This is what it's like having two dogs and a kid.
Sophie: (Sleeping peacefully in dog bed)
Silas: (tries to pet Sophie)
Sophie: (Surprised yelp)
Sherlock: (Comes running from wherever he was sleeping to see if Sophie is ok.)
Silas: (tries to pet Sophie)
Sophie: (moves out of the way and makes a little yip noise. Barely audible.)
Sherlock: (Comes running from wherever he was sleeping to see if Sophie is ok.)
Me: (tickles Silas)
Silas: (Laughs)
Sherlock: (Comes running from wherever he was sleeping to see if Silas is ok.)
Me: (Playing with Silas)
Silas: (Laughing)
Sherlock: (Starts barking: warning, baby laughing)
Showing posts with label the puppies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the puppies. Show all posts
Monday, January 13, 2014
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Dang Puppies!
We have three doggie beds, yet Sophie is currently sleeping on Silas's playmat and Sherlock is curled up inside my sister-in-law's suitcase. Actually, he needs a bath, so let me go shoo him out of there.
Back in a moment.
Ok.
My puppies seemed to be programmed to ignore the dog beds in favor of absolutely anything else on the floor. Sometimes, Sophie will crawl into a dog bed only to jump out a moment later and sleep next to it. So I think my next move in reducing clutter in our house will be to throw out those dog beds. I don't think dog beds are necessarily something people want to pick up second hand, due to worries about fleas and whatnot.
Also, I think that people who have the size dogs we do tend to be those kind people who would favor buying a new bed rather than getting one second hand. What I'm saying is that most people don't pick a Pomeranian because they're poor. It happens. I mean, Smiley and I have one. But she was a special gift and we're happy to have her.
Sherlock just slinked out of the room so I'm thinking I need to go shoo him off the suitcase again. Dogs.
Back in a moment.
Ok.
My puppies seemed to be programmed to ignore the dog beds in favor of absolutely anything else on the floor. Sometimes, Sophie will crawl into a dog bed only to jump out a moment later and sleep next to it. So I think my next move in reducing clutter in our house will be to throw out those dog beds. I don't think dog beds are necessarily something people want to pick up second hand, due to worries about fleas and whatnot.
Also, I think that people who have the size dogs we do tend to be those kind people who would favor buying a new bed rather than getting one second hand. What I'm saying is that most people don't pick a Pomeranian because they're poor. It happens. I mean, Smiley and I have one. But she was a special gift and we're happy to have her.
Sherlock just slinked out of the room so I'm thinking I need to go shoo him off the suitcase again. Dogs.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Every dang time!
Every time I sit down at my computer to type, I bring the dogs with me in the room so that Silas can sleep somewhat undisturbed. Sophie immediately starts sniffing around as though there will be some sort of food somewhere on the ground. In particular, she starts sniffing around Smiley's computer chair and desk with a ferocity that suggests my dear husband must have buried a body under the floorboards.
I mean, normally, I can just be all like "Sophie!" in a stern voice and tell her "no scrounging" and she complies. But when it comes to the area around his desk, she doesn't even give me her "I'm sorry" eyes for a half second before she's back to sniffing around. Some day, when we find a body or something under there, I'll apologize to her.
I think night time with Silas has gotten better. Mostly, I think I might have learned to just go to sleep while I'm sitting up and feeding him. Usually I'll stay awake until he's done eating and then put him on my chest to burp him and that's usually how I'll wake up. The alternative is putting him back in his bassinet.
Putting him back in his bassinet is like throwing a china plate against the wall and hoping it doesn't break - what I'm saying is, it's impossible to do. No matter how fast asleep he seems, no matter how boneless his arms are, the moment he touches the bassinet, he starts making little noises. These little noises become bigger noises and often are accompanied by an episode or ten of spitting up, despite my best efforts to burp him several times during feedings.
And then, before long, the noises become protests which become half cries and at that point I know I need to pick him up or the full cry will start.
Every. Single. Time.
(I feel compelled to note, if you haven't already, that this is through the eyes of my sleep deprived brain. I think that I actually fall asleep at some point and wake up to the fussing.)
Anyhow, today marks his 4-week "being alive" anniversary. Smiley and I have taken care of a baby for nearly a month and he hasn't broken yet. I think, just maybe, we might be able to pull this off.
I mean, normally, I can just be all like "Sophie!" in a stern voice and tell her "no scrounging" and she complies. But when it comes to the area around his desk, she doesn't even give me her "I'm sorry" eyes for a half second before she's back to sniffing around. Some day, when we find a body or something under there, I'll apologize to her.
I think night time with Silas has gotten better. Mostly, I think I might have learned to just go to sleep while I'm sitting up and feeding him. Usually I'll stay awake until he's done eating and then put him on my chest to burp him and that's usually how I'll wake up. The alternative is putting him back in his bassinet.
Putting him back in his bassinet is like throwing a china plate against the wall and hoping it doesn't break - what I'm saying is, it's impossible to do. No matter how fast asleep he seems, no matter how boneless his arms are, the moment he touches the bassinet, he starts making little noises. These little noises become bigger noises and often are accompanied by an episode or ten of spitting up, despite my best efforts to burp him several times during feedings.
And then, before long, the noises become protests which become half cries and at that point I know I need to pick him up or the full cry will start.
Every. Single. Time.
(I feel compelled to note, if you haven't already, that this is through the eyes of my sleep deprived brain. I think that I actually fall asleep at some point and wake up to the fussing.)
Anyhow, today marks his 4-week "being alive" anniversary. Smiley and I have taken care of a baby for nearly a month and he hasn't broken yet. I think, just maybe, we might be able to pull this off.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Reasons Why My Dogs are Not Dogs
Sophie is not a dog. She's a cat cosplaying a dog. Whenever she can, Sophie does her best to jump up to the highest spot in the room. Granted, that usually means she has to give up around the height of the couch back, but still. You don't see many Goldens hanging out on the backs of couches, do you? (Is Goldens an accepted shortening for golden retrievers? My mind says yes.)
Sherlock is not a dog. He is a hog cosplaying a dog. Whenever he goes outside, he starts grunting and making entirely un-dog-like noises as he roots around in the yard, presumably looking for truffles. Sad to say, I will not be making tons of money since there do not seem to be any truffles in my backyard despite his best efforts.
When Sophie goes outside, she becomes a goat. I have seen her time and again casually chowing down on grass while we play outside. Granted, she's tiny, so each blade of grass is a battle to be won and typically she has to start in the middle of the blade just to take it down to size. Sometimes she'll eat weeds or clover although, again, she's tiny, so I don't think we'll be switching to this method of lawn care unless we move to a city space with a square foot of yard.
In conclusion, I thought I had dogs. Boy was I wrong.
Sherlock is not a dog. He is a hog cosplaying a dog. Whenever he goes outside, he starts grunting and making entirely un-dog-like noises as he roots around in the yard, presumably looking for truffles. Sad to say, I will not be making tons of money since there do not seem to be any truffles in my backyard despite his best efforts.
When Sophie goes outside, she becomes a goat. I have seen her time and again casually chowing down on grass while we play outside. Granted, she's tiny, so each blade of grass is a battle to be won and typically she has to start in the middle of the blade just to take it down to size. Sometimes she'll eat weeds or clover although, again, she's tiny, so I don't think we'll be switching to this method of lawn care unless we move to a city space with a square foot of yard.
In conclusion, I thought I had dogs. Boy was I wrong.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
The puppies got another bath
Yeah, it's been some time since I've made Sophie deploy crazy eyes level 10 and to be honest, Sherlock kind of smelled like a tuna fish sandwich, which was suspicious due to the fact that I haven't made tuna in over a month. So I gave the dogs baths yesterday.
Sophie did this kind of goldfish memory fail; I held the shower head so that it was stationarily spraying the middle of the tub. Sophie hates the water, so every time she walked through the middle of the tub she would kind of speed up with a little puppy hop of sorts. But then she'd turn around and go back to the other side of the tub. It was literally a case of rinse and repeat. And I liked it because I could hold the shower head at a slight higher height than when I normally try to follow her around with it and my back therefore hurt a lot less. But I'm still not sure why she kept trying to go back and forth.
Anyhow, they smell great now and as is the case with my dreams, last night they reflected my worse nightmare - I dreamed that I woke up this morning and that Sophie's face was crawling with fleas. Thankfully, upon actually waking up, I can confirm that this is not the case.
Sophie did this kind of goldfish memory fail; I held the shower head so that it was stationarily spraying the middle of the tub. Sophie hates the water, so every time she walked through the middle of the tub she would kind of speed up with a little puppy hop of sorts. But then she'd turn around and go back to the other side of the tub. It was literally a case of rinse and repeat. And I liked it because I could hold the shower head at a slight higher height than when I normally try to follow her around with it and my back therefore hurt a lot less. But I'm still not sure why she kept trying to go back and forth.
Anyhow, they smell great now and as is the case with my dreams, last night they reflected my worse nightmare - I dreamed that I woke up this morning and that Sophie's face was crawling with fleas. Thankfully, upon actually waking up, I can confirm that this is not the case.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Sick puppies are not happy puppies
I first suspected something was not right when I knelt down to clip Sophie's leash to her tiny puppy harness. Sophie jumped in my lap, turned her back towards me and then straight up began to pee all over me. I had a moment of intense anger - why would my dog do this to me? I also had a moment of crazy logic - Ok, I want to hit her, but then she'll just go and pee over everything and at least now all I have to do is wash my pants. It's like the mess is already cleaned up!
Already leased and standing next to us, Sherlock looked at me cautiously, as if gauging whether it was his turn next. I quickly brought Sophie to her kennel and put her in there so I could change my clothes and we went out a few minutes later with no more accidents.
"Sophie," I said. "Look. I understand that you probably did not mean to do that on purpose but boy am I mad."
Sophie looked at me and wagged her tail eagerly, because it turns out that no matter how mad I am at my dog, I still can't help but talk in a cutesy baby talk voice. I suspect Sophie will never know the truth.
I decided to call it confirmed when after work I went to let the dogs out and before I could unlock the back door, Sophie squatted on the rug in front of the door. I was unsurprised, but shocked. I had just started a new work schedule that allowed me to be home a half hour earlier to let the dogs out. She looked up at me with sad eyes, eyes that seemed to say "please don't hit me. I don't mean this."
Since she had been house trained some years back, I talked with my vet, who suggested catching a sample of Sophie's urine. I then had to ask questions I never thought would come up, like "How in the heck do I catch a dog's urine?"
My vet explained the process, assuring me that it wasn't too hard. "You just get a clean, sterile container - I guess at her size, maybe the lid of a container - and then follow behind her while you take your walk. When she goes to go pee, just kind of swoop it under." She demonstrated and the next morning, walking outside behind Sophie, I practiced the desperately half controlled motion of crouching down to near ground level whilst thrusting a container under my peeing dog.
Sophie was understandable weary. However, I did manage to catch some urine in a clean Publix sushi container. I tossed the lid on it and gave it to Smiley so that he could bring the sample in for testing.
To an extent, I was hoping that Sophie was in fact sick, because the alternative - that she was simply and willfully urinating wherever - seemed ridiculously not cool.
Indeed, the results returned with the news that Sophie had a UTI. The results also returned with a prescription for doggie antibiotics and within days of taking the medicine, Sophie became accident free. And with any luck, I'll be able to catch her retested urine sample with the finesse and ease of, uh, someone who's done it once before.
Already leased and standing next to us, Sherlock looked at me cautiously, as if gauging whether it was his turn next. I quickly brought Sophie to her kennel and put her in there so I could change my clothes and we went out a few minutes later with no more accidents.
"Sophie," I said. "Look. I understand that you probably did not mean to do that on purpose but boy am I mad."
Sophie looked at me and wagged her tail eagerly, because it turns out that no matter how mad I am at my dog, I still can't help but talk in a cutesy baby talk voice. I suspect Sophie will never know the truth.
I decided to call it confirmed when after work I went to let the dogs out and before I could unlock the back door, Sophie squatted on the rug in front of the door. I was unsurprised, but shocked. I had just started a new work schedule that allowed me to be home a half hour earlier to let the dogs out. She looked up at me with sad eyes, eyes that seemed to say "please don't hit me. I don't mean this."
Since she had been house trained some years back, I talked with my vet, who suggested catching a sample of Sophie's urine. I then had to ask questions I never thought would come up, like "How in the heck do I catch a dog's urine?"
My vet explained the process, assuring me that it wasn't too hard. "You just get a clean, sterile container - I guess at her size, maybe the lid of a container - and then follow behind her while you take your walk. When she goes to go pee, just kind of swoop it under." She demonstrated and the next morning, walking outside behind Sophie, I practiced the desperately half controlled motion of crouching down to near ground level whilst thrusting a container under my peeing dog.
Sophie was understandable weary. However, I did manage to catch some urine in a clean Publix sushi container. I tossed the lid on it and gave it to Smiley so that he could bring the sample in for testing.
To an extent, I was hoping that Sophie was in fact sick, because the alternative - that she was simply and willfully urinating wherever - seemed ridiculously not cool.
Indeed, the results returned with the news that Sophie had a UTI. The results also returned with a prescription for doggie antibiotics and within days of taking the medicine, Sophie became accident free. And with any luck, I'll be able to catch her retested urine sample with the finesse and ease of, uh, someone who's done it once before.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
As an afterthought
As mentioned yesterday, the puppies have been bathed. Last night, relatedly, Smiley and I ate dinner together. I want you all to picture this scene in our little kitchen.
I'm standing next to the oven, eating a piece of meatloaf, exclaiming my (at the time) very wise thought that meatloaf is merely a conduit for ketchup. Smiley is at the other side of the kitchen with some lettuce he is cutting up for a salad. Keep in mind that our kitchen is small enough that we're still within six feet of each other, easily.
The dogs were at HIS feet, sitting and waiting for lettuce.
I'm standing next to the oven, eating a piece of meatloaf, exclaiming my (at the time) very wise thought that meatloaf is merely a conduit for ketchup. Smiley is at the other side of the kitchen with some lettuce he is cutting up for a salad. Keep in mind that our kitchen is small enough that we're still within six feet of each other, easily.
The dogs were at HIS feet, sitting and waiting for lettuce.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Puppy baths
Well, the puppies have been bathed and that's an hour of my life I'll never get back. But, they do smell and look very pretty. And if you've never tried to blow dry a small dog (use the lowest settings), you're missing out on the way they give you the crazy eyes while at the same time marveling over their now (magically) dried fur.
That being said, I'm still working on getting used to tablet-drawing. There is still definitely a disconnect between watching a picture show up on the computer screen while I draw on the tablet. I'm used to seeing lines appear under my hand.
Here is a tablet sketch of me bathing Sophie. Her eyes aren't quite as crazy as I had hoped for, but I think they get the point across. I love that the shower has the detachable shower head because it makes it as easy as possible to bath the dogs.
That being said, I'm still working on getting used to tablet-drawing. There is still definitely a disconnect between watching a picture show up on the computer screen while I draw on the tablet. I'm used to seeing lines appear under my hand.
Here is a tablet sketch of me bathing Sophie. Her eyes aren't quite as crazy as I had hoped for, but I think they get the point across. I love that the shower has the detachable shower head because it makes it as easy as possible to bath the dogs.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Year Two of NaNoWriMo winning!
I wasn't expecting to finish today; in fact if you look down, you'll see me fretting about just being halfway done about ten days ago. I'll admit that a huge part of my motivation to finish came from trying to beat one of my friends over the finish line. This morning we wrote a total of 18,000 words. She won first.
So now what?
Well, the other day I was reading an article on Slate.com and came across the following NaNo-related story. Somewhere in the thread of comments, some people were complaining that there is no point to NaNo. The basic argument goes something along the lines of a) "What's the point of writing 50,000 words of probable crap?" and b) "There are enough bad novels in the world!"
Luckily for you, I have some answers to those questions.
The first is - what's the point? There are quite a few points, so I'm going to stick to what works for me:
1). I love being creative and writing, so doing NaNo is akin to any other sort of hobby or project that I could do instead.
2). It's inspiring to see the rudimentary full first draft of a novel with a start and finish, even if there is some murder in the middle. Even if my goal isn't to be published, I have accomplished something; this goes back to reason one.
3). To paraphrase the NaNo site: Sometimes it is just better to get down an idea, even if some of it sucks. Or maybe a lot of it.
The second one is a lot easier to answer. Just because someone writes crap during November doesn't mean it will be published. This month allows thousands of new and veteran writers to practice writing. Isn't there some sort of saying about monkeys, time and typewriters that ends with the full works of Shakespeare? What I'm getting at is, maybe a good novel or two will come out of this. (Not that I'm calling NaNo participants monkeys. Nor insinuating that they can only use typewriters).
So sure, like anything in life (I'll just throw out pictionary as an example here), NaNo is not for everyone.
Life After NaNo
Well, November isn't over yet, so if you're still writing, go write. Come back and read this when you're done!
Personally, the first thing I did after finishing writing was vacuum and then give the puppies their baths and half haircuts. (Sherlock will only sit down for one half of a haircut at a time). Then I did something scary and sent my mom a copy of my very, very rough draft of a vampire novel.
Even knowing that, as my mom, she's contractually obligated to say at least vaguely nice things about it, I'm still nervous. But I'm also excited, because she'll be the first person to really look it over with fresh eyes and confirm to me if the plot holes I noticed are the same ones she notices. Or if the boring character I created maybe has some redeeming qualities.
Or it will be so bad that she'll burn it secretly and tell me later that she's "so proud of me for doing what I love!"
Friday, November 25, 2011
Happy Belated Thanksgiving!
I wanted to take a moment to touch on everything I was thankful for and then realized that this post would take me into the New Years if I did that. There are just so many things to be thankful about. Sure, life isn't perfect, but I suspect that the downs help to make the ups so much better. And no, I'm not condoning drug use. These are natural highs, baby!
On my Google + page (Yes, you should use Google +; it's pretty awesome), I spoke about those who work on Thanksgiving, and really it can be extended to any holiday. While many people get to take time off and relax, there are those who cannot do that and who make our lives better because of that. I mentioned doctors and nurses, because illness does not have a holiday schedule (and honestly, rarely uses its day off). I make a caveat for the 4th of July and any holiday whereby they see an increase in people doing stupid stuff with fireworks.
Likewise, there are those in our military, whether here in America or overseas, who cannot just take the day off and go be with their family. I don't want to get political about it; I'll just say I don't always agree with the wars that the government has declared - but I'll always support the men and women of the troops. It is because of their sacrifices that we can continue to celebrate our freedom.
Finally, from my own time working in a grocery store, there are the people who have to work on Thanksgiving to ensure a happy Thanksgiving for everyone else. I cannot count how many rolls I would bake in the day before and day of Thanksgiving, or how many pumpkin pies would be packaged. There are those who are in shows, or who work at movie theatres or restaurants. I'm not saying to feel guilty if you forgot the rolls or don't want to cook (although, come on - even if you're the worst cook ever, won't true family just laugh it off when your oven explodes with turkey?); I'm just saying be thankful that you have these opportunities.
Personally, now I'm off to go buy deeply discounted Thanksgiving decorations that I can use next year. If I remember where I store them.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
My vampire novel is currently at 26,000ish words
This means, ladies and gentlemen, that I am just over halfway done for the month. Which terrifies me, because that means that I have to do what I just did all over again to win. Still, it's not impossible, so I'll keep going. A few things are jumping up as roadblocks this year that I didn't have last year. One of the most significant, and surprising to me is that my plot won't sustain my novel. (Although I do feel a little bit now for authors who I suspect ran into the same problem and then just went ahead and added 20,000 words worth of sex scenes).
Last year, I did a fantasy based novel that, at 55,000 words, still hadn't gotten much past the second or third day of events that I had planned for it. It was like my characters were just doing their thing and I was doing my best to record the events as fast as I could. This year is very similar, except my characters are threatening to stop doing their thing a good 20,000 words sooner than I had hoped. I've heard advice that when you run out of things to write about, you should toss a sex scene into the story, but I don't think that will cover the gap I'm looking at here.
Part of this roadblock comes from the fact that the event I want to be the climax of the story is just coming up so much quicker than I thought it would. I have ideas for what happens after it, but honestly, I wanted to do those ideas in a second novel rather than tacked on to the first. So I either need to find the parts of my current story that are too short and expand or swallow my plans and write beyond the current climax I have planned. And that just doesn't sit well with me, because I feel that it will take away from the story.
So I think my current plan is to just keep writing until the novel literally ends (aka, I get to the final scene, which I'm currently working towards) at where I want it to and look through it and see if I can add anything.
To others working through the same problem, I do recommend a walk. Going outside with my puppies for a bit helped clear my mind from the worry of "oh no I'm going to finish what I want to write way too soon" and brought me back to "let's just get it on paper and see where it goes from there."
I also recommend changing the music up every now and again. That's why I love my current Pandora channel, which goes from Evanescence to Breaking Benjamin to random piano pieces and occasionally Michael Buble (or however you spell his name).
So, happy writing all and hopefully in a few days I'll have a better update regarding my NaNo Novel 2011.
Last year, I did a fantasy based novel that, at 55,000 words, still hadn't gotten much past the second or third day of events that I had planned for it. It was like my characters were just doing their thing and I was doing my best to record the events as fast as I could. This year is very similar, except my characters are threatening to stop doing their thing a good 20,000 words sooner than I had hoped. I've heard advice that when you run out of things to write about, you should toss a sex scene into the story, but I don't think that will cover the gap I'm looking at here.
Part of this roadblock comes from the fact that the event I want to be the climax of the story is just coming up so much quicker than I thought it would. I have ideas for what happens after it, but honestly, I wanted to do those ideas in a second novel rather than tacked on to the first. So I either need to find the parts of my current story that are too short and expand or swallow my plans and write beyond the current climax I have planned. And that just doesn't sit well with me, because I feel that it will take away from the story.
So I think my current plan is to just keep writing until the novel literally ends (aka, I get to the final scene, which I'm currently working towards) at where I want it to and look through it and see if I can add anything.
To others working through the same problem, I do recommend a walk. Going outside with my puppies for a bit helped clear my mind from the worry of "oh no I'm going to finish what I want to write way too soon" and brought me back to "let's just get it on paper and see where it goes from there."
I also recommend changing the music up every now and again. That's why I love my current Pandora channel, which goes from Evanescence to Breaking Benjamin to random piano pieces and occasionally Michael Buble (or however you spell his name).
So, happy writing all and hopefully in a few days I'll have a better update regarding my NaNo Novel 2011.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Puppy beds
My love for animals is pretty much ingrained in me from every genetic path. On my mom's grandma's side, my great-grandmother was a Snow White type in the sense that all animals loved her. I'm talking her going outside on her farm and the birds landing on her shoulders, the deer coming out from the woods to say hi and even a skunk showing off her little skunk babies, which I guess are called kits.
My grandpa on my mom's side also loved animals which was evident in the dogs that he kept as pets while my mom was growing up; those ones I didn't meet, of course. However, his final dog, Goldie, was a testament to his happiness with a dog. My grandpa would walk Goldie every day, taking him down to the post office in the morning when he got the mail and walking him down the quiet streets in the afternoon. When Grandpa moved into the old folks home in his final years, we would bring by our dogs for him to visit with which would always raise his spirits and bring a smile to his face.
On my dad's side, my grandma and great aunt, (they are sisters), both have had and kept many pets, various stray cats and adorable dogs. This has also come through my aunt who kept ferrets and a hedgehog when I was growing up. My own parents have had dogs, birds, fish, and hamsters.
But, back to my grandma and great aunt for a moment. They are wonderfully sweet to my own puppies and have, since we got Sophie and Sherlock, given us many generous gifts to our little pups, including three doggie beds. (Ok, I confess, two of them are TECHNICALLY cat beds, but being that our dogs weigh less than most cats, I don't see a problem!) And while, when we set up the beds in the backseat of our car for travel, the dogs will happily sleep in them, they will never use them when we are at home and they have any other option.
For example, rather than sleep in his dog bed, Sherlock chose to curl up on my turned off heating pad. Rather than turn around in her dog bed, Sophie jumped onto the couch and wobbled back and forth on top of a pillow trying to nest in it. Weird.
My grandpa on my mom's side also loved animals which was evident in the dogs that he kept as pets while my mom was growing up; those ones I didn't meet, of course. However, his final dog, Goldie, was a testament to his happiness with a dog. My grandpa would walk Goldie every day, taking him down to the post office in the morning when he got the mail and walking him down the quiet streets in the afternoon. When Grandpa moved into the old folks home in his final years, we would bring by our dogs for him to visit with which would always raise his spirits and bring a smile to his face.
On my dad's side, my grandma and great aunt, (they are sisters), both have had and kept many pets, various stray cats and adorable dogs. This has also come through my aunt who kept ferrets and a hedgehog when I was growing up. My own parents have had dogs, birds, fish, and hamsters.
But, back to my grandma and great aunt for a moment. They are wonderfully sweet to my own puppies and have, since we got Sophie and Sherlock, given us many generous gifts to our little pups, including three doggie beds. (Ok, I confess, two of them are TECHNICALLY cat beds, but being that our dogs weigh less than most cats, I don't see a problem!) And while, when we set up the beds in the backseat of our car for travel, the dogs will happily sleep in them, they will never use them when we are at home and they have any other option.
For example, rather than sleep in his dog bed, Sherlock chose to curl up on my turned off heating pad. Rather than turn around in her dog bed, Sophie jumped onto the couch and wobbled back and forth on top of a pillow trying to nest in it. Weird.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Insanity Level... below the charts.
We just took in Sophie to get fixed the other day and I can safely say that her insanity level that first night we brought her back was off the charts - in the negative direction. Never in my life have I seen her lay quietly in a chair all evening. She didn't even bark when a commercial with a doorbell played.
Well, actually, she did try to bark. I should give her points for effort. She kind of lifted her head up a centimeter and made a rather pathetic, half-hearted "arf." It was the quietest bark I have ever heard. Satisfied with her effort to warn me of the people maybe at my door, she slowly lowered her head and went back to sleep.
Smiley and I had debated whether or not to get a collar of shame for her; the vet had explained that Sophie had been being good about not chewing her stitches and that we could always grab one at a pet store if needed.
Thankfully, we did go ahead and get one right then, because although all night Sophie was a quiet, mild mannered pup, the moment we lay down to go to sleep, she turned into a comparable whirlwind of activity as she tried to go to town on her incision. This is, of course, compared to her spending all evening asleep. She made a few attempts to chew on her stomach area and, upon being unable to reach, satisfied her craving by chewing on her back paw for a few minutes, which was one of the only places she actually could reach.
We're supposed to keep her on restricted activity levels for the next 10 days, so looks like Sherlock will get to jog alone with me for a few days. Or, lately, it's been getting ridiculously warm in the afternoons, so maybe this is the excuse I need to not jog again.
Well, actually, she did try to bark. I should give her points for effort. She kind of lifted her head up a centimeter and made a rather pathetic, half-hearted "arf." It was the quietest bark I have ever heard. Satisfied with her effort to warn me of the people maybe at my door, she slowly lowered her head and went back to sleep.
Smiley and I had debated whether or not to get a collar of shame for her; the vet had explained that Sophie had been being good about not chewing her stitches and that we could always grab one at a pet store if needed.
Thankfully, we did go ahead and get one right then, because although all night Sophie was a quiet, mild mannered pup, the moment we lay down to go to sleep, she turned into a comparable whirlwind of activity as she tried to go to town on her incision. This is, of course, compared to her spending all evening asleep. She made a few attempts to chew on her stomach area and, upon being unable to reach, satisfied her craving by chewing on her back paw for a few minutes, which was one of the only places she actually could reach.
We're supposed to keep her on restricted activity levels for the next 10 days, so looks like Sherlock will get to jog alone with me for a few days. Or, lately, it's been getting ridiculously warm in the afternoons, so maybe this is the excuse I need to not jog again.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Writing about pets instead of ironing my shirt for work
Growing up, my dad had often said that any time an animal entered our household, their IQ points dropped a little. Sometimes a lot.
Of course, this isn't as fair when you take into consideration that some animals we got were born with brains the size of a peanut cluster, if that.
Throughout the years, my family accumulated pets, mostly fish when I was younger - after an exceptionally poor first start with a goldfish that I got from kindergarten (either my imagination is great, or kindergarten was a lot cooler when I went!) The poor goldfish didn't last through the night. In retrospect, carrying a fish home in its little baggie of water in my backpack probably was not the stress-free life a fish craves. I'm sorry. I was in kindergarten.
After my dad educated us on the basics of fish care, all of us kids got our own goldfish. I'm happy to say my new goldfish lasted me for many years. Of course, as with all tiny pets, it eventually went belly up. I remember distinctly the day I looked into the tank to feed my fish and saw that it was kind of float-swimming, curled in nearly half. I don't think I stopped crying for at least a half hour.
My dad also kept a fish tank, and still does, with various tropical fish, but all I remember now are the tetras; they lived and keep living far beyond any other type of fish he had had.
Casey was our first puppy. I think I mentioned that a brief debate early in her life almost left her with the name "Tree." And if I didn't mention it before, I'm sure I'll mention it again. My youngest brother really wanted to call her tree, in part, I suspect, because she was brown.
We went on to have two more dogs, as you might recall.
Birds also became part of our household. The very first bird was a sparrow that had fallen out of its nest, which we later found out to be above one of the windows. Barely old enough to exist, we did the opposite of what you are supposed to do and took the bird in, made her a spot in a shoebox and looked up on the internet how to feed tiny baby birds.
In the feel good moment of the year, Cheep survived this harrowing intrusion on our part and became a trusted family pet. As in, trusted to fly around the house and only go bathroom on one set of curtains in the corner, anyhow. Cheep would fly onto my mom's shoulder. It's kind of like how little dogs think they are huge; Cheep probably thought she was some sort of massive parrot.
Cheep set the stage for other birds in the years to come. We had pretty parakeets and I got a lovebird from a friend. For a short period of time, I also had a dove. Out of all the birds, I have to say I loved the dove coos the best, but the parakeets were always the friendliest.
Did I mention we traveled with our pets?
Oh and hamsters. What started out as a Christmas and birthday present for my youngest sister soon turned into a veritable hamster stable when one of the two "females" turned out to have boy bits.
I think I might have mentioned them all. Oh. And the squirrels. My dad likes to feed the squirrels. They're not pets, exactly, but they do come onto our deck and chill.
I embodied this all in a Christmas present I gave my mom two years back:
So yes, that really was just a long winded story to show off "artwork" I did a few years ago. It might happen a few times more this week.
Now I gotta run and pick out a shirt that doesn't need ironing.
Of course, this isn't as fair when you take into consideration that some animals we got were born with brains the size of a peanut cluster, if that.
Throughout the years, my family accumulated pets, mostly fish when I was younger - after an exceptionally poor first start with a goldfish that I got from kindergarten (either my imagination is great, or kindergarten was a lot cooler when I went!) The poor goldfish didn't last through the night. In retrospect, carrying a fish home in its little baggie of water in my backpack probably was not the stress-free life a fish craves. I'm sorry. I was in kindergarten.
After my dad educated us on the basics of fish care, all of us kids got our own goldfish. I'm happy to say my new goldfish lasted me for many years. Of course, as with all tiny pets, it eventually went belly up. I remember distinctly the day I looked into the tank to feed my fish and saw that it was kind of float-swimming, curled in nearly half. I don't think I stopped crying for at least a half hour.
My dad also kept a fish tank, and still does, with various tropical fish, but all I remember now are the tetras; they lived and keep living far beyond any other type of fish he had had.
Casey was our first puppy. I think I mentioned that a brief debate early in her life almost left her with the name "Tree." And if I didn't mention it before, I'm sure I'll mention it again. My youngest brother really wanted to call her tree, in part, I suspect, because she was brown.
We went on to have two more dogs, as you might recall.
Birds also became part of our household. The very first bird was a sparrow that had fallen out of its nest, which we later found out to be above one of the windows. Barely old enough to exist, we did the opposite of what you are supposed to do and took the bird in, made her a spot in a shoebox and looked up on the internet how to feed tiny baby birds.
In the feel good moment of the year, Cheep survived this harrowing intrusion on our part and became a trusted family pet. As in, trusted to fly around the house and only go bathroom on one set of curtains in the corner, anyhow. Cheep would fly onto my mom's shoulder. It's kind of like how little dogs think they are huge; Cheep probably thought she was some sort of massive parrot.
Cheep set the stage for other birds in the years to come. We had pretty parakeets and I got a lovebird from a friend. For a short period of time, I also had a dove. Out of all the birds, I have to say I loved the dove coos the best, but the parakeets were always the friendliest.
Did I mention we traveled with our pets?
Oh and hamsters. What started out as a Christmas and birthday present for my youngest sister soon turned into a veritable hamster stable when one of the two "females" turned out to have boy bits.
I think I might have mentioned them all. Oh. And the squirrels. My dad likes to feed the squirrels. They're not pets, exactly, but they do come onto our deck and chill.
I embodied this all in a Christmas present I gave my mom two years back:
So yes, that really was just a long winded story to show off "artwork" I did a few years ago. It might happen a few times more this week.
Now I gotta run and pick out a shirt that doesn't need ironing.
Monday, September 26, 2011
A little story called "dogs are just better than cats"
I get it. Cats are self-reliant, independent and don't need much care beyond a place to go and some food. But me, personally, I like dogs. I like knowing that when I get home, my puppies are going to go to crazy level 9 (refer to the end of this article for the chart) because they're just that happy to see me.
Ok, ok. They're happy to know that they get to go for a walk and have food. But the important part is that they direct this happiness at me.
So take last night. My husband, sister in law, and I went down to their parent's house for dinner. My in-laws have an adorable calico cat, an outdoor car that loves to roam their 10 acres of land. This cat seems to like me alright and I always make it a point to go outside when I visit to give her some pets.
But it's not that easy.
Last night, like most nights, the cat came near the house when she heard the car. She always keeps a large distance from moving cars which I am always thankful for. I headed around back and then the dance began. First, I can't look at her. If I look at her, she will look back with a sort of terrified yet proud look and she won't come any closer than five feet.
If I make any movements, she'll dart away a few feet and then slowly come back in. I assure you, I have never hit or hurt her in any way to make this a reasonable behavior.
So as long as I sit in the grass avoiding ant bites for a good five minutes, she'll come up to me close enough that I could pet her at this point. But no, I need to wait until she's sniffed my legs and then she'll brush up against me and then - only then - can I pet her.
Oh, then she started purring like this was the highlight of her evening and I couldn't help but get a smile on my face as I picked her up and she nestled up against me with her eyes half closed and happy.
And I guess it's normal for cats to drool when they're being pet? And that this does mean they're happy? Because that happens. She keeps it real.
In any case, keep in mind that I have been trying to win the love of this cat for over two years now, and it still takes me that long to get her to let me pet her - even though she clearly enjoys the attention once she gets it.
So to contrast this, Sunday night was the first time that I had gone over to my husband's cousin's grandma's house. As it turns out, she has four dogs. And the moment I stepped into the house with my husband and sister in law, half of those dogs, a Pomeranian and a curly gray mop of a dog breed I don't know, came over, happy to see newcomers.
The third dog, a Labrador Retriever mix who turned out to be 14 years old (according to what I was told), was slightly more sedate, but leaned her head over from her spot by the counter so that I could give her nose a pet. Her tail wagged back and forth slowly but steady and I could have sworn she had a smile.
The fourth dog was also interested in us, but significantly more nervous. Apparently a shih tzu/ yorkshire terrier blend, this tiny pup looked like she might have weighed two pounds, if that. She would come close enough to sniff at our feet when she thought we weren't looking, but would run under the couch if we tried to pet her.
Basically, what I'm saying is I don't know why cats have to act like 2-lb tiny puppies meeting me for the first time. I just don't care for that.
Ok, ok. They're happy to know that they get to go for a walk and have food. But the important part is that they direct this happiness at me.
So take last night. My husband, sister in law, and I went down to their parent's house for dinner. My in-laws have an adorable calico cat, an outdoor car that loves to roam their 10 acres of land. This cat seems to like me alright and I always make it a point to go outside when I visit to give her some pets.
But it's not that easy.
Last night, like most nights, the cat came near the house when she heard the car. She always keeps a large distance from moving cars which I am always thankful for. I headed around back and then the dance began. First, I can't look at her. If I look at her, she will look back with a sort of terrified yet proud look and she won't come any closer than five feet.
If I make any movements, she'll dart away a few feet and then slowly come back in. I assure you, I have never hit or hurt her in any way to make this a reasonable behavior.
So as long as I sit in the grass avoiding ant bites for a good five minutes, she'll come up to me close enough that I could pet her at this point. But no, I need to wait until she's sniffed my legs and then she'll brush up against me and then - only then - can I pet her.
Oh, then she started purring like this was the highlight of her evening and I couldn't help but get a smile on my face as I picked her up and she nestled up against me with her eyes half closed and happy.
And I guess it's normal for cats to drool when they're being pet? And that this does mean they're happy? Because that happens. She keeps it real.
In any case, keep in mind that I have been trying to win the love of this cat for over two years now, and it still takes me that long to get her to let me pet her - even though she clearly enjoys the attention once she gets it.
So to contrast this, Sunday night was the first time that I had gone over to my husband's cousin's grandma's house. As it turns out, she has four dogs. And the moment I stepped into the house with my husband and sister in law, half of those dogs, a Pomeranian and a curly gray mop of a dog breed I don't know, came over, happy to see newcomers.
The third dog, a Labrador Retriever mix who turned out to be 14 years old (according to what I was told), was slightly more sedate, but leaned her head over from her spot by the counter so that I could give her nose a pet. Her tail wagged back and forth slowly but steady and I could have sworn she had a smile.
The fourth dog was also interested in us, but significantly more nervous. Apparently a shih tzu/ yorkshire terrier blend, this tiny pup looked like she might have weighed two pounds, if that. She would come close enough to sniff at our feet when she thought we weren't looking, but would run under the couch if we tried to pet her.
Basically, what I'm saying is I don't know why cats have to act like 2-lb tiny puppies meeting me for the first time. I just don't care for that.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Ok puppies, seriously.
We're visiting with my parents this weekend and we brought the puppies up. My parents have a small dog as well and the last few times we've visited, the dogs have always gotten along well. But this? What's happening right now? It is not working out.
For unknown reasons, the dogs have not been able to get along today or calm down. Despite spending the last 3 days together in reasonable agreeableness, they refuse to relax. First, Sophie will jump onto the back of the couch and look out the window and growl at any people who happen to be walking by. This will set off Gucci, who will start to bark in return. This then gets Sherlock going and he starts to bark.
They'll calm down for a minute or two, but Gucci is now in constant bark mode. If she hears my brother shift in his chair downstairs, she'll bark quietly and then that sets off the same sort of cycle.
They'll quiet down again for a few minutes. The TV will go to a commercial break and then play any of the multitude of commercials that have a doorbell ringing in them. Despite the fact that my parent's house does not have a doorbell, the dogs will start to freak the flip out. Seriously puppies! There is no doorbell. Nobody is at our house. Why must they do this?
For unknown reasons, the dogs have not been able to get along today or calm down. Despite spending the last 3 days together in reasonable agreeableness, they refuse to relax. First, Sophie will jump onto the back of the couch and look out the window and growl at any people who happen to be walking by. This will set off Gucci, who will start to bark in return. This then gets Sherlock going and he starts to bark.
They'll calm down for a minute or two, but Gucci is now in constant bark mode. If she hears my brother shift in his chair downstairs, she'll bark quietly and then that sets off the same sort of cycle.
They'll quiet down again for a few minutes. The TV will go to a commercial break and then play any of the multitude of commercials that have a doorbell ringing in them. Despite the fact that my parent's house does not have a doorbell, the dogs will start to freak the flip out. Seriously puppies! There is no doorbell. Nobody is at our house. Why must they do this?
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Labor Day Weekend
I attempted to have my puppies watch the Labor Day parade with me. The parade goes directly by my parents house, so each year we enjoy the free entertainment in the forms of garish floats and various chapters of Shriners on their tiny vehicles. Parades are always great for the over abundance of tootsie rolls and political stickers for people that I won't vote for.
But my mom figured that the puppies wouldn't be happy sitting inside during the parade. I went outside at the beginning of the parade with my younger sister and over the noise of the police cars at the beginning of the parade, I heard Sophie barking from inside the window. I looked back at her. She had apparently climbed up the back of the couch and then jumped into the open windowsill. The screen window was all that kept her from a two story fall.
I quickly went back inside and retrieved the small pomeranian from the window, leashed her up and brought her out to watch the parade with me.
Outside, Sophie stayed relatively quiet. She glanced at the marching band and the cheerleaders from the local high school. But there was a woman with a german shepard next to us and when Sophie realized this, she started to freak out and growl and attempt to get closer to the bigger dog.
Thankfully, this crisis was resolved by one group from the parade that was handing out dog treats. The dog treats were a regular size for a regular dog but that meant they were about the size of Sophie's head. Still, I was able to break off a small piece to give to her. This distracted her long enough to forget about the dog near her. Whenever she started to act up for the remainder of the parade, I pulled out the treat and let her gnaw at it until she calmed down.
I think that she probably spilled more treat on the blanket than she ate, but given that, again, they were the size of her head, that was most likely for the best.
But my mom figured that the puppies wouldn't be happy sitting inside during the parade. I went outside at the beginning of the parade with my younger sister and over the noise of the police cars at the beginning of the parade, I heard Sophie barking from inside the window. I looked back at her. She had apparently climbed up the back of the couch and then jumped into the open windowsill. The screen window was all that kept her from a two story fall.
I quickly went back inside and retrieved the small pomeranian from the window, leashed her up and brought her out to watch the parade with me.
Outside, Sophie stayed relatively quiet. She glanced at the marching band and the cheerleaders from the local high school. But there was a woman with a german shepard next to us and when Sophie realized this, she started to freak out and growl and attempt to get closer to the bigger dog.
Thankfully, this crisis was resolved by one group from the parade that was handing out dog treats. The dog treats were a regular size for a regular dog but that meant they were about the size of Sophie's head. Still, I was able to break off a small piece to give to her. This distracted her long enough to forget about the dog near her. Whenever she started to act up for the remainder of the parade, I pulled out the treat and let her gnaw at it until she calmed down.
I think that she probably spilled more treat on the blanket than she ate, but given that, again, they were the size of her head, that was most likely for the best.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
The epic puppy fights
Just as soon as I typed that title out, I figured I'd better begin by stressing that these are play fights and have nothing to do with football or blood or anything else involved in illegal and cruel dog fighting activities.
Paranoid? Yeah, maybe a little.
My goal for this morning (oh wait, it's the afternoon already? Well, look at me accomplishing my afternoon goal first thing!) is to attempt to describe what it's like to watch my puppies play fight. As you might know, they are (full grown) tiny dogs. Sophie is about 5 lbs and Sherlock, around 10. They get along well and sleep cutely in a pile when it is cold outside. But they also wrestle each other for fun, and watching that is more amusing than eating funfetti cake.
It starts with the tentative paw swipe. Sophie is usually the aggressor, but Sherlock will lead on occasion. Sophie quickly closes the distance between the two, perhaps with a tiny dog growl, and then goes for the throat.
It doesn't take long for her to realize that her tiny little mouth will never fit around Sherlock's neck, so she tries to squirm around him and goes for an ankle. Sherlock counters by moving his leg up and then pawing at Sophie as he attempts to go for the throat.
He doesn't make it either. Sophie employs her favorite defensive maneuver and flops onto her back and starts kicking upwards. This pretty much puts her ankles in Sherlock's vicinity and he takes the opportunity, attempting to latch on to a squirmy Sophie leg.
Like a bug on her back, Sophie squirms to the left and then to the right as though she is trying to flip herself back over. After hours of observation, I have determined that this is a ploy. When she goes to the side and Sherlock ducks down, following her paws, she springs back onto her back in a calculated move. You can almost hear her thinking, "Look. My paw was there. Now it is here. Now it is over here. I will keep moving my paw to avoid losing this fight."
This, despite the fact that she's technically the one pined to the ground. Oh, Sophie.
Some minutes will go by in their back and forth brawl. My favorite part is when they start to get tired. Then, as long as they think no one is looking, they'll both lie next to each other, their mouths around each other's ankles, making the most minimal movements possible. If I crane my head to see it better and they notice me, it's like a shot of espresso.
"Back to level 7 insanity," thinks Sophie and she flips back onto her back and starts squirming anew. Repeat forever.
By the way, I think that's the first time I've made use of my insanity chart here. As a brief overview, the Insanity Chart refers to how much crack it appears that our puppies have ingested. For those without small dogs and especially without terriers, let me assure you that small dogs and ESPECIALLY terriers, are very energetic.
So my husband and I have taken to assigning the various levels of insanity to their energy. Typically the dogs hover around level 5. But at certain times, bouncing off of the walls every time someone looks at them isn't good enough. They must tear across the hallway as though they are being chased by hot lava or perhaps scary carpet monsters. They jump on and off of the couch and the armchair seventeen million times in a row. They shake their tiny puppy toys into a blur of teeth and fur. This is insanity level 10.
The chart pretty much tops out there since to run any faster would require doggie steroids and we are a performance-enhancer free family. But one time, Sophie went to insanity level 11. That, however, is a story for another day.
Paranoid? Yeah, maybe a little.
My goal for this morning (oh wait, it's the afternoon already? Well, look at me accomplishing my afternoon goal first thing!) is to attempt to describe what it's like to watch my puppies play fight. As you might know, they are (full grown) tiny dogs. Sophie is about 5 lbs and Sherlock, around 10. They get along well and sleep cutely in a pile when it is cold outside. But they also wrestle each other for fun, and watching that is more amusing than eating funfetti cake.
It starts with the tentative paw swipe. Sophie is usually the aggressor, but Sherlock will lead on occasion. Sophie quickly closes the distance between the two, perhaps with a tiny dog growl, and then goes for the throat.
It doesn't take long for her to realize that her tiny little mouth will never fit around Sherlock's neck, so she tries to squirm around him and goes for an ankle. Sherlock counters by moving his leg up and then pawing at Sophie as he attempts to go for the throat.
He doesn't make it either. Sophie employs her favorite defensive maneuver and flops onto her back and starts kicking upwards. This pretty much puts her ankles in Sherlock's vicinity and he takes the opportunity, attempting to latch on to a squirmy Sophie leg.
Like a bug on her back, Sophie squirms to the left and then to the right as though she is trying to flip herself back over. After hours of observation, I have determined that this is a ploy. When she goes to the side and Sherlock ducks down, following her paws, she springs back onto her back in a calculated move. You can almost hear her thinking, "Look. My paw was there. Now it is here. Now it is over here. I will keep moving my paw to avoid losing this fight."
This, despite the fact that she's technically the one pined to the ground. Oh, Sophie.
Some minutes will go by in their back and forth brawl. My favorite part is when they start to get tired. Then, as long as they think no one is looking, they'll both lie next to each other, their mouths around each other's ankles, making the most minimal movements possible. If I crane my head to see it better and they notice me, it's like a shot of espresso.
"Back to level 7 insanity," thinks Sophie and she flips back onto her back and starts squirming anew. Repeat forever.
By the way, I think that's the first time I've made use of my insanity chart here. As a brief overview, the Insanity Chart refers to how much crack it appears that our puppies have ingested. For those without small dogs and especially without terriers, let me assure you that small dogs and ESPECIALLY terriers, are very energetic.
So my husband and I have taken to assigning the various levels of insanity to their energy. Typically the dogs hover around level 5. But at certain times, bouncing off of the walls every time someone looks at them isn't good enough. They must tear across the hallway as though they are being chased by hot lava or perhaps scary carpet monsters. They jump on and off of the couch and the armchair seventeen million times in a row. They shake their tiny puppy toys into a blur of teeth and fur. This is insanity level 10.
The chart pretty much tops out there since to run any faster would require doggie steroids and we are a performance-enhancer free family. But one time, Sophie went to insanity level 11. That, however, is a story for another day.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Better introduce the puppies as I am sure they'll make another appearance
I should note that as I'm trying to write this post, my puppies keep bringing their toys to me for me to throw, even though we played catch for 10 minutes straight before I sat down to write. It's never enough! Ok, wait, now they're play fighting with each other, so I'll type quickly. Allow me to introduce you to Sophie and Sherlock:
Growing up, my family often had pets. And although we did get our golden retriever puppy, Casey, from a pet store, most of our pets found us. Foxy was a Shiba Inu stray that I very nearly ran over when she darted across a busy street by my house. Tagless and dirty, I called around the pound, the police station and the local pet shelters to see if anyone had reported her missing. After months with no response, Foxy had taken up with our family quite well. She got along with Casey and loved "singing" along with us during happy birthdays. (In case you didn't know - Shiba Inus yodel more than they bark).
Our vet was unable to place her age exactly, but she was older than Casey. She was also the start of our puppy size decline; Foxy was about half of Casey's size. When Foxy passed, we stayed as a one dog family for some years until another dog found us. My sister's friend's neighbor's hairdresser's dog to be exact. I believe the story was that the hairdresser had moved to a place that didn't allow dogs and was looking for a good home for her dog. Or something to do with allergies? The point is, my family became the proud owners of a malty-poo named Gucci.
Gucci was about four when we got her, and she's been a sweetheart since. I really appreciate knowing that we've been able to give these dogs a loving home - especially growing up, as I am one of five siblings, so there was always more than enough attention for our dogs.
And I guess that's why it doesn't surprise me that in less than a year after I married my husband, we ended up with two wonderful, loving dogs of our own. I do admit, since we both work full time, we did not end up taking in a third dog that some coworkers were planning on getting rid of; sadly, I know that taking in that dog at this point in my life wouldn't be beneficial to the dog. But in the future, I hope to continue our pet tradition.
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| Sophie thinks I'm crazy. |
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| Taking pictures of Sherlock sleeping in cute spots is kinda my new hobby. |
Growing up, my family often had pets. And although we did get our golden retriever puppy, Casey, from a pet store, most of our pets found us. Foxy was a Shiba Inu stray that I very nearly ran over when she darted across a busy street by my house. Tagless and dirty, I called around the pound, the police station and the local pet shelters to see if anyone had reported her missing. After months with no response, Foxy had taken up with our family quite well. She got along with Casey and loved "singing" along with us during happy birthdays. (In case you didn't know - Shiba Inus yodel more than they bark).
 |
| Foxy was perhaps not the most original name but gosh darn it, she was cute. |
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| Gucci LOVED chilling at the lake up north. |
And I guess that's why it doesn't surprise me that in less than a year after I married my husband, we ended up with two wonderful, loving dogs of our own. I do admit, since we both work full time, we did not end up taking in a third dog that some coworkers were planning on getting rid of; sadly, I know that taking in that dog at this point in my life wouldn't be beneficial to the dog. But in the future, I hope to continue our pet tradition.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Introduction or, more accurately, why I am procrastinating vacuuming
Despite the fact that the two dogs I currently own - a Pomeranian and a Yorkie - are roughly the sizes of really large guinea pigs, they manage to shed an impressive amount of fur. To be fair, the Yorkie doesn't actually shed, so I guess I should express my disbelief that a 5-lb Pomeranian can shed so much fur that I could make a decent sized rug or over sized sweater out of said sheddings.
Since making Pomeranian-based garments is not one of my goals for the immediate future, I attempt to keep the fur levels under control by vacuuming regularly. The only problem is that when it is really warm outside - and thusly, warm inside since I try to keep the A/C use at a minimum - I don't want to vacuum because it will only make the rooms warmer. So I thought to myself that maybe I'd start writing something.
"After all," I said to my puppies, who looked at me attentively, "If I'm writing, I can count that as being productive and then I won't feel bad about not writing." My small speech thusly ended, the puppies looked very disappointed that the words I spoke did not equate to them getting a treat or a bonus walk.
Abandoning the vacuum in the dining room, I went and sat down at my desk and began brainstorming ideas about what to write about. The process was very slow.
I kept telling myself, "Just start writing something because even if there's a chance no one will read it, it is scientifically guaranteed that no one can read nothing." So then I spent a long time worrying about the name of the blog instead, until I came up with something that sounded wittier than it is and then I started writing a post.
Writing a post also went slowly. Being confronted with the overwhelming notion that nothing I can think or say hasn't already been said before makes me lock down. I tell myself it's ok not to write a thought down because it's probably not interesting enough. Because I have a feeling that if I looked online, at least 10 million other people have thought this too.
Somehow, I have soldiered on past those feelings by realizing that as long as no one reads what I write here, I can say whatever I want! What a great thought. Well, except for the conflicting thought that it'd be great if people read this. So, uh, I'll deal with those contradictory feelings in the future!
Since making Pomeranian-based garments is not one of my goals for the immediate future, I attempt to keep the fur levels under control by vacuuming regularly. The only problem is that when it is really warm outside - and thusly, warm inside since I try to keep the A/C use at a minimum - I don't want to vacuum because it will only make the rooms warmer. So I thought to myself that maybe I'd start writing something.
"After all," I said to my puppies, who looked at me attentively, "If I'm writing, I can count that as being productive and then I won't feel bad about not writing." My small speech thusly ended, the puppies looked very disappointed that the words I spoke did not equate to them getting a treat or a bonus walk.
Abandoning the vacuum in the dining room, I went and sat down at my desk and began brainstorming ideas about what to write about. The process was very slow.
I kept telling myself, "Just start writing something because even if there's a chance no one will read it, it is scientifically guaranteed that no one can read nothing." So then I spent a long time worrying about the name of the blog instead, until I came up with something that sounded wittier than it is and then I started writing a post.
Writing a post also went slowly. Being confronted with the overwhelming notion that nothing I can think or say hasn't already been said before makes me lock down. I tell myself it's ok not to write a thought down because it's probably not interesting enough. Because I have a feeling that if I looked online, at least 10 million other people have thought this too.
Somehow, I have soldiered on past those feelings by realizing that as long as no one reads what I write here, I can say whatever I want! What a great thought. Well, except for the conflicting thought that it'd be great if people read this. So, uh, I'll deal with those contradictory feelings in the future!
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