movie.

At the moment pictured above, he said:

"There isn't enough Purell (hand santizer) in the world!"

Classic.

He Said She Said - Food Network

 

 

 

 

 

 

They were watching a Food Network show about Mexican Cooking.  It was early in the day, and nobody had had any coffee yet.

 

 

"Who the hell is this?" she yelled from the kitchen.  "Is this someone from Food Network Star who's auditioning to actually get a real show on the channel?"

 

"No," he yelled back from the living room.  "It's a real show... about Mexican cooking."

 

"She sounds terrible!" she yelled.  "She isn't convincing me at all.  There is no way she has girlfriends coming round for lunch.  In fact, I doubt she has any friends at all!"

  

"You are so mean!" he said.  "I guess this is why her show is on at 6am.  See, now you're making me think like a Next Food Network Star judge," he said.  "I keep thinking things like 'That looks like a mess' and 'There's nothing original about this dish!' "

 

"I know," she replied.  

 

"So she's been saying that this cake recipe is something everyone used to ask her mother to bring to parties.  But the recipe looks pretty easy to me.  Do you think maybe the family friends were saying 'Hey, just tell her to make that cake again.  I'll make the Mole, you make the tortillas... let her do something she can't fuck up.' "

 

"Oh now who's mean?" she laughed.

 

"She's putting the mixture in a bundt tin!  I hate those things!" he yelled.  "My mother brought one back from the US when I was a kid and I could never get the cake to come out whole!  It has so many ridges that the cake just sticks!"

 

"Well watch how she does it," she said, pointing at the TV.

 

"She USES HALF A POUND OF BUTTER TO GREASE IT!" 

 

"Well there you go," she smiled.  "You learnt something new today after all."

 

"Oh, shut up," he said.

 

 

 

Being a Doggy Mama - Escape Artist

 

Well, last night was exciting.

Let me put it this way - within ten minutes of arriving home, in spite of a bottle of red wine and two glasses of Pimms and Lemonade, Fluffy Bear was 100% sober.

Why?

Because Puppy Dog was missing.

We had been to dinner at a friend's house and, as we walked up the steps to our front door, I was worried right away.

Three things:

• First, Puppy Dog wasn't standing behind the glass, tail wagging, greeting us.  He knows the sound of our car and he waits at the front door, guarding his den, whenever we go out.  
• Second, the cardboard piece that had been blocking the glass panel of our front door (which the dogs broke a few weeks ago) was sticking out.  It had been shoved out from the inside.
• Third, there was a strange bowl on the steps, with water in it.  

We went into the house and Puppy Girl ran out to meet us.

But no Puppy Dog.

Not in the bedrooms, not in the kitchen, not in the basement, not in the front yard, not in the back yard.

We were freaking out.

We walked around, calling him.

Then I thought I heard him bark, and the jingle of the tags that hang off his collar.

We ran back out the front and there was our next door neighbor, bringing him home.

He had found Puppy Dog on our front porch when he came home - about half an hour after we left - and he had slowly enticed our dog into his house.  Puppy Dog is a rescue, and he can get very anxious.  Our neighbor fed him and hung out with him, but he told us Puppy Dog's back legs were shaking the whole evening.

He was in the middle of telling us all of this when I lunged at him and hugged him.  I was so happy and relieved, I couldn't help myself.  The poor man.  He was very nice about it, but I think I almost knocked him over.

Puppy Dog was beside himself with joy to be back with us.  He jumped all over us - which he doesn't normally do - and licked us for about fifteen minutes after we got home.

We gathered around him and spent some time with our furkids, in our pack, appreciating our family.

Today we took our neighbor flowers, wine and a card.  I feel like it's not enough.

Thank God Puppy Girl didn't follow her brother out, because she wouldn't have hung out on the porch like he did.  She would've been off round the neighborhood, clomping along on her bandaged foot.  A car driving too fast, someone who felt like stealing a pretty dog, falling down the steep drops in the park near our house... there are a multitude of bad things that could've happened to her.

Fluffy Bear and I had a long debate about how Puppy Dog had got out.  I was convinced that it was through the missing panel in the front door, but he thought the open windows in the dining room were to blame.

Until this morning.

We left for our golf lesson and, as we got in the car, Fluffy Bear looked up to see BOTH dogs running towards us.  The windows weren't open wide enough for them to get out, so my theory about the missing panel in the front door was proven right.

As we led them back to the house, we engaged in a loving exchange:

Me:  "Say it!  SAY IT!"

Fluffy Bear:  "You were right."

Me:  "I'm sorry, what was that?"

Fluffy Bear:  "You heard."

Me:  "No, I really didn't.  What was it you said?"

Fluffy Bear:  "You were RIGHT, OK?  YOU.  WERE.  RIGHT."

Me:  "Thank you.  Now fix the damn door."

But it still wasn't over. 

As soon as we got to the golf range, I ran up to our pro and told him to greet my husband with a question.  As Fluffy Bear walked up to him, he went with my joke:

"Hi," he said.  "Who let the dogs out?"

Fluffy Bear laughed.  He's taken my shit for over ten years... I've trained him well.

But I kept the best for last.

Half an hour later, as he was lining up his putt, I let him have it, channeling the song by the Baha Men.

"Who let the dogs out?  Who?  Who-Who?  Who-WHO?"  

To read more in the Being a Doggy Mama series, click here.

Hello from Puppy Girl - Fashionista

Hello Mama's friends!

It's been a very annoying week.

Annoying like a cat meowing at you from behind a fence.  Or a squirrel staring at you from a high branch in a tree.  Or a Chihuahua barking at you from his mother's handbag.

First I had a sore foot, which was fine, because I have three other paws I can walk on if I need to.  But then Dada took me to the Vet Lady and she put some strange hairless ape furs on my leg.

She made me sore.  

It was very annoying.

Then I kinda had some fun with my new friend, the Pink Squirrel, who shoots rainbows out his bum, but then the furs on my leg started to itch.  

So I chewed them off.

Well, Dada was very, very cross with me.  

I don't understand why.

I mean, of course I chewed the furs off.  They were itchy and it was hot and I didn't like them!

Dada was being very annoying.

But then Dada took me back to the Vet Lady and they put more strange furs on me!

And this time they're different colors and in a funny design!

Not funny-ha-ha.  

Funny-peculiar.

The lady who put it on took a very, very long time to do it.  Much longer than last time.  She kept giggling.  

It was very annoying.

See what I mean?

It's been a horrible week!

And now Mama and Dada are laughing at the new strange furs.

Dada said something about "Converse" and Mama said:

"Ha!  At $600, that's a designer shoe."

I'm a DOG.

I don't wear shoes.

Mama and Dada are very, very annoying.

[ICYMI] Post-its of Wrath - My birthday

 

In case you missed it...

This is a repost.  This was originally posted Thursday, October 8, 2009 at 8:09PM.  But the thing with blogs is, new people find them all the time, and who the hell has the time to search through all the crap I've written in the past?  So, now and then, I'm gonna regurgitate some of it for you.

These post-its are not real.  They are just in my head.  I love my husband.  Seriously.

Dear Fluffy Bear

My birthday is coming up. 

You are a man. 

Man = boy + geek. 

Buying you a birthday present is pretty easy.  It needs to be a toy, and it needs to be electronic.  End of story.

As you know, I am a woman.

Woman = girl + sex bomb + mother + cleaner + philosopher + culture vulture + friend + confidant + fashionista + chef + karaoke queen + stand-up comedian + secretary + project manager + politician + taxi driver + yoga junkie + make up artist + skincare consultant + hairdresser + interior designer + real estate agent + OK let's just leave it here or I'll be here all night.

So here are a few pointers to help you choose my birthday present: 

• Anything that can be used in the house by both of us --> Not a valid birthday present
• Anything that needs a charger, or you to "install" it --> Not a valid birthday present
• Anything that is considered "useful" --> Not a valid birthday present
• Anything that is involves us going to a nice store and you taking out your credit card --> You're getting warmer
• Anything that turns out to be EXACTLY what I dropped major hints about while watching TV --> You're pretty safe
• Anything small and shiny, that comes in a nice box --> Now you're talking

 To read more in the Post-its of Wrath series, click here.

Hi from Puppy Girl - Pink Squirrel

 

Hi everyone!

Hi-yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Helllllll-oooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

I'm Puppy Girl!

It's the second time I'm talking to you and I--

Hello Pink Squirrel!  You have a very, very fluffy tail.  How are you today?  

Oh, that's good.  Well, sorry, but I'm talking to my Mama's friends.

Yes, OK, we'll talk later.

Sorry about that.  Where was I?

Oh yes...

Hello again!

I had a very fun weekend!  We went to Tasha's house to play with her and Theo.  Tasha's daddy was throwing the ball for us and we were chasing it!  It was such fun!  

But then I ran and turned around and I---

What, Pink Squirrel?  No, I don't want a rainbow, thank you.  I'm busy.  

Well, yes, that does look good, but why is it coming out of your bum?

Really?  That's interesting...

OK, I'm sorry but I have to go---

Pink Squirrel?

Where'd he go?

Just disappeared!  How rude!

Sorry about that.  So, anyway... I was running and then I turned funny and I hurt my foot.  It was very, very sore, and I had to walk on three legs.

But it felt a bit better after a day or two.

But then Dada took me to see the Vet man.  And they did funny things and when I woke up I was really sore!  It was horrible!

I was crying and crying!

But then Dada and Mama talked about "vallum" and gave me some knobbly peanut butter and I feel a lot better now.

And there's my new friend, the Pink Squirrel, who's been visiting me.  Sometimes he floats on a little green cloud, and sometimes he has yellow smoke coming out of his ears. 

Then he did the rainbow-bum thing, which was a bit strange, but he's very nice to me.

Also, I'm very sleepy.

So I am going to nap now.  But it was nice to chat to you guys again--

What, Pink Squirrel?  You're going read me a bedtime story?  That's nice!  Can it have lots of bones in it? 

Really?  Wow...

To read more in the Hi from Puppy Girl series, click here.

Quote Unquote - World Cup

 

Our friend's four year old son, a few hours before the World Cup final between Spain and the Netherlands (Holland):

"Daddy?  Is Peter Pan going to be watching the Neverlands today?"

 To read more Quote Unquote, click here.

Quote Unquote - God is gay

 

 

We were channel surfing and ended up watching the final scene of a movie called Whatever Works.  

 

I have no idea who the characters were.  But it was Ed Begley Jr and some actor I don't know sitting at a bar.

 

Ed Begley Jr: "Gay?  A member of the, uh---"

 

Other guy: "Of what?"

 

Ed Begley Jr: "The homosexual persuasion."

 

Other guy: "[Laughs] My God!  You make it sound like a religion.  Yes, if it's a religion, you could call me devout.  A fanatic."

 

Ed Begley Jr: "But... that's a sin against God's law!"

 

Other guy: "God is gay."

 

Ed Begley Jr: "He can't be.  He made the whole universe perfect.  The oceans, the skies, the beautiful flowers, the trees everywhere!"

 

Other guy: "That's right.  He's a decorator."

 

 

 To read more in the Quote Unquote series, click here.

Quote Unquote - The Internet

Fluffy Bear has a 65 year old friend who recently got online, finally embracing email.

One of his first messages to his friends was:

"Very impressed with the internet. It already knew that my penis was small and dysfunctional."

To see more in the Quote Unquote series, click here. 

[ICYMI] Puppy Talk - Sucky face and hairless apes

 

In case you missed it...

This is a repost.  This was originally posted Saturday, April 25, 2009 at 10:29PM.  But the thing with blogs is, new people find them all the time, and who the hell has the time to search through all the crap I've written in the past?  So, now and then, I'm gonna regurgitate some of it for you.

Puppy Girl:  EW!  Why does she do that?

Puppy Dog:  What?

Puppy Girl:  Try to suck my face off.  It's gross!

Puppy Dog:  You mean Mama?

Puppy Girl:  No, the Fairy Dogmother.  YES I mean Mama!  She bends over me and purses her fat hairless ape lips and makes a strange schlooping sound and leans in to suck my face!

Puppy Dog:  Sigh.  That's not what she's doing.  She's kissing you.  That's how hairless apes do it.  They don't lick like we do.

Puppy Girl:  Why not?  They have tongues, just like us!

Puppy Dog:  I don't know.  Maybe it's because their lips are so much bigger than ours.  Maybe they can't get them out of the way to let their tongue out far enough.

Puppy Girl:  Aw... they're deformed!

Puppy Dog:  Of course they are!  I mean, how about the hairless thing?  All those silly furs they have, all that time it takes to put them on, all that grunting when Mama tries to close those 'Jeans' things. We can just go outside whenever we want to. 

Puppy Girl:  I know!  And they can't run nearly as fast as we do.  Thank goodness they can go to that big house of food, because they sure as hell can't hunt with those big flabby legs.

Puppy Dog:  Have you ever seen them run?  Sometimes I run away from them just to see them klablobble after me out of the corner of my eye.  It's so funny! 

Puppy Girl:  They're so unstable standing on two legs!  Do you remember that time Mama fell over just because I wriggled a bit in her arms?  It was like a little earthquake when she toppled over!  Ha ha!

Puppy Dog:  And how about the howling?  When Mama howls at the music on the Flicker Box, my ears hurt!

Puppy Girl:  I know!  Whenever that Glee thing comes on the Flicker Box, I want to run away and hide!  Mama seems to think she can howl better than the little people inside the box, and she is so totally wrong!

Puppy Dog:  I think it's kinda funny... 

Puppy Girl:  Hairless apes are sooooo weird.

Puppy Dog:  Yeah, but they got the food.  And the beds.  And the fireplace.

Puppy Girl:  I guess I can put up with some sucky face now and again.

Puppy Dog:  Now you're getting it...

To read more in the Puppy Talk series, click here.

Puppy Talk - Ribs

 

Puppy Girl:  Mmmmmm... what is that?

Puppy Dog:  I smell it too.  We must investigate!

Puppy Girl:  It's Dada.  He's outside.  MEAT!  But the door is closed!  

Puppy Dog:  Damn!

Puppy Girl:  I don't understand!  This is the food place!  We are in the food place!  How can Dada be making meat!

Puppy Dog:  It's the Other Hot Cave.

Puppy Girl:  You're not making sense!  We are standing next to the Hot Cave!  And it's not hot!  And there's no smell from it!

Puppy Dog:  Pay attention!  I said the Other Hot Cave!  It's outside.  Sometimes Dada makes meat on it.  

Puppy Girl:  WE HAVE TO GET OUTSIDE!  I WANT THE MEAT!

Puppy Dog:  Well, unless you plan to grow an opposable thumb, you're out of luck.

Puppy Girl:  A spose-sum?  What's a spose-sum?

Puppy Dog:  [Sighs]  Never mind.

Puppy Girl:  WAIT!  He's coming!

Puppy Dog:  Stand back!  He's opening the door!

Puppy Girl:  Dada?  Can I have some meat?  Dada, can I have some meat?  Dada, can I have some---

Puppy Dog:  You're wasting your breath.  We have to wait till the Hairless Apes eat.

Puppy Girl:  But it smells sooooooo good!  I WANT SOME!  I WANT SOME!

Puppy Dog:  Listen, Kid.  You're wasting your breath.  Shut up.  Stick with me.  We'll get some.

Puppy Girl:  But I want some noooooooow.

Puppy Dog:  Follow me.

Puppy Girl:  Where are we going?

Puppy Dog:  I'll sit in front of Dada, and you sit in front of Mama.

Puppy Girl:  Check!  Oh, it smells soooo---

Puppy Dog:  FOCUS!

Puppy Girl:  OK! OK!  What now?

Puppy Dog:  Now look cute and sad and hungry.

Puppy Girl:  I can't do all of those things!  I'm just going to grab one from Mama's plate!  It's right here!  If I just lean forward a little...

Puppy Dog:  NO!  DON'T!

Puppy Girl:  But I---

Puppy Dog:  If you do that, you'll get NOTHING!  Just listen to me!

Puppy Girl:  OK! OK!

Puppy Dog:  Look cute.  And sad.  And hungry.

Puppy Girl:  How?  That's too many things!

Puppy Dog:  Just think about how much you love Mama, then think about how sad you were when you had to leave your litter, then think about how much you want the meat.

Puppy Girl:  [Mumbling]  I love you, Mama.  Aw, I miss my first Mama!  I want meeeeeeeat...

Puppy Dog:  Good, good.  Now think those thoughts again.  And again.

Puppy Girl:  I love you, Mama.  I miss my first Mama.  I want meeeeat...  I love you, Mama.  I miss my first Mama.  I want meeeeeat.... I love you, Mama.  I miss my first Mama.  I want meeeeeat... I love you--- GLURB!

Puppy Dog:  GLURB!  See?  Told you it works.

Puppy Girl:  Meat!  Yum!  Yum!  Yum!  OK, now do we do it again.

Puppy Dog:  Nope.  That's all you get.

Puppy Girl:  But---

Puppy Dog:  Mama is taking the food bowls to the food place.  It's over.

Puppy Girl:  But---

Puppy Dog:  Trust me, Kid.  It's over.

Puppy Girl:  Aw!  Still, that was goooood meeeeeat....  Maybe if I try looking up at Mama in the food place...  What was it again?  I love you first Mama.  I miss meat.  I---

Puppy Dog:  [Sighing]  Kid, you gotta lot to learn.

To read more in the Puppy Talk series, click here.

Dear Diary - Death Stalking

 

Today was a horrible day.  

Well, not the whole day.  There was work, just like any other week day.  There was fun with friends, just like any evening that involves a social event.

But the day was defined by fear.

I was out at lunch, walking back to my office, and a man a few steps away from me had a heart attack.

Now it seems narcissistic for me to be talking about my reaction to this event.  But I only experienced from my point of view.  I feel for the man, and I feel for his wife, but what I am going to tell you about is what I experienced today.  That's all I can do.

I heard a half-yell, half-scream.  I don't know if it was the man or his wife that it came from.

I wasn't sure if someone was messing around, like school kids or something.  It was a little unsettling, but I went about my business.

But then I heard her.  

The wife.

She was wailing, but I distinguished these important words!

"CPR!  SOMEBODY!"

In one of those brain flashes that lasts a millisecond, I evaluated how I could best help. 

• Do the CPR?  
  • I did a course on first aid decades ago.  No, I'd probably fuck that up.
• Run over and get involved, taking up space and adding to the panic by getting in the way? 
  • HELL NO.  I am one of those people who utterly refuses to slow down and gawk at road accidents.  If you can't help, get the fuck outta the way, as far as I'm concerned.
• Call 911?  
  • YES!

So I hit the phone.

Thank God, they answered right away.  That hasn't always happened when I've had to call 911.

"911.  What is your emergency?" she said.

"Heart attack."

"Putting you through."

"Fire Department and EMT. Where are you?"

"Corner of B----- and P-----."

"Outside the Starbucks?"

"No, other side of the street.  To the West."

"I've dispatched them.  But I need to ask you some questions.  Is the person male or female?"

"Male."

"Is he conscious?"

"I don't know."

I turned to a concerned bystander and asked him to go and check if the man was conscious or not.

"I'm checking," I said into the phone.

"OK.  They're on their way.  If he isn't conscious, you need to call me back, because we need to send a different kind of truck, OK?"

"Yes."

Click.

The rest of it was about trying to comfort the wife, encourage people who weren't helping to bugger off and mind their own business and make sure there was a clear path for the ambulance.

It was interesting to observe who did something useful and who stood by, watching and asking whether the man was OK or not.

It took all my control not to lash out at the bystanders.

Fuckwits.

I didn't go close to the man and the group around him.  There were people there who knew what they were doing.  I didn't go near the EMTs when they arrived.  I didn't ask questions.  

I made sure that I turned away when the stretcher went by me and walked away.  Men are taught from birth to be brave, to be strong, to be the providers, to rise to the top of the herd.  The last thing a sick man needs to see is faces peering at him in a time of vulnerability, weakness and - although they shouldn't feel this, they do - humiliation.

In these moments we are reminded sexism is suffered by men too.

After I had done what I could, I tuned into how freaked out I was.  Fear was sitting at the top of my chest, like a weight, like a vibration, like a hole hidden by the fact that I was wearing a shirt over it. 

I know that the fight or flight reflex pumps adrenaline into the muscles to enhance physical performance and, unless you actually DO something physical, it just sits inside you like a poison.

What I could have done was walk fast for half an hour before going back to the office, or just jogged for ten minutes.  

But I didn't.

I know from when I was grieving for my mother that I should let myself cry when I need to.  When a child falls down or gets a fright, they cry, then it's over.

What I could have done was go into the bathroom in my building, let myself feel what I felt, and sobbed for three minutes.

But I didn't.

What I did do was try to talk it through with people.  People who didn't want to listen.  And, even if they did, they were more interested in hearing what happened to the poor man rather than me blathering on on about my feelings.  

Then I tried to eat.  This is a classic reaction for me to stress and suppressing feelings.  First I tried a latte with 2 pumps of chocolate.  Then I tried raiding the snack basket on our floor.  M&Ms.  Almond Joy. 

After work, I tried alcohol and distraction at Happy Hour with friends.  

None of it worked.  

Even while listening to entertaining stories over a Margarita, I felt a soft, strange sense of doom.

I kept thinking about my husband, about how we're trying to get fit, but we're not quite there yet.  About how he was away from me on a business trip.  About what it would be like for me to get a call that he was sick.

If felt like Death was stalking me and, although he wasn't here to swing the skythe yet, he was toying with me, reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart, purely for his own amusement.

When I finally got home I put a tacky reality show on TV.  It's called the OCD Project and it follows a group of OCD sufferers as they go through a program to get control of their disorder.  A young woman who is obsessed with staying clean, who washed her hands repeatedly, was going through exposure therapy.  The other people in the group, including the doctor, were taking turns to touch her face.

Her terror and distress was palpable.  She was sobbing her little heart out, clearly completely petrified at the simple touch of fingers on her cheek.

And then I found myself sobbing with her.  

The lid came off the volcano and all my anxiety came pouring out.  

What if it was my husband?  What would I do?  What if it happened when he was far away from me?  What if it happened when he was right next to me and there was no-one to help and I didn't know what to do?

It was about feeling my fear.

As I allowed myself to feel, my chest slowly opened up.  My breathing slowed eventually and I was able to wipe my eyes and blow my nose.  It wasn't a pretty moment.  

Then the second eruption.  It was my grief... for my mother, for my father, for my childhood friend, all of whose deaths were sad and final events in my life.  

No mommy to rub hot camphor oil on my feet when I have a cold.  No daddy to explain finance to me.  No Ellen to share childhood memories with, reminiscing about how we used to play princesses in her swimming pool.

It was about feeling my loss.

After ten minutes, I was able to come back into the here and now, to feel relief.

Then I was brought back down to earth by Puppy Girl licking my ear and dumping half a ball - a triumph of her chewing prowess - in my lap, with a little squeal that is her way of asking me to throw it across the room so she could chase it.

In that little chocolate lab kiss, that little whimper, a reminder that I have love and fun in my life.

And so I threw the ball.

 To read more in the Dear Diary series, click here.

Hell is Other People - Lost Dog

 

The other day, Fluffy Bear was driving home and saw a Pointer on the street a few blocks from our house.  There was no one near the dog and it had no leash or collar.  

He stopped his car and managed to get the dog over to him.  He got it to agree to get into the back of the car, but had to lift it in.

He asked people who were around, but no one knew the dog or where it lived.  He went to a vet nearby, and they scanned the dog for a microchip.  Nothing.  The vet didn't know the dog - it wasn't one of their patients.

He tried another vet in our area, but they didn't know the dog either.

The first vet told Fluffy Bear that the dog was at least in his teens, and looked in bad shape.  His teeth were rotting, his belly was distended and his nails were very long.  

There is no difference in the value (companionship, love, etc.) for a purebred vs. a rescue or a mutt, but it did seem strange that what looked like a purebred - an expensive puppy to buy - would be in this condition.  

The vet and Fluffy Bear assumed that the Pointer may have been on the street for some time.  

Because the dog moved slowly, Fluffy Bear didn't want to take it into our house with our dogs.  Our manic chocolate nutjobs would possibly cause the dog injury by trying to play with him.  So he left him in the car with food, water and open windows.

Fluffy Bear contacted me and we agreed that, if we hadn't heard from anyone by 5pm, he would have to take the lab to the Animal Shelter.  

In the meantime, I got to work:

• I put ads on Craigslist, Petfinder and a local blog using a photo that Fluffy Bear had emailed me
• I emailed two specialized rescue groups in our State that deal with purebred Pointers
• I emailed friends and colleagues
• I put messages on my Twitter and Facebook

Because the vet believed the dog may have been on the street a while, I wanted to make sure that the dog got a new home.  But, at the same time, I wanted to be sure to set expectations.  The dog needed some care, and that would take money.  So I wrote a second post on the blog explaining the dog's condition, but I also said that he had been very placid, friendly and patient.  He would make a good pet, I said, for someone who could give him some TLC.

Sadly, by 5pm we hadn't got any replies, so Fluffy Bear took the dog to pound.

It was very, very hard for him to do that.  I want to make that crystal clear.  It was awful for him, and it was upsetting to me when he picked me up from work and we discussed it.  

The next day, I got a voicemail from a local family who had seen my blog post.  They had been to the Animal Shelter and got their dog back, and the lady wanted to say thank you.  I gave her number to Fluffy Bear, because he was the one who really went through this, and I wanted him to get the thanks from the family.  

When I got home later, the dog's owner came to our door with her two kids.

She was gracious, and gave us a gift, which was very considerate.

It was all a very happy ending until the kids started to do that precocious thing where they are obviously repeating what they had overheard their parents say.

"You took our dog to the pound!"  the little girl whined at Fluffy Bear.

"Noooooo, Hoooooney," her mother whined back at her, "we're here to say Thaaaank yoooou."

"You took our dog to the pooooooooound!" she whined again.

Her mother shushed her away and she finally got that she should shut up.

Then it was the boy's turn.

"What do you want to say?" his mother prodded him.

He wriggled that way little boys do when they are being naughty, and launched his little volley at us.

"Thank you but no thank you for taking our dog to the pound!" he snapped, impishly.

If you know me at all, you know I don't much care for children, so I considered the combination of the smile plastered on my face and the fact that I didn't reply as proof that I am capable, when duty calls, of being utterly heroic.

I don't blame the children.  Children, like puppies, are innocents.  It's the parents that are the problem.

And there was proof of my theory later on.

First I checked my email, and there it was.  A thank you message from the mother, which included not one, not two, but THREE photographs.  The first was of the dog, pictured in it's bed, presumably once it had got back home again.  The second and third were Christmas pictures of the whole family, including the dog, as proof that he was an integral, and beloved part of the family.

Not enough to clean his teeth and have his nails clipped, though, I thought, wryly.

The final straw was when I went to delete the various ads and online posts.  

Once I got to the local blog, it became clear to me that the father had taken offence to my description of the dog's condition in my second post, where I was trying to make sure any potential family knew what they were getting into.  

His reply to my post went on and on about how much the family loved the dog, and that, when they had been to the Shelter to pick him up, they had "felt like felons."  I guess the shelter questioned them about the dog's condition and lack of identification.  And rightly so.

Also, because Fluffy Bear had found the dog two blocks from their house, I guess he thought that we shouldn't have picked his dog up in the first place.

He had titled his reply:

Loving family's dog "rescued" from front yard is now home.

I'm starting to wish we had kept the dog.

This whole thing is proof - as if I needed any more of it - that hell is other people.

To see more in the series Hell is Other People, click here.

My week in tweets - 27 June 2010

 

• Germany is the only surviving Old World team. Another indication that the economic dominance of Europe/US is over #worldcup
• One key difference between English and US teams: the US NEVER gives up #worldcup
• One good thing about no video reffing: football teaches you that life isn't fair #worldcup
• Gotta admit, this #worldcup  has been very clean. Then again I haven't watched an Argentina game...
• The English defence is laughable. #worldcup  This is turning into a depressing day
• Another four letter word England need to learn: MARK #worldcup
• Gerard and Lampard need to learn that four letter word. PASS #worldcup
• Crowd booing the ref, and rightly so #worldcup
• #FIFAsucks Its time for video reffing you bastards
• This is bullshit. FIFA fuck with the ball and don't give us video refereeing. They better improve next #worldcup
• In America the crazy weather makes you pray. In England it's the sport. #worldcup
• NO! NO! NO! #worldcup  Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!
• A little disturbing when the most attractive man on the England side is their Italian coach. We miss you, Becks. #worldcup
• My TV just switched channels to Good Morning America from the football by itself. The gods are taking the piss #worldcup 
• Love seeing Mick Jagger at the #worldcup . Nice to see a millionaire who does something cool with his money. Exactly what I'd do
• Oh fuck-fuck fuckity FUCK! #worldcup
• Your cereal smells good Mama http://tweetphoto.com/29480906
• Less than 15 mins into German game & English commentator has made an oblique reference to WW2! #worldcup
• England are basically playing in front of a home crowd. #worldcup
• Goddamn I'm jonesing for a good British-Indian made Lamb Pathia
• Sometimes it's hard to watch the #worldcup http://tweetphoto.com/29417319
• Watching Green Zone. Reminded what a fucking waste of time and money & lives Iraq war is. To what degree root cause of recession, I wonder
• FBear: "Granny Weatherwax has nothing on you." High praise, indeed
• Seattle Pride tomorrow! Come on out and play!
• Ag shame, USA. But good performance through the tournament. #worldcup 
• USA!!!! USA!!!! USA!!!! #worldcup
• COUCH POTATO: Just watched Black Dynamite. Sheer genius.
• Just watched Book of Eli on Pay Per View. Denzel Washington owes me $6
• Movie The Book of Eli belongs here: http://tweetphoto.com/28989073
• Note to self: check the toilet paper situation before starting yo bizniz
• Italy's out?!???!? Oh, merda! #worldcup
• Whoever is in charge of the Port Elizabeth pitch needs to be fired. Whipped. Then fired. It's worse than my high school field #worldcup
• #LieToMe quotes. Lightman's ex-wife to him as he stands in a jail cell: "You know, a room like this could've saved our marriage!"
• #LieToMe quotes "Seems there's a lot of chemistry between you & your ex-wife."  
• Bafana bafana!!!!!!!!! Don't advance but beat France!!! #worldcup
• Correction: it's a place in Ireland giving out free pizza whenever France concedes a goal. Revenge for the hand ball in last #worldcup
• There's a pizza co in South Africa giving away free pizza everytime France scores a goal. Ha ha! #worldcup
• Mama? WTF? http://tweetphoto.com/28495175
• I gotta bunny! http://tweetphoto.com/28494872
• #Goodguys quotes: "This guy can't go to jail! Look at his face! It's got Be My Wife written all over it!"
• #Goodguys quotes: "Your daughter's dating a drummer? That's disgusting."
• #Goodguys quotes: "Women are like kittens. They just want to be taken care of."
• #Goodguys quotes: "There are some smells you can't unsmell." 
• Ham on #SavingGrace to his pregnant Captain: "Maybe donuts aren't such a great idea." Men, NOTE: This is very, very stupid
• After the NKorea Portugal game, I hope the poor NKorean goalie doesn't get sent to a work camp

[ICYMI] Being a Doggy Mama - Funny Moments with Puppy Dog 1

In case you missed it...

This is a repost.  This was originally posted Saturday, April 25, 2009 at 10:29PM.  But the thing with blogs is, new people find them all the time, and who the hell has the time to search through all the crap I've written in the past?  So, now and then, I'm gonna regurgitate some of it for you.

Funny moments with Puppy Dog

1. You fart audibly while standing next to him. He looks up at you, puzzled, then steps back behind you and sniffs your butt.




2. You carry your dinner from the kitchen to the lounge. He follows you, nose in the air, sniffing like a cartoon character savouring a wafting yellow or pink colored smell in the air




3. He walks round and round on his cushion, paws it a few times, then plonks himself down




4. His head pops up from behind the coffee table if he hears a squeaking noise on the TV




5. He gets up from his lounge cushion at 11pm, walks across the dining room, claws clicking on the wooden floor, looks back at us - still watching TV - resentfully, and pads off to the bedroom. It's obviously bedtime, and we are late!

To read more in the Being a Doggy Mama series, click here.

Did I say that out loud? - Bar Brawl

 

We were watching the World Cup at a British pub.  People were going out the back Emergency Exit to have cigarettes, and were propping the door open with a block of wood.  Being an emergency exit, it locked automatically and you couldn't get in from outside.

I saw a Server go up to the door and close it because, obviously, it's against fire rules to prop an Emergency Exit open, and the pub could get into trouble.

Then I get a call on my cellphone.  It's far too noisy to take it in the pub, so I head outside.

Now, here's the thing with those doors that close automatically.  If you close them veeeeeeery gently, they don't actually click closed, but they look closed.  I went out and did my little trick with the door.

Then I see a guy outside on his cellphone.

"Did you just close the door?" he snaps at me.

"No," I said and, demonstrating my devastatingly brilliant trick, pull the door slightly to show that it is, indeed, open.

"This door closes automatically!" he snaps at me.  "We have to prop it open!  You see this block of wood here?  We need to prop it open with this block of wood!"

Just writing the dialog doesn't convey how patronizing his tone was.  

I ignored it, and let him prop open the door while I attended to my call.

Next thing, a male Server comes out.  He sees me first, and starts admonishing me for propping open the door.

I can play the submissive female to keep life simple when I have to, but I only have a certain amount of tolerance for it.

"Look," I said, "it wasn't me.  HE propped the door open.  And I just got shat on my HIM, and now I'm getting shat on by YOU and I can only stand to be shat on by one man a day!

By this time Mr-Prop-It-Open has come up to join the conversation.

"I didn't shit on you!" he protested.  "I was just trying to be safe."

The stupidity of him advocating safety as an excuse to break a fire rule wasn't lost on me, but I have learnt to make rapid calculations in my mind these days: 

How dumb is this person on a scale of 1-10?

How complicated is this issue to explain, on a scale of 1-10?

How much do I not give a shit to bother explaining this, on a scale of 1-10?

If the combined score is >15, I don't bother.  There's no ROI for my time and mental energy.

I didn't have a problem with the Server.  He was doing his job, and I had a chat with him afterwards to explain that I was not irritated with him.

But Guy No. 1 was getting on my tits.

I turned to him, to deliver my final, acid, soap-opera-worthy blow.  In my head, I could hear a movie soundtrack of violins.

I turned to the little shit and turned on my strongest, poshest English accent, and added a hint of spitting cobra:

 "I seem to have given you the wrong impression.  I.  Am.  Not.  STUPID."

I pranced off into the pub, as the violins screeched to a resounding crescendo.

And that, my dears, is how stupid alcohol makes you.

Tell your children.

 To see more in the Did I Say That Out Loud series, click here.