I Can't See Clearly Now.

All those hilarious posts I've been writing in my head at the grocery store, or while in the shower, or while Baby D is up to insane fuckery will have to wait.

I feel sick inside. I'm not sure where else to turn so I'm gonna just pour it out here.

We have two dogs, the little shit Ella (a Lab/Satan cross), and our big, blind boy Schultzy (a Great Dane). Many of you may know his story. Both dogs were rescued. Schultz came to be our boy in January of 2009. On the way home from his foster mom's place, we got into a car accident. A deer decided it didn't like the passenger side of our car, in mid-daylight, on Highway 401. My life flashed before my eyes, but we ended up okay. The car was bashed up, but Schultzy just sat in the back, cool as a cucumber, as shit went down.

His second day at our old house in 2009.

Anyway, needless to say things started with a literal bang. He adores the Hubs. He's broken windows, (probably hearts, too, with those stunning good looks and likely past of being a stud dog), he's eaten his fair share of feces (you know, before he FINALLY accepted that we were going to feed him regularly), he's dabbled in soap bars, razor blades, and Lindor chocolate (I shit you not, the dog has a varied palate, but I agree with him on the chocolate).

He had issues around his neck being touched. He could be aggressive. We've tried (mind you, not hard enough) to train him via various trainers, nose halters, leashes, muzzles, tactics, techniques and treats.

Back in Ontario he was really into nail care. But I refused him a shellac UV dryer.

He's had surgery on his bum. He's been gravely ill with a bladder infection. He's come through it all fine. He's a motherfucking champion. He's currently somewhere between 9 and 10 years old, which is "super-granddad" age for a Dane.

We knew his vision wasn't great, and when we finally moved to Western Canada in 2012, it became painfully apparent in the new surroundings on the drive here that our handsome beast was truly blind. Then came his fear.... of stairs, of the unknown, of the stressful changes. He still rocked that shit, but it was so sad to realize his world was totally dark.

Some time has passed. His eyes were cloudy, we knew he had cataracts. But then the red third eyelids started showing in his eyes and he just didn't seem right. So, since Saturday and yesterday at the vet's we've discovered:

- He has painful glaucoma, with at least 55 pressure in his left eye. At best, he has the feeling of a constant headache. But he's a champ, so it could be worse and he is just tolerating it.
- He will not, at all, allow any more eye drops. He shakes, he backs up, he slips on the floor. He can sense it and smell it, and both the Hubs and I have barely hung on to our composure trying to drop him and calm him.
- He has to have at least one eye removed. This upsets me far more than it should.
- He may have the other eye removed, but will be assessed before surgery on Thursday morning.
- He's gonna go to a specialist who does eye removal more regularly. Our hope is that if they know what they are doing, they will have him under sedation as little time as possible, and do it right, because if the local vet fucks up they have to go back under sedation to have fluid and more stuff taken out.

The biggest freakin' scare? He's old and Danes are known to have weak hearts. We can do $600 of pre-surgical diagnostic testing, but in the end, regardless of the results, he can't reasonably live with the glaucoma pain. And even clear results don't mean he will be okay under anaesthetic. It will only worsen, and he now refuses drops. And he is strong enough and big enough that he continues to win that argument.

Instead, we can do $225 of blood work to at least determine what kind of drugs to give him to sedate him. So it looks like we will.

Don't ask how much the surgery costs.

I hope to hell our sweet beast of a boy does not react badly. He could very well die on that operating table, in a strange new clinic, with staff around him and no family. I don't want to play God with him, but after long discussions, me and the Hubs can't find another reasonable option.

He still has quality of life. He LOVES his walks. He LOVES anything with cheddar powder or sauce. He LOVES his Grandmas. He even wags for pets when he's in the mood. He's mellowed significantly in the last few years and can tolerate a houseful of people and toddlers. And pain medication alone can't combat the pressure and pain from his eye lens.

Wait, what? My couch smells like dog? Nooo, you must be mistaken...

I'm not a religious person. I just hope anyone out there who loves dogs, or, hell, can say they like me (I'll even take "I can stand her"), to please put out some positive vibes for my guy on Thursday. I can feel a panic attack coming on as I type this.

He's been dealt some shit cards. I just want him to be happy and loved and not hurting.


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Delicious Drool

This happened about 10 minutes ago.

Pretty gross, and I haven't even been able to eat yet today. Thanks, dogs.


Gross: My great dane, Schultz, just shook his head heartily from across the room. A big, long goobery drool flew off and landed on my hubs' laptop lid.

Grosser: I realized all the dog spit cloths are in the dryer, so I looked at it for a second, but didn't wipe it up. The kleenex box is way over there, and the laptop lid looks pretty gross already. Right? Riiight?


Grossest: Ella, the lab, came along, sniffed the laptop case, and licked up the dane's drool. She ate it completely. Blaaaaaaaargh.

The moral of the story: This is why dogs shouldn't have chocolate**. The deliciousness would be wasted on them, since they are content with cat turds, poop and each other's saliva.


** And the fact that chocolate is toxic and can kill them if they have too much or too pure. Like coke for people. Not the drink, the powder. Ahhh, nevermind.

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Day 3 Cross Canada: Thunder Bay, Ontario to Winnipeg, Manitoba

The next morning after the stair incident (and subsequent damn luckiness that no dog or person sustained any broken bones), we had to get Schultz back down the stairs.

We both showered that morning in overwhelming anxiety, and loaded our continental breakfast plates up with dread and a serving of intense fear. (Okay, okay, that might have been me. I think the Hubs might have actually had muffins and yogurt).

By the grace of Northern Ontario's angry Moose Gods, we somehow managed to get him down and out of the stairwell, safely to the boulevard to pee, and into the SUV.  A group of bikers made many comments/references about making sure we had control of him. Another man wanted to approach our Dane (fully decked out in a cage muzzle, remember), but mentioned something about the smaller dogs around us being Schultz' breakfast.

We headed out for the long, loooong, loooooong boring drive to Winnipeg.

I think this was to indicate we crossed a time zone in Winnipeg. Either that, or I am passed out at the wheel. The latter is the more likely scenario.

We hit so much construction - a Provincial highway improvement initiative translated into more areas than I can count that were reduced to one lane. One lane in total. So one side of the road would be given a green light, and we got to sit, idle and enjoy all the fumes surrounding us in the beauty of nature.

The sign holder wouldn't make eye contact, but would carelessly swing the sign back and forth, sometimes flipping it to slow, simply because she wasn't paying attention. Pretty dangerous/confusing, dumbass.

No, we're not in England, we're in the only open lane on Hwy #1 in Northern Ontario during the season between spring and fall: construction.

Just when I thought we had reached the end of the long day, it turned out that we got to sit through EVEN MORE construction along the city streets in the 'Peg. I was ready to snap. People cutting in, cutting me off, sitting. Waiting. Seething.

I've had enough of these motherf_cking cars, on this motherf_cking road: my summation of my emotions of having to drive an additional, unplanned hour after a full and tiring day.

We headed to the home of some of Hubs' relatives who were kind enough to offer their yard and home for a pit stop/run/stretch/dinner/hotel break for a few hours for the evening. They ordered vegetarian gluten-free pizza!! They even played with the dogs outside and let us do laundry there, which was so appreciated. (Trust me - when I am stressed, I "stress sweat", and it's an ENTIRELY different universe of stink. Potent enough to kill vampires.)

Sharing a drink, or using this bowl as a chin rest. Hard to tell.

The dogs were once again fairly well behaved, until the mosquitoes started to swarm us. From there we moved inside, where Ella tried to steal all the toys of the resident dog, and Schultz bumped into furniture and seemed generally out of sorts and stressed.

Background: We knew that Schultz' vision was getting poor. We knew he had trouble seeing some things, usually in low light. But as stuff was moved out of the house (before the drive), he started walking into light coloured walls (occasionally, not constantly) where large, dark pieces of furniture used to sit. Again, I thought it was worse because of the low light in the room at the time, but I knew it wasn't a good thing.

Then add in to the equation his stair terror. Add in falling off a low deck because he didn't know where the stairs were. Him stressed out in a strange house... not because of the noise or the people... but because we realized that he couldn't see most of it, if not all of it.

As he hunkered down once again, terrified to go over two small wooden stairs to the exterior door in an unfamiliar building, the gravity hit us that he must actually be blind. Really and truly blind.

I know there are bigger issues out in the world. I know there is unbelievable human and animal suffering around the globe. I most certainly get caught up and overwhelmed in my own life, but I do realize that major, awful things are happening right now in the world.

That being said, in that moment, we realized just how scared and how fragile our little fur baby was. His memorization of our old house hid how bad his vision was. Our vet explained a few months earlier that he had cataracts and that his pupils were fairly dilated, trying to allow as much light in as possible.

The blue-green sheen in his eyes was showing us the truth all along.

But when he trembled and pulled back when four of us tried to coax him down the stairs, it really became real. I know I have a flair for the dramatic, but it felt like my heart was breaking right then and there in Winnipeg. A part of me knew it was inevitable, but I really didn't think it had progressed as badly as it had.

With the help of the Hubs' family, area rugs were moved to provide traction for him (Schultz, not the Hubs), peanut butter was brought out, and kindness was showered on him as we tried to lift his 140 pounds over those two stairs.

S & S - If you are reading this, thank you for your patience and kindness.

We made it back to our Winnipeg hotel in good time, as traffic had cleared and we avoided construction en route. I was able to keep the tears at bay until we were in our SUV.

I cried for him, for his fear, for not being able to fix it or console him enough. I cried for my Hubs, who has such a bond with Schultz, because I could tell his heart was breaking, too. I cried remembering how hard it was in Scooby's senior years. I cried remembering the difficulties our blind cat (Mr. Grey) had when he was with us. I cried with fatigue, with hope, with sadness, with helplessness.

We got to the hotel, and I unloaded while the Hubs watched the dogs. I snapped at Ella. I snapped at the Hubs. I was mad at myself. And then the angry turned into what it really was - sadness and fear/anxiety, masquerading as outward anger. I cried on the hotel room floor beside Schultz, with Hubs sandwiched between us.

Everything is darkest before the dawn.


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He's Home!!!

After 36 hours of doggy hospitalization, our baby is home!

Our wallets are much lighter, but then again, so are our hearts.

"I iz so teyered and sad. Mum n Dad left me at the noizy, smelly playce for 36 ourz. I iz gonna nap nao."

So happy to see him joyfully eating snow off the side patio table, without a care in the world.

Now I just have to medicate and monitor him for the next 6 days, transition him back to his normal food, and hope that he doesn't barf or poo himself into dehydration again.

Although, in all honesty, as he is napping I can hear his stomach gurgling. Probably not a good sign. He feels really warm, too.

And, a side effect of one of the medications is vomiting and nausea. Eeeeek.

I hope this continues to get better and not the other way...

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You Know Your Dogs Are On Edge When...

1. You fart and they fly to the front door, barking their heads off.

2. You fart once more and they resume their determined defense against the flatulence-producing-danger within their hearing range.

3. A lady yells at her 15-year-old daughter on Party Mamas for inviting too many people to her quinceanera, and the dogs unleash their (shared?) fury on the front door in my house.

I can only imagine what my not-yet-conceived children are going to be like.

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Best.Comforter.EVAAAAR.

At least they think so:

And we foolishly wasted money on a new dog bed for him....

Gotta love it.

I think organza and lace suits Schultz. Ella would look stunning in those pearls.


Happy Canadian Thanksgiving everyone!! I`ve got lots to be thankful for obviously!

________________

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My Dog Is An Alcoholic

So, our Dane has post traumatic stress disorder from his horrific treatment before he came to us (No! Wait! The post gets funny, don't click away, I swear this is great).

So after many failed training attempts because of his fear and triggers, the vet agreed that a temporary medication could be helpful in minimizing his fear, while letting him learn with our new C.E.T. dog trainer.

We did it. (Go ahead, I'll wait while you judge me. S'ok.)

Yes, my dog is being treated for anxiety. He has clearly spent too much time around me.

We are now discovering that this is seriously going to curb Schultz' (not Schiltz) hard partying ways, and his weekend social pub crawls. Take a closer look:

Good thing they warned us!!!

Sorry my little (huge) furry buddy, looks like mommy won't be making you any more martinis any time soon.

It's for the best.

Damn, this tough love is so hard.

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He's a Simple Dog...

I just don't have the heart to tell him that he's lying on the PUPPY'S bed, which is approximately half the width, length and thickness of his dog bed.

Um, Schultzy? You're lying on... oh... never mind...

Oh well, I guess he seems comfortable. And in all fairness, they LOOK the same, not that he can see the colour.


Oh... it appears that this isn't his first confused experience:

Your legs are kind of.... oh, forget it.

He seemed to prefer my parents' dog's bed when they were dogsitting before.
(Also note the creative use of headboards and wooden furniture, acting as barricades to prevent his Great Dane butt from overtaking their lovely sofas).

*SIGH*


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How Do You Know? Trust Me, I KNOW.

So, in what can only be described as a loss of 121 minutes of my life, Feyoncé and I watched the unusually-stabby-rage-y-feeling inducing crap film called "How Do You Know" last night.

It had all of the components a few of the components  a component  some of the components to make a decent film:

• Paul Rudd
• Reese Witherspoon
• Owen Wilson

I love Reese! I love Paul! I am happy that Owen is doing much better, after his suicide attempt a few years back.

I know that you will want those 121 minutes of your life back.

But it WAS.JUST.AWFUL.  For the first 40 minutes, I kept telling Feyoncé that the line/idea/segment/part of the movie was unnecessary, ridiculous, pointless, not-at-all believable, painful to watch, or out-of-line and/or slightly demeaning in some ways to the strong character Reese plays.

My personal opinion? About the first 100 minutes of the movie were what you normally see in the "deleted scenes" special edition section of a DVD, because it was irrelevant and boring.

The last 20 minutes were bearable. Owen had a few pretty funny one liners. That was it.

*sigh*

It brought out rage close to Michael Bublé levels.

And we all know THAT can't be good for me. Or Feyoncé. Or you, dear friends.

Quick summary of all that is StephanieC:

• I have been feeling very shitty emotionally and physically the past few days.  
• I have been searching for literally hours and hours and hours and hours trying to find a honeymoon that fits for us, that is unique, and it is driving me crazy(ier).
• I ordered my bridesmaids' dresses.
• Some door-to-door asshole rang the door THREE times on Good Friday morning, while Feyoncé was on a work call in the basement and I was trying to get my bearings while falling out of bed.                You would think a large, unruly Great Dane STANDING UP ON THE INTERIOR OF THE DOOR would deter someone from at least the SECOND doorbell ring, but, NO.  You have no idea how much effort it takes for me to try to get him wrangled and locked away, just to tell you that I am not interested in your cookbooks/religion/fundraising sausage/overpriced chocolate bars/notice that there is a potentially-fatal gas leak and we need to leave the premises immediately . It's not worth even answering the door.  Once Feyoncé got there (while I was restraining the great beast) she asked if he had been sleeping (well you didn't really give a shit one way or the other, didja now?? HMM?)!

Don't bother to ring a second or third time. Just run.

He's sweet inside, but even I would run from a face like that looking back at me AT EYE LEVEL, if I was schlepping door-to-door.

• Icing on the cake? Feyoncé hasn't been feeling well either, so he went to lay down for a bit. And someone else came by door-to-door.  A ringin' away.  *CUE DOGS BARKING THEIR HEADS OFF*.   I struggled beside Schultz to get door-front window real estate, so my face was visible in the doorway and I waved the guy off.   That's right.   Made a *shooing* motion.   At least it worked, and he didn't have to see my pajama pants. Or smell my breath.

I'm holding out on writing any more blog stuff until I get out of this mental pissy state.
Or until Cesar Milan can come here and teach me calm assertive leadership when it comes to strangers at the door.

That last picture of Schultz is sort of helping a bit...

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Milestones and Shiny Dog Poop

So first off, you guys all effing RULE because that last post on Adam Levine, nuts, butts and soap shards? HIGHEST COMMENT COUNT EVER. Yes, some of mine are in there, but still! 37 or so thoughts on the subject is pretty big for me, and is appreciated more than you know!

You guys are awesome.

Also? Thanks to Bruce who has brought me up to 70 awesome folks willing to push the "Follow" button for this here itty bitty blog.

In case you were wondering, in terms of highest number of comments, bringing up the rear was Sparkling Clean Colon? (See what I did there? Do ya? DO YA??) with 26 comments. If you haven't read it, you should. I am all about pride, privacy, and appropriateness at all times.

Stop laughing!

On to other things. Two nights ago Schultz ate my last 300gram bag of Lindt Lindor chocolates, that were individually wrapped in tinfoil, made to look like tree ornaments. He got all but three.

You should probably know that:
A) Chocolate is toxic to dogs.
B) I fucking WANTED those chocolates for breakfast. EXPECTED it.
C) The ornaments also had strings, so foil and string are currently working their way through Schultz' intestines.
D) I didn't know he would possibly want or steal wrapped food. Only Scooby had a taste for Lindor chocolates.
E) I ate two of the white chocolate ones before going to bed.
F) He missed one dark chocolate one (my least favourite) in the couch cushions. Either that, or he didn't like those ones either.

Well, since he ate them Tuesday night, I have been accompanying him out in the snow to make sure all bodily functions are proceeding as normal. I found red Lindor tinfoil in his poop today. (Yes I checked. I could see it glimmering from a distance... the things a mother does...)

And know what? I cleaned it up right away so -
wait for it -
hope you haven't eaten/aren't eating -
you ready? -

So that he wouldn't be tempted by the aftermath into enjoying it a second time.

Disgusting I know.

You're welcome.

Anyone else find any treasure lately? Anything interesting/piss-offedness-inducing happen to you? Share, share.
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Christmas Adorableness

If you disagree, I will cut a bitch.

Don't think I won't.

Scooby Dooby Doo - August 1996 to January 2010

I bet you were expecting a photo of me, right? Riiiiight?

This is the last photo I had taken of Santa with Scooby Doo at a mall that no longer exists in my hometown.

I miss her so much. This will be my first Christmas without her in 14 years. 

She's damn cute. I loved her like a child.

We can't take Schultz for photos because he would   eat  Santa Claus. And all the children would cry. And we would probably be sued.

Who? Me?

That is all.

___________________________________________________________________

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Schultzy Goes For Surgery

UPDATE: Sept. 24/10 8:25 pm, Schultz is doing okay! The surgery went well, they were able to cut out all of what they were hoping to, now we await test results to find out if it is something neutral or something bad. He was quite distressed I was told, after coming out of the anesthetic, chewed out his IV, ate his bandage and was probably making a hell of a lot of noise, so BF picked him up fairly soon after surgery.

Schultz is just sleeping, is very out of it, and refuses to drink which worries me a bit, but we'll give him some time. So relieved his is home with us. I couldn't face losing two of my pups in one year.

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Another atypical serious post (most are not like this, but this one is important).

So tomorrow morning we take our boy to have surgery on his back end.

Looking a little tipsy in this photo

I had to put down my beloved Scooby Doo in January of this year, and it nearly killed me. I know that sounds absurd - she was a dog, but she had been my best friend and unfailing companion for 13 years.

With Schultz, I feel so bad for all that he's been through, and I just want him to be healthy and happy and know he is loved. Can animals know love? Probably not. They don't even recognize time.

But I'd like to think he know tenderness and compassion - or at least the opposite of abuse, neglect and starvation - in this household.

"Shit... I'm going where tomorrow? For what exactly?"

I wish I could explain it is to make him better.

"Nawww, just playin' Mom, I play you like a fiddle. So easy to get you wound up." *snickers to himself*

It's amazing how much pets can mean and how huge a space they hold in your heart. And then add in my incredible, impressive, hard-to-fathom, exhausting anxiety, and you've got yourself one hell of a worried fur-baby mom who won't be sleeping tonight.

Guarding us against small children and the elderly. Good Boy!

I tease him all the time... joke that he isn't the brightest dog, or that he enjoys the company of his nether regions more than me, or tease about his constant drooling (what, he can't help it, it's a Dane 'design flaw' - those jowls give him no choice and I know it), but in truth he is an incredible guy who has overcome horrendous treatment in his life. I love him with all my heart, and whenever I can make his tail wag, it feels like a small victory to me. For all he's been through, and to see he's still smilin'.

I'll update tomorrow to hopefully (surely, right?) say that all is well, they could remove things, it isn't cancer and that his heart was just fine for his age under anesthetic.

I have to go out of town for my own doctor's appointment after we take him in, so I will be a nervous wreck until we are all home together.

Please think positive thoughts for our boy, and cheer Dr. H. and Dr. R. on in your minds!

Image Credit

We love you, big guy.

xoxoxox

Mom & Dad aka BF

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I Hate You Wal-Mart

But it won't stop me from buying from you. And hating myself for it. (Maybe it's my lack of self control/restraint that I hate? Noooo, no, it must be Wal-Mart).

Why is it that I can never - I REPEAT - never ever leave you without spending a minimum of $50? I go in for spinach and laundry detergent and I leave with a cartful of shizz and I am typically $80-$120 poorer.

What's that you say? Just don't get a cart? I've tried that approach, and in the end my arms are totally overwhelmed, I am even crankier, and I ultimately have to grab a basket (that then becomes overfilled and exceptionally heavy) and balance all my crap until I give up and go to the checkout.

Image Credit

I just came from there. I went in for a dog/nose collar contraption that works for Schultz. It costs $8.94. I walked out of there with two bags and a charge of $56 on my handy dandy Visa.

I even promised myself that I would ONLY BUY THE DOG LEASH. But you know what I did?

I saw a bag of chips 'anniversary sale' priced. They were the yummy, super-salty wavy ones in the red bag, with questionable vegetable oil. They were the BIG size! They were only $2.50! It was 2:00pm and I hadn't eaten since 7am! My hunger won.

I opened those bad-boys up and started eating some in the store. Sooooo not classy. If an employee saw me, they had the full and complete right to bitch-slap me right there for opening up greasy food and walking around their store. I am sure that if I had passed a mirror the sight would have been so repulsive I would have...

I digress.

I thought I wrote salty baldness for a second there.... Image Credit

 

So I meandered to the FAR BACK CORNER of the store to get the dog thing. I saw a big thing of detergent on sale. I forged ahead (But the price is so good! You didn't get a cart, dumbass and that thing is heavy! It says it is biodegradable after 90 years, that's good, right?! No - dog collar, dog collar, dog collar).

I may have weaved a path through the shoe department. Maybe, maybe not.
Of course I did.

And the funny thing? I didn't even want to look at shoes. I don't need any more shoes. At that moment (it was fleeting, no worries) I didn't even WANT shoes.

These blistery shoes turned me off shoes for, like, a week. It was that traumatizing.

I made it to the pet section. It felt like a small victory. But folks, I had to turn around and make it allll the way back to the register.

That means I had to pass:

the stationary section (I've been needing a little foldy thing for receipts in my purse so I will just scroll every single aisle here to see if something could work.... nope, but oooh! Multiple-coloured pens on clearance! That seems like fun! Pens are fun!),

the glass food storage containers (I am always seeking out the latest clearance because I am becoming more and more afraid of plastic and leaching and health concerns by the day... and yes I am crazy, thanks for asking),

coffee tables (my friend needs a new one and I thought maybe I could get her a cute little one, then I thought that she likely has nicer taste than wood laminate and that who the hell was I to try to design her living room for her because I have terrible taste and what was the rest of her decor anyway? Thus..... I moved on),

shower curtain stuff (we finally picked one out of the 82 that I purchased, but it needed a liner... so... did you know that Wal-Mart has a shitload of liners? I perused and hummed, and might have even hahhed. Then bought 3 so BF could choose which one he liked the best. I'm so sweet. Either sweet or irrationally indecisive).

And that is another post in itself.... I am a buyer-with-the-full-intent-of-returning-at-least-one-of-something-after-shopping-if-not-more (sorry ♥ Vicki ♥, please don't hate my kind.. or... well, at least me. I always keep my receipt and never open the stuff!!).

So I left with chips, 3 shower curtain liners, multi-coloured pens, something else I've forgotten, and some other random thing. For $56.

Oh yeah, and the dog collar.

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seriously really seriously blog

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Letters - This Needs To Be Said

EDIT: Watch out! There's swearing in the depths below, yarrr! But it's better smelling than Davey Jones' Locker! (I think).

Now I feel slightly copy-ish and cheaty, since I have seen other blogs do this. I first read many of Allie Brosh's at Hyperbole & A Half, and then some of Barb's over at Two Beans or Not Two Beans.


But I feel a burning need to do this, because I do this in my head mentally on a daily basis, and a lot of this isn't enough to make a post of, on its own. So here goes. Thank you for the idea, ladies, I hope you don't think I am a good-idea-thief.

Dear Noisy Comforter:

We bought you as a 'nice' addition to our room... to appear more grown up and coordinate with our brown and green scheme. You are fucking noisy as hell and I hate you. Washing in hot water and drying with fabric softener sheets have done nothing to muffle your incessant need to be heard whenever BF or I toss and/or turn in our sleep.

You are cloth. How the hell can you produce noises at the volume you do, betwixt two sleeping bodies? Seriously??... Reeeally?..... Seriously? You ruined my weekend sleep-in mornings and I hate you. Your expensive, noisy ass is being relegated to another room. We will happily go back to our ghetto-pilled-up-unmatchy comforter.


p.s. I am tired. Fuck you.

-S

Dear Driver Ahead of Me Who Drives Really Slow Until The Stoplight Turns Yellow, Then Guns It To Get Through The Light While Laughing at Me, Stuck At The Red Light:

Is there a congregation of you folk? Is it your life's purpose to drive around all day like this and just annoy the shit out of late people like myself who really really wanted to get through that light? Is your standard driving speed really somewhere between 35-45 km/hr? How is it that you seem to be able to consistently plant yourself in front of me on the days I am the most late for work?


You incite the most unhealthy levels of road rage in me. I want your licence revoked. Twice over. Bitch.


-S

Dear Puppy With Oversized Worm Belly, Razor Sharp Teeth, and Beloved Puppy Breath:

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

I love you. I wish I could eat you up in a vegan-appropriate way. You are so freakin' cute it hurts.


-S

Dear Fruit Flies In My Purse:

Listen, I have bad days and limited food options. I also like a good deal when I find one. If I buy local baskets of peaches (you know, to support local farmers, but mostly because they are yummy and on sale), I will undoubtedly toss one or two in my purse.


Now, fruit flies, I am also a forgetful person at times. I get this from THE MOTHER I think. When I either:

a) forget that I ALREADY placed two peaches in aforementioned purse or
b) believe I have eaten all peaches in my purse but turn out to be wrong

Please take some pity on me and do not find said peach(es) in an advanced state of decomposition in purse and feast like there is no tomorrow.


How can you even get into a sealed purse? You have skills beyond my earthly ones. (Like my impressive ability to ascertain whiplash consecutively). Please, please just stay in my purse until I make the awful discovery. Flying out, plumped up to nearly the size of a mosquito, in front of family and co-workers makes me look really gross(er). And by then, when I kill you, you actually have enough blood to splatter.

Please fruit flies. I promise to try to eat all fruit assigned to my purse. Should I slip, please just feast and remain in said purse until I can free you via purse contents emptied onto a patio table, letting you fly away happily and satisfied into the night.


-S

Dear Schultz:

Please do not head straight for people's crotches when they walk in our door [sidenote: Schultz is our dog, I am not referring to BF]. You never do this to mommy or daddy. Is it that we have uninteresting genitals? You already know us well enough? You think this is appropriate "getting to know you" behaviour with our human guests?

Criticize me? But... but MO-OM! I'm so cute... Don't make fun... *sad face*

Also, kindly refrain from enthusiastically "cleansing" both your penis and your anus for minutes on end. Especially in front of company. [sidenote: the poor boy does have something wrong with his bum, but we are scheduling him surgery and we are super-concerned.. but he has always 'enjoyed' this preening before problems arose.... I can only assume].

I know it's hard. I'm sure your flexibility and canine status make it practically expected of you, but still.


Finally - we love you very much, are worried about you, want you to be better, hope that you are happy here, but also request that you do not attempt to make contact with our faces/hands/surfaces immediately after you have "cleansed". At least get a drink of water or something. Please? I may be lying when I tell you that you have fresh breath. I just don't want to hurt your feelings, Schlutzy-pants.


-Love, Mom

Dear Winamp & All My MP3 Files:

When BF has (male, 30-45ish) poker company over and I offer to play music from my computer, please don't make me look like such a douche. I know, I know, I can make these things called "Play Lists" but I don't have itunes and shit isn't labelled properly by genre or year, making it really hard for me to scroll through ALL the songs and organize the way I should.

I promise to look into theses tech-savvy assistants to help streamline my choice of music, however until I master this, kindly cease selecting classic ditties such as:

• "Bangles - Eternal Flame"
• anything old Britney Spears
• 50s hits my father would enjoy (Pallisades Park, for example, including all other reminiscent-only downloads)
• slow/folk-y Sarah Harmer songs
• 90s house music such as "A Little Bit of Ecstasy - Remix" or "Berri - Sunshine After The Rain (Thunderpuss 2000 Mix)" (even I don't like remixes)
• anything from "The Bodyguard" soundtrack, or
• "Hot Chocolate - You Sexy Thing".

There are more, but neither BF nor myself can remember (probably because the embarrassment has forced us to block out the memories).


Also, please get in touch with all of my empty CD cases with decent music inside the house, ask them to contact the CD booklet in my car, tell them to come inside and next time we can avoid this SNAFU altogether by circumventing digital with some classic Tragically Hip or Pearl Jam CDs.


Thanks.... for nothin'!


-S

Dear Vampire Bill on True Blood:

I love it when you say Sookie. Sookie Sookie Sookie. Sookie Stackhouse.


I will miss you until Season 4.

p.s. This video is wayyyy too long, but you'll get the idea after a minute or so...


-Eagerly anticipating your return, S



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The Joy Of Pets

Pets can be awesome. Pets can be fun. Pets can try to eat your veterinarian. Occasionally, their own feces. Such complex creatures, they are.

Pets can be special, like Allie's dog Katie. Pets can be more feral than snuggly/domestic, like Jody's. Pets can be a source of joy and boundless love. Pets think you are da SHIT. Well, generally, anyway.

Disclaimer: I have tried to make some funnies here, but truth be told I have a ton of emotions mixed up in all of this... the loss of past pets, the awful experience Schultz had, and lots of other things. So please make sure you take as much of the funnies part as possible.

Our dog was a rescue from Loyal Rescue, after a puppy mill bust in Quebec. Normally, I adopt from my beloved Brantford SPCA, but I happened to be searching for a cat after the death of my inspiring, loving, wonderful blind grey tabby Mr. Grey, and I tried searching for special needs pets on Petfinder.com.

We already had my beloved Scooby Doo, and I thought perhaps she could use a companion.

Instead, a goofy looking ad popped up with a great dane on it, and I thought "Hmmm... I wonder..."


I came across this fellow, and my heart melted:

Severely underweight, abused, scared, scarred, exhausted. And yup, that's his penis sticking out. And his vertebrae.

So we brought him home on January 3, 2009.

Now, when I leave the house, and come back later on (45 seconds if it is to put out the green bin and recycling, 15 minutes if I am going to the gym... haha just kidding...    We all know I don't go to the gym.) my boy is so bloody happy to see me, it's like he was certain he was abandoned in the house, all hope was lost and he was destined to spend eternity in a comfortably air conditioned house with easily accessible dog food and lots of places to pee away from his own bed. The horror!

Now, let's face it, when I leave, BF is like "hey... yeah, have fun, don't rush back, we're good here. You gone for a few hours? Days? Have fun with that." Whereas Schultz (the dog) is all FREAKIN' PUMPED when I walk back in because I forgot my sunglasses!!

"Oh hey, hey mom, hey, hey, what's up, you're back, yay! let me watch you type on your laptop while I lay on my one bed or maybe my other bed. hi mom! here's a stuffy (stuffed animal), I don't mind sharing, since you came back and all, hey, hey mom, hi! how are you! you came back! I have a stuffy! let's go pl...."  (then he sees BF and loses interest in me, but still, I relish those 20 seconds of being adored by Schultz).

Kind of like this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8FWzLMobx0

(Okay, BF never acts like that, but I was trying to emphasize the juxtaposition between the two mentalities of male vs. pet)

For a year, Schultz shared company with my beloved unknown-mixed-breed, my 13 year old girl, Scooby Doo, who I miss terribly. She was an excellent friend who fought hard to be strong for me 'til the end. She did her best to stick with me, but I absolutely had to let her go in January of this year.

Before he learned he could overpower 4'-0" high chain link fence.

Before he knocked her over one time too many, they did play in the back yard and it was precious. (Grainy, using my digital camera, but precious).

See them here:  http://www.youtube.com/v/vrK4YAytYMQ?fs


Just imagine the world for a dog:

• Genital licking - accepted, if not expected, by society in general
• Ability to fart shamelessly, anywhere, any time
• Smaller carbon footprint - no toilet paper
• Happy to eat just about anything, including (but not limited to):
• tubs of margarine (yes, my sister's dog Kody has done that)
• baby socks (Kody left them processed but intact in the back yard),
• scrunchies (Kody)
• shaving razors (that was a fluke, Schultz is nuts, my suction cup fell off the shower wall and he somehow felt the need to try to eat it - which he didn't do, but damn, he tried)
• cat food
• cat feces
• cats
• foam bedding
• chocolate (this is toxic to dogs, but... apparently Kody has a high resistance to toxic items.... uh... good boy?)
• anything with stuffing or strings that will cost $100 for the vet to say "keep an eye on the coughing"
• soap. that had to be brought back up by the vet. after feces had been eaten. the pregnant vet and techs were all either also vomiting, or near vomiting. (Schultz is such a charmer).
• occasionally dry dog food

• SQUIRREL! (no, no, not to eat, see how the bullet point is back out there at the main list??)

Schultz has lots of issues once he gets out the front door or is at the front door. Being restrained seems to trigger something awful in him, which is saddening but also hard to manage. I have to take him to the vet tomorrow, wish me luck. Last time he bit me hard, twice.

So... yesterday I was in a somewhat serious meeting with my boss and a colleague. We were discussing an issue that could potentially be brought to litigation. What did I do while feeling uncomfortably scrutinized and cold in the overly air-conditioned office? Be serious and calm? No. I saw a squirrel outside his window and, in keeping with my professionalism and appropriateness-at-all-times, I spurted out "SQUIRREL!" and laughed to my colleague. Yup.

The Joy of Pets.

Pretty sure I was the only one amused. And the only one who wasn't questioning my sanity. (Well, 'cause I know it's already teetering).


SIDE NOTE:

We are 99% certain that Schultz is the large breed dog discussed in the July 2009 issue of Reader's Digest (Titled "Canada's Puppy Mill Scandal" by Ray Argyle, but I can't find an active link). My mom gave me the hard copy but I either misplaced it or recycled it (which is not like me). He even had to have tail surgery where it had split open. He's been through a lot.

Happy now. :-)

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Already One of THOSE Days

You know your day is not starting off on the right foot when your great dane hops on the bed (before your alarm clock goes off) and farts in your face. Intentionally. Well, I can only assume it was intentional.

Our special boy.

As my few followers know, I've been battling illness(es) since May of 2009, when I got food poisoning at a pizza place during mother's day dinner. Yes, nothing but the best for my mother. Somehow *I* chose the place, and Pizza Hut is apparently all my mom is worth. What a terrible daughter. Moving along....

(Don't worry, they aren't terminal... the illnesses I mean... or I suppose the restaurant, but I will never go back). Immediately after this meal, much gastrointestinal trauma ensued... for... well.... still.

This morning, once the alarm went off, I could just FEEL the awfulness in my body. Waking to extreme nausea is not fun (and it had seemed that the terrible-horrible worst of that had eased up on me in June-ish). And no, I am not pregnant.

For those of you who have never experienced the joy of nausea, imagine your worst hangover and how that made you feel. Now imagine feeling like that most mornings you wake up, coupled with no appetite, and that whole necessity of being able to function as an adult and that attending work thing.

Look at how lovingly she stares into that bowl. Perhaps she recently had a bathroom reno as well?

I am writing this post, trying to move as little as possible, waiting for my (expensive, super-duper strength) nausea medication to kick in.

One option. Not the particular medication I took today, though.

In my "trooper"-i-ness, I showered (managed to bang my head hard off of the new, very hard, ceramic tile in the shower), forced myself to have rice protein powder (then discovered the nearly straight, 10" trail of it down my once-clean white shirt), then decided an orange would help me absorb the iron I am so depleted of (and it ended up being all hard/crunchy and dried out on the inside.... please tell me I am not the only person this happens to).

Yellow airbrush is approximation of inedible, dry, gross part of orange. Remainder was barely edible.

Days like this make me fear more for my sanity. (I mean, c'mon, we all know it's teetering regularly).

Days like this make me fear for my job security. There are only so many emails and phone calls in to work that essentially say "Hi, yes, yes it is me again. I am feeling like that World Cup Goalie from England after missing that save, whilst being mocked by the world while feeling like I am going to barf up RICE PROTEIN POWDER while still recovering from the hurtful, fart-filled subliminal messages from my dog, while I take my medications and hope for the best. Flawed? Why, yes, I am thank you. Hope not to be too late. Will be there soon."

Some days I wish I could be like Paul Coffey in the Green Mile and just touch someone's hand so that they can feel what I feel and think what I think. Obviously only for a few seconds, wouldn't want to permanently eff them up or anything, but just to give them some understanding (and perhaps some credibility for myself).

Let's hope the day gets better from here. I am going to work now. I hope the nausea goes away. :-( Pin It Now!