One

So, yeah, the kid is about to turn one so I guess I have no excuse not to blog anymore! In fact I've been itching to get back into it since I can't always cram Paul's ridiculous stories into the 400 or whatever characters that my Facebook status allows.

Paul is still at the same job. I got laid off from my job while on maternity leave and I'm still looking for a job that is right for me and will pay enough to cover daycare costs and still have a little left over. We had to send Smeagol off to live in a pug rescue in Nashville since her allergies had gotten to the point where she can now only eat kangaroo meat and we were unable to meet her needs. Apparently she is doing great at the rescue though and lives in a house with 5 other pugs (heaven, huh?) Waffles is still nervous and massive. Cooper is STUPID cute and just got a buzz cut in preparation for his first birthday and the long, hot summer ahead.

Hopefully I'll have more time to post from now on and I promise to post some pics of my cuties soon.

By the way, I've been trying to fix my template for over a year and was unsuccessful. However, I am typing this on a Mac and had no trouble fixing the template here. Go figure.

I don't WANT to complain, but, you know, I will

Well, gracious. There are so many things that have happened here in the past few months and weeks that I want to write about but we are so busy and I'm so tired that things are falling by the wayside at an alarming rate.

Currently, one of my worst symptoms by far is pregnancy induced carpal tunnel syndrome. Four of my fingers are always numb and sometimes the other four pop right in there and numb up as well. It's extremely irritating all of the time and downright painful other times. It's also becoming a serious problem at work and at home. Typing is uncomfortable and I make a lot of mistakes because I can't feel anything but the space key since that's the only one that my thumbs hit. I'm also now incapable of opening jars or bottles, lifting anything more than a couple of pounds or touching anything that may be an inappropriate temperature since I burned the crap out of my fingers earlier because I couldn't tell that what I was touching was hot until it started to burn my non-numb thumb.

Anyway, I don't want to complain because I'm so thrilled for Baby to get here but these last few weeks sure are hard and this is one of my worst symptoms yet since it really limits my activities severely. I don't want to do too much typing because it's so uncomfortable but I wanted to tell you about our Saturday night/Sunday morning adventure. I got the flu on Friday towards the end of my work day and felt pretty lousy but still made it to the vet's with Paul on Saturday morning to pick Smeagol up after her surgery. Her spaying went really well and she seems to be making an amazing recovery at this point. One of the things that bugs me is, as I recall, the same problem Waffles had after his neutering which is that she seems to be confused about where to go to the bathroom. When we got home I had Paul drop her on the bed with me, my intention was that the two of us would be sick in bed all day together. Within an hour though she decided that the best place to pee was ON THE BED! Fortunately we saw it happen so Paul was able to strip the sheet and mattress cover before the pee soaked through to the mattress. Unfortunately, that meant that I had to lie on the bare pill-y mattress for the next few hours ( we have only the one set of bedding, sadly ).

By the evening I was starting to get really ill. My fever was climbing steadily and I couldn't stop shaking all over. Paul was starting to look at me kind of nervously and he said that he had never seen me so sick so when I started to get intestinal type cramps too we decided that I should call my OB's nurse line. They told me to come in right away so we did and the whole thing was very surreal as they instructed as to go to OB triage which is exactly where we'll be going in a few more weeks. They did some tests and things and hooked me up to the fetal heart monitor and contraction monitor. After a while they came in and mentioned my contractions - I disputed that I was having any but they showed them to me on the little sheet of paper the machine spits out. Apparently I was having contractions that lasted for 40 seconds and were coming every four minutes. I seriously could not feel them, though. They asked me if I could be dehydrated which could cause contractions but I was sure that I was not since I had been drinking tons of water - but they tested me and since I hadn't eaten anything and my temperature was over 101 apparently I dehydrated the crap out of myself. I had to get two IV bags of electrolytes pumped into me and even then I think they wanted to do more but I was shaking with cold and fever and so utterly sick and uncomfortable that I pretty much begged them to let me go home and they did with instructions to rest and drink and rest and drink and repeat.

When we got home I sort of just stood there confused while Paul took care of everything and then I almost had a nervous breakdown when we got into the bedroom and remembered that the sheet and mattress cover were still in a heap on the chair and needed to be put on the bed. But, Paul did that too and we both fell into bed in a nearly catatonic state. 5 hours in the most uncomfortable bed/chair ever, scared, sick, worried about a dog just out of surgery and home alone will do that to you.

Man, I want to tell you about Mother's Day too but my left wrist won't even bend anymore since I've typed WAY too much here so that will have to wait for another day. I'm feeling lousy still but more like a really bad cold now and nothing worse. Can't type another letter...

Well, THAT didn't work!

Well, crap. You know that whole very carefully orchestrated timeline that I just told you all about? The one that is going to keep our money pit of a dog alive and healthy and happy? Yeah, that did not work. We started Smeagol on her anti-fungal medicine on Thursday night, hiding her pills in favorite foods as we usually do, and it started off really well; her scratching was almost immediately diminished by at least 75%. By Saturday morning we were having a rough time getting her to take her pills and her tail uncurled (in pugs, or at least in our pug, that tail doesn't uncurl unless she is getting scratched in a really good spot or she is desperately depressed or sick) and we were getting a bit nervous. She refused to go outside, and she didn't seem to have the energy to jump on and off the bed anymore. Every part of her screamed 'SICK'. Still, we hesitated to stop the medicine because we assumed that, although the medicine was clearly hard on her, part of her misery was the fungus in the first place and the pills were necessary.

By Sunday night she wouldn't take her pill at all and it took fifteen minutes of Paul trying to shove the pill down her throat and then hold her mouth and nose closed until she managed to get it down. He was eventually successful but we were both sweating and near tears, Smeagol was freaking out and Waffles was trembling from head to toe. So, on Monday morning we did not give her her pill and we called the vet. The vet said, and I quote - 'STOP!' It turns out that her suffering was not at all normal and that these pills were really bad for her.

It's Wednesday morning now and she is feeling much, much better but much to our chagrin that means that the only other way to get rid of the fungus is to continue giving her those godawful sulfur-lime dips once a week for another 4-6 weeks. Not only does she stink for a full week or more after the dip (and the smell makes me feel kind of sick, honestly) but the dips also cost quite a bit more than the pills. Also, Girldog has to stay at the vet for about 5 hours for the procedure so that means that we have to get up a bit early so Paul can drop her off and then I have to leave work for half an hour in the afternoon to pick her up and bring her home to her UTTERLY MISERABLE brother dog who is so depressed by this whole business that he's barely functional whenever Smeagol is gone.

Whee!

(Happy babies chewing side by side)

I should also note, by way of provoking a little sympathy for myself (THAT'S a positive personality trait, huh?) that my renewal immigration paperwork is due next week, that I'm going to be unable to do anything this weekend because Smeagol is also getting spayed on Friday, that I'm still on weekly trips to the OB and that I'm 33 weeks today. I still haven't bought nearly everything we need for Baby Boy, the nursery is not ready, I haven't picked a pediatrician...and I'll stop with that before I wind up scanning my To-Do list so you all can see my stress level in bullet point form.

On the plus side, I have new buddies! They're Canada Geese! I've tried four times to get a good picture of them but have not been successful yet, but I will eventually and then I will be sure to post it. I'm the last person to leave work every day so when I leave I always drive around the complex to check for any problems that may need to be addressed before I leave. We have a gorgeous little creek that curves around the buildings and so lately I've taken to stopping the car for a few minutes and enjoying the view before I head home to the next level of stress for the day. A few weeks ago I noticed a few Canada geese swimming on the creek and I had a lovely moment watching them float by. Since then the rest of the geese have moved on but there are two left. Each day they are in a new spot when I drive around; sometimes way up by the road, sometimes hiding behind the shed at the very back of the property, sometimes just getting ready to head back into the water and they're getting used to me now. At first when I would pull up near them they would waddle as quickly as they could back to their creek, but now they just turn their backs to me and continue on with their foraging.

I love these geese with all of my heart and soul. I loved them first because they seemed so peaceful in the middle of my tense life. And of course I love them because they are a reminder of Canada - oh the deliriously wonderful sound sometime in the spring in Manitoba when you hear that telltale honking and you look up and see that 'V' of a flock of geese coming back home and you know that finally, finally the snow is going to melt and life can start again. The other day Paul got to see my geese for the first time and he pointed out the part that I love the very best and hadn't even thought of - there are only two and they are always together. Geese mate for life and I'm sure that these two are partners. I don't know why they chose to stay when all of the others are gone but I'm considering it my little gift. A moment of peace at then end of every day.

Pupdate

I got an email from BlogHer, the lovely people who post advertisements over there in my sidebar ----->, the other day that I thought was hilarious. They mentioned that, if it was okay with me, they would like to switch my blog to their 'parenting' section after Baby is born. I had to laugh because I SO don't want to become a one dimensional blog but seriously it is difficult to think about or concentrate on anything else besides the 4 pound human that currently dominates every aspect of my life. So, I guess in a few weeks this will be an official Mommy Blog...but there could be worse things!

For today though I'm going to give a little dog update. Our complete and utter love affair with Waffles continues unabated. There is something about that dog that we adore so totally that it is actually sort of strange. He is so terribly sweet and sensitive to our moods that I frequently have to calm myself down in order to MAKE THE DOG FEEL BETTER.
(Mama's crying! It must be my fault! Maybe if I press my ears flat to my head I will be less noticeable.)

He still regularly (although slightly less regularly) destroys our belongings and yet we are still in love with the little idiot. He is also so smart that I can give him complex commands and he will follow them. The other day he had three toys downstairs (when they belong in a basket upstairs) and, rather than bending down, I told him to 'pick up his bunny and bring it upstairs'. He snooted through his three toys until he found the bunny, picked it up and brought it upstairs. I found that eerily intelligent and he does similar things all the time. His vocabulary is massive.
(Lying in the sun with one of his bunnies)

And then there's Smeagol. I've written for around 3 1/2 years about Smeagol's health problems. She gets these random infections about every 6 to 16 weeks or so. It will start off as an irritation in her facial wrinkles and eventually spread to sores on her belly and swollen, irritated paws. We have seen at least four vets over the years and each one goes through the same routine: 'it's a food allergy, change her diet', 'its an environmental allergy, clean her off when you come back inside from walks, 'its a bacterial infection, here's some expensive medicine and cream', 'its random, all we can do is treat it each time it occurs'. We have gone through this cycle literally dozens of times and it is exhausting and expensive for us and miserable for little itch-face.
(Papa, I thought you'd never come home. Is that really you?)

The vet we started with here in Tennessee went through this as well in our first year with him but then he said something that I've been hoping to hear from a person doctor for myself for years - he said 'I'm frustrated and we are going to figure this out'. He contacted a veterinary dermatologist and said that if we agreed we were going to follow her timeline suggestion.

So, first he instructed us to bring Girldog in one morning for a 'sulphurated lime dip' (stinkiest substance known to man) to see if that would do anything. We agreed because we are amenable to anything and this was something that had never been done before so that made us feel hopeful. He then scraped bits of hair and skin off her paws and neck and put them in a 'dermatophyte test medium' (a little vial of orange goo) and told us he would watch it for 21 days and if it turned red it meant she had dermatophytes so we could start treating that. This was also something that had never been done. This week he called to say that the medium had turned crazy, bright, cherry red (which it did, I saw it...it was actually really pretty, this bright red vial with little white streaks growing in it. Andrea, did you ever study dermatophytes?) so we needed to come by and pick up anti fungal medication.

Last, but not least, in the timeline is to get Smeagol spayed which is going to happen on Friday. The vet and the dermatologist vet both seem to feel that unspayed dogs, particularly as they age and particularly the pug breed are just slaves to their hormones and thus some of them become susceptible to every bacteria and fungus that enters their living area and are thus almost constantly tormented by infection and itching.
(The black part is my leg...this is her way of letting me know she doesn't feeeeeeeel well)

So, that is the plan. It is an expensive plan and a time-intensive plan and in some ways a dangerous plan but it is the best we can do. Fortunately veterinary treatments are individually quite cheap (the lime dip was $22, the pills for the dermatophytes were $14 for example) it's just the cost of all of these treatments added up over the months and years that makes me feel faint. But, at this point we felt that this had to come to a head. We are so utterly broke and I am freaking out trying to figure out how this month we are going to be able to pay normal expenses plus immigration fees plus spaying plus buying all the baby stuff that we still need but we are not prepared to give up our dogs unless it becomes absolutely, critically necessary. These are last ditch efforts here to get Smeagol better. If this program does not get her better I do not know what we will do because after Baby is here we will not have the time or money to try to help her constantly.

When I went to pick up the pills yesterday I asked the vet if he thought that the dermatophyte infestation was what had been wrong with Smeagol all along and he said that in his opinion that and her need to be fixed was what was keeping her this way. He said 'in another month she is going to be a healthy, happy girl again'. That's what we're asking for.

(We have no couch, only a love seat, so the little bit of time that we spend in the living room is a little awkward. There is barely room for Paul and I on the loveseat but on this day both dogs were DETERMINED to be on the loveseat with us. First, Smeagol rearranged Papa into this very awkward sitting position so she could lie on his leg, then, not to be outdone, Waffles managed to find himself a position too. They would have been content like this for hours, but, needless to say, poor Paul was not.)

Two Year Old Waffles

I should have posted pictures of my boy in celebration of his special day...better late than never though. Pardon the quality of these pics, they were both taken with my cell.

Webby is ALWAYS cold (my mom is going to make him some sweaters!) and this is how he burrows his little self under the quilt on the bed:


Huh, this one is of a cold Waffles as well, unintentionally. In the old house the computer table was over the air vent so between all the computer equipment and the warm air coming out of the vent it was his favorite spot:

Must go faster

Wow, I can't believe its been 2 weeks since I last updated. Where does the freakin time go? Anyway, we successfully moved to our new place. Its been unpleasant, as a move always it, but we had excellent movers who were very fast and in the end only cost a little over half of what I had budgeted. On Friday we attempted to do laundry for the first time in the new place and I guess something had happened to the hose on our washer during the move and boy, did we have a heck of a flood. At 12:30 in the morning Paul woke me up out of a dead sleep to help mop up the living room carpet while he tried to shut off the water. The washer was out of commission on Saturday and we hadn't done laundry in so long that every stitch of my clothing, all the towels and all the bedding were filthy so Paul came down to my work and read on the couch in our waiting room while the laundry did its thing in our coin operated laundry room. Then we went to Wal-Mart and Paul got some supplies to fix the washer...they didn't work so he had to go back to Wal-Mart and buy new hoses and that worked, thank the Lord. Unfortunately we had to spend a fortune on coins for the machines and on the new supplies, plus Paul had to spend half his weekend fixing the dang washer. But I was deeply impressed that he did it all by himself in the end.

Other than that most things seem to be okay in this place (except for the unleashed pitbull that roams around the neighborhood and this morning nosed through all our garbage so I had to go out and rebag all the nasty leftovers and crap. SO MAD, I was) I'm probably 75% unpacked, if I had to guess.

On another note, my little Waffles AKA the biggest Boston Terrier in the Whole Wide World, is turning two years old today. In dog years he is now a full grown man although he still acts and looks very, very puppy like. Just over the past few weeks though his destructive habits have taken a turn for the better so we are hopeful that he is truly becoming a grown-up. Smeagol hopes so too since she is an old lady of six and would rather have a warm body to sleep next to rather than a giant annoyance who always wants to play tug-of-war. Waffles is a darling dog and we couldn't be happier that we got him, he was meant to be in our family.

I have so many other things that I would like to say, both good stuff and bad stuff but I'll leave it at this for now. This blog is so important to me but I never expected to be this busy when I started the darn thing. Hopefully one day I'll get better at updating again and that it won't always only be just updates without real content.

Now, go out and finish your stinkin' holiday shopping, people.

Rapidly Going Crazy

I...seriously...explain to me how I'm going to get it all done? K? So, we're moving in 6 days and we have perhaps 10% of the house packed up. We're both working a lot and Paul is transitioning to a new shift this week and next so he's going to be more tired and busy than usual. Plus I have a different work schedule this week because of Thanksgiving and have a work meeting tomorrow an hour and a half after my shift ends so as to maximize my inability to get home and do work. I can't believe what a huge freaking deal it is to move. I'm extremely used to the packing and the address changing and stuff (although packing a 3 story house is a whole new level of horrible) but down here it costs SO MUCH MONEY to transfer utilities and its a huge pain in the butt too. I went downtown to transfer our power/water/sewer/garbage/recycling today. I was in the guy's office for more than 20 minutes answering questions (name and phone number of in-laws? Okay.) and then had to pay him a bunch of money. Natural gas has to be transferred in person as well and Comcast, don't even get me started. I am hoping more than almost anything that this will be the last time we move until we buy a house. Please, God.

Of course we're less than four weeks til Christmas vacation as well which I'm sosososo excited for but again so terribly much work. Plus I'm frantically Christmas shopping since things have to be shipped far and wide and still arrive in time for Christmas.

At night when I finally lie down I sink into the bed and ponder how awesome it will be to not work on my to-do list for a whole week over Christmas. How terrific it will be to not have to go out into the cold or rain every four hours to take the dogs out. How fantastic it will be to be able to leave the house and not have to spend 15 minutes first moving everything in the whole house that Waffles could conceivably get into and then how tremendous it will be to come back later without having to nervously search the house for a potty accident or a newly ruined piece of furniture. One of my big dreams these days is for a nightstand (I dream big, people). My nightstand is just a cheapo end table which is all right and everything but first its ugly and second, and this is the biggy, it has no drawer or cupboard. I like to keep a little basket on my nightstand with all my lotions and potions and pills and things that I use before bed, plus I have a stack of books, Bibles etc. Every time I leave the house though I have to move every one of these things across the room onto the dresser and push them all the way to the back so that Waffles won't destroy them and it is such a royal pain in the butt I can't even tell you.

So these days I dream of icy Winnipeg and functional, attractive nightstands and Ketchup Crispers; its not too much to ask is it people?

In which I become one of THOSE people

I've been realizing something recently; I've always been a total animal lover but I got much more so since I became part of a family filled with what, in bed at night, feels like as many as 30 or 40 dogs and their long, poky legs. I find lately that watching shows about animals and spending time with my animals or other people's is what makes me happiest and most calm.

On Oprah a week or two ago they had a report on how our food animals are treated before we kill them and eat them. There was a journalist on the show named Nicholas Kristof discussing his recent New York Times article about growing up on a farm. Here's the part of the article that really touched me:

Then there were the geese, the most admirable creatures I've ever met. We raised Chinese white geese, a common breed, and they have distinctive personalities. They mate for life and adhere to family values that would shame most of those who dine on them.

While one of our geese was sitting on her eggs, her gander would go out foraging for food—and if he found some delicacy, he would rush back to give it to his mate. Sometimes I would offer males a dish of corn to fatten them up—but it was impossible, for they would take it all home to their true loves.

Once a month or so, we would slaughter the geese. When I was 10 years old, my job was to lock the geese in the barn and then rush and grab one. Then I would take it out and hold it by its wings on the chopping block while my Dad or someone else swung the ax.

The 150 geese knew that something dreadful was happening and would cower in a far corner of the barn, and run away in terror as I approached. Then I would grab one and carry it away as it screeched and struggled in my arms.

Very often, one goose would bravely step away from the panicked flock and walk tremulously toward me. It would be the mate of the one I had caught, male or female, and it would step right up to me, protesting pitifully. It would be frightened out of its wits, but still determined to stand with and comfort its lover.

That story solidified for me what I've been feeling lately. Over and over in the past few weeks I have found that animals show us how life should be lived. They love with unrestrained fervor, they play with complete abandon and then sleep the sleep of the totally content. When God said that man should have dominion over the creatures He created He did not mean that we could torture them so our food would be cheaper or that we could shoot them purely for entertainment or that we could put them in circuses and make them perform for our amusement (and then when they go rogue because we're torturing them we shoot them and say 'how could that have happened?!'). I believe that when we die we will have to answer for our sins, each one, to God. And I believe too that God will ask us to account for the way we treat the animals that He created.

"The King will answer them, 'Most certainly I tell you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to me.'

--Matthew 25:40

Just my opinion.

How Embarrassing!

My dogs, like myself and my husband, have a lot of health problems. We all have special food requirements so I often have to make separate meals for Paul and I and then prepare something for the dogs as well (they eat fairly normal salmon and yogurt dog food but they can't eat dog treats or anything like that so I cook little batches of beans and things like that for them). So when Smeagol developed a rash on her belly we assumed that it was allergies or one of her other myriad issues. But then Waffles started getting rashy too and Smeagol's rash turned from a few small sores on her belly into a GIANT, OOZING, SCALY patch on her tummy. Neat, huh?!

Paul took the little girl to the vet yesterday and it turned out she had fleas! Neither of our dogs have ever had fleas before and we were pretty shocked. I take really good care of the babies and they rarely, if ever, associate with other dogs (I desperately want to take them to a dog park but the nearest one is an hour away and an hour in the car with Waffles is too much for any human) so I did not expect that. So, they both got a flea treatment, Smeagol has two different prescriptions to take for a week etc. (My kingdom for a week or two where I don't have to dole out pills for 3 or 4 creatures 2 times a day. Paul says that day will never come since if we have a child the poor kid will be doomed to various ailments. Sigh)

I've researched flea stuff online and there seem to be two different approaches to getting rid of them. Some sites say that once the dogs have been treated you need to clean the whole house; steam clean the carpets, bleach the sheets, wash anything soft, toss the dog beds etc. Other sites say that once the flea treatment has been done you're pretty well good and within 4 weeks the last of the fleas will naturally die and you don't have to worry. I'm pretty swamped with obligations and to-do lists these days so I'm pretty smitten with the second idea but if I have to I'll start cleaning the house from top to bottom. So, my question is to you pet owners out there: do you have experience with fleas in your house and what did you do (or not do) to get rid of the little critters?

Homeward Bound

Whee! I got through my second week at work and next week I go to my regular schedule (as opposed to my training schedule) which means that I don't have to get up so early. Although it also means that I work alone on Saturday which should be interesting since I don't -technically- know what I'm doing yet, really.

We put in an application on an adorable rental house this week which we're hopeful about. Even if we don't get accepted for some reason we have a line on another place or two to look at.

And, we booked our tickets yesterday for CANADA! EEEEEE! We're coming right over Christmas and we are PSYCHED! I haven't seen my mom and one sister since August of '07, my other sister since our wedding in March of '07 and everyone else since February '07 (I think). That is just wrong. We spent lots of time researching kennels for the babies and found a great one, but I'm still very nervous about leaving them for a week. Waffles especially is so terribly sensitive. Waffles has a very obvious way of showing us when he is distressed which is that he trembles from head to toe. When the neighbors are noisy, which is always, he lies on the floor and shakes, when Paul and I have a 'discussion', he trembles, when I tell him 'no' to trying to kill Smeagol, he shivers. You get the picture. But nonetheless I couldn't be more excited. The time off is confirmed for both of us, the tickets are booked and the kennel (or 'lodge' as they call it...it has a POOL! For DOGS!) is booked. This week I need to focus on making sure the dogs have all their appropriate shots etc. and get a letter from the vet indicating that Smeagol cannot be vaccinated for bordatella since she nearly died last time and had to be rushed to the vet and put on IV etc. Have you all ever heard of more pathetic creatures than my pups? *sigh* I know, I'm more pathetic...

Of course dogs can pick out and sign cards

I'm sure some of you (and here I'm thinking of you, Bernice) will think this is super stupid but I was so touched by the birthday card Paul gave me 'from' the dogs. He was great this birthday and with this kind of card he reminds me of why I love him AND like him:

Front (Note: we call Waffles "Webby" or "Wiffy" most of the time)


Inside

The colors are not sharp for some reason, I'm terrible at scanning. But, is that not the sweetest thing ever?

Husbands and Other Annoyances

So, in my kitchen I have two towels hanging up at all times, like this:

I find this system to be really clear. The towel above the sink is only for drying clean things, like your hands or washed dishes. See? Above the SINK is for drying CLEAN things. The towel on the stove is for wiping your hands clean of food or what have you while cooking. Again, see? The towel on the STOVE is for wiping off FOOD. I have had this system for 7 months now so the other day when Paul got it wrong again I kind of snapped and shrieked at him. His reponse 'I can't keep track of your COMPLEX RULES!'

That's marriage in a nutshell, I think. What one thinks is obvious the other thinks is fairly esoteric and then they both yell at each other and the cycle continues.

Speaking of extreme irritation...well, let me be fair by saying that Paul and I have needed a new couch since we started living together. His couch was old and secondhand already then and in the three years since then it has gotten a cigarette burn (stupid drunk friends), been peed on by a dog (stupid nervous Waffles), been thrown up on by two dogs numerous times and by an eight year old girl once. Because of all this I keep it covered up with a quilt as you will see in the picture below. The couch is nasty ass gross and God only knows when we will be able to afford a new one. However, we were still not prepared for Extreme Separation Anxiety Waffles and his amazing Powers of Destruction. Ta-Da!

Boys are so stupid.

I don't have kids okay, so allow me my dog obsession!

When Paul and I moved from Moldy Apartment #1 for our two month stay in Moldy Apartment #2 before moving permanently to Slightly Moldy Townhouse #1 we found that Smeagol and Waffles were fairly upset by the move and the mess and two sick 'parents' etc. Paul had Smeagol for years before he met me and she never had a crate or a bed to call her own (we bought her a bed at some point and she was fairly uninterested) but she was and is fairly unperterbubable so we weren't too worried. When we moved though, the already very tense Waffles became the Amazing Nervous Boston Terrier, so we bought him a $10 bed at Walgreens. This bed instantly became his and worked perfectly as the little safe nest that dog experts recommend all dogs have. He has two beds now, one upstairs and one downstairs but the disgusting cheapo bed, now grossly stained with God-knows-what is still a favorite and his retreat every time he gets scared - which is about 24 times a day (me turning pages in my book, me cooking, rain falling, having to go to the bathroom, having gone to the bathroom and on and on).

And so, a tribute to Wiffy and his bed - one of my rare good ideas and a perfect fit for a dog that is normally so tense that he makes me look relaxed:




And, while I'm at it, here are some other dog pictures that I've taken recently. Love them as much as I do!

A rare moment of rawhide chewy peace. Normally they are like two three year olds who want ONLY THE TOY THE OTHER ONE HAS!


They generally sleep in a pile like this, although, as you can see, neither one likes being the bottom half of the totem pole.

Curdins

Around a month ago we FINALLY found some cheap curtain rods to go with my beloved old blue curtains that have been with me for 10 years. This meant that the living room would finally get curtains, yay! Of course, that worked out very poorly due to Waffles the Destructor.



As you can see, the left side are the lovely curtains the way they should look and the right side is half a blind, where Waffles chewed the rest off, half a pair of curtains, where Waffles chewed the rest off and a bent curtain rod because he yanked so hard on the curtains. I was SO SO SO PISSED.

Paul made the best of the situation though by giving me a second Valentine's Day card ( I know I'm a couple of weeks late with this post ), this one from the dogs:

Front

Inside

Totally cute, eh?

A Farewell to Balls

I took this picture of Waffles months ago because he was looking so darn cute but I did not notice the prominent features near his hind end. Today seemed like an appropriate day to post the picture though because those prominent features are gone. Wiffy was neutered this week! Finally! We had made more than one appointment for him before but something always seemed to go wrong so we are thrilled that it is finally done. Our local animal hospital did it for cheap, cheap and he seems to be doing well (after the first day of sleeping and puking and repeat).

Paul and I are such HUGE animal lovers so we are totally committed to keeping the pet population down but we never felt we had to worry about anyone other than our own two dogs. That is, we didn't want Waffles to get Smeagol pregnant but they are both always leashed up outside so we weren't worried about any other dogs. We suddenly felt compelled to make sure it happened ASAP though since A) Smeagol is due to go into heat any day now and B) down here leashes are totally optional apparently. In our subdivision almost everyone has a dog and often they are allowed to just wander around. Most of the time I don't mind that too much, but it scared me that if I turned my back to deal with Smeagol for one second, one of the cute little off-leash girl dogs could run over and 9 weeks later there would be someone at my door with a box of half Boston puppies. So, yay, no more worries.

Well, as it turns out, no more worries in six weeks. I did SO much research before we had him snipped but I never came across the fact that he can still get girl dogs pregnant for another six weeks and in fact will not 'know' he is neutered for that long. As in he can (and most definitely will) 'mark' vertical objects etc. Sigh.

The vet tells us that Waffles was a trooper and that everyone there loved him. They were also utterly amazed at his size. The AKC and, as far as I can find, all other dog associations only have categories for Boston Terriers up to 25 pounds maximum. Waffles is 30 pounds even and still growing! He's a freakin' freak! Smeagol can now run under him without breaking stride. It really pisses him off, though.

It's no surprise to me that Paul and I managed to get the neediest, freakiest dog around. It's also no surprise to me though that that makes us love him even more.

Bratz are Skankz

Our friends who helped Paul get the job here have a four year old daughter who we both adore. Her name is Mara and she's so cute and polite and smart and we could just eat her up.

One of my favorite things is how she calls us 'Mr. Paul' and Miss Jennifer'. Miss Mara loves the Bratz. You know the Bratz, right? Little whore Barbie-style dolls? They're dreadful. The other day she asked 'Mr. Paul, will you play Bratz with me?' Paul agreed but told her that he did not know how to 'play Bratz'. She explained that you introduce each other and compliment each other (in Bratz voices) etc. Mara wanted more Bratz for Christmas, and she got plenty. So many in fact that she got two 'Yasmin's and she decided to give her second Yasmin to Paul so they could play Bratz together. So, Paul's only Christmas gift this year was a 'Bratz play Sportz, Yasmin Fitness doll'. Love it.



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And, since I'm posting pictures, here, have another picture of my babies! I call this 'Both Crammed into the Last Patch of Sunlight in the Computer Room'.

In response to comments and emails -

I didn't mean to make it sound like Paul's job is top secret, its not at all! He's working in the IT department for a big company. Basically he sits at a desk with a cell phone and a computer and when anyone in the company has a computer issue, they call or email him and he goes over there and does some sort of Engineering degree voodoo and then the problem is fixed. Ta-Da! He can never tell me stories about work because I don't understand what he does even a little bit. The pay is decent, the benefits, sick days, vacation etc. are outstanding (starting in 3 months) and he likes it, so yay!

I didn't take pictures coming up here because the trip was WAY TOO HARROWING to do so (24 foot truck, tow dolly with car attached, two dogs in cab with us...). People us here do not live in shacks, quite, but it is remarkably ... rural here. Which suits me just fine. I grew up on a farm that was 3/4 of a mile from our nearest neighbour and then moved to a town of about 1700 people, so this is still plenty urban for me. I truly cannot understand anybody though, like at all. For example, there is a town somewhere around here called 'Maryville'. The folks here though call is 'Murvul'. Another eg: Versailles = 'Vursales'.

The dogs are settling in poorly. They bark and whine and pee and poo and then repeat that. But the past few months have been extremely stressful for them so I'm hoping that in another week or two they will be back to normal.

We did have movers! Well, for part of the time. I've never used movers in all of my 20 or so lifetime moves, but in this case we had to. We had no friends willing to help and we were sick and exhausted and incapable of carrying, say, a washer and dryer up 11 stairs by ourselves. I packed everything myself and then hired a company that sent 4 guys for two hours to load the rental truck. Holy crap were they fast. Unbelievable. They got all of our crap loaded in an hour and a half. Then on this end we did it all ourselves (how? I don't know) except for the 5 biggest pieces of furniture. Fortunately we had a friend recommend someone up here who would help Paul move that stuff for like $40. Oh, and I called the moving truck people today and got a 15% refund on the truck for all the trouble we had...not much, but it helps.

We are settling in okay...the move in progress is slow since my arthritic knees aren't too happy about ALL THE FREAKIN STAIRS and Paul has been working non stop. But things are fairly close to unpacked. Now that we have phone and internet again I'm frantically trying to change all of our addresses etc. Its a lot more difficult when you have moved to a different state since, for example, our old bank has no branches here and our tenant insurance has to be with a different company etc. Once the unpacking and address changing is done, then I can start hanging pictures and measuring for curtains (stupid blankets on the windows) and stuff and then this place will start to feel like a home, I hope. For now, I do what I can each day and that's all I can do.

As far as our health, Paul is doing quite well. He hasn't had serious pain in about 3 days. I still have discomfort most of the time, but its not as bad. There is some mold in our bathroom that we will have to take action on. I just found it yesterday and I'm hoping to God that it is not going to affect us. Our energy level is slowly improving too, again, Paul's at a faster rate than mine. I've lost between 23 and 24 pounds now. My clothes are quite literally falling off me!

I think I answered all of your questions...thanks for all your questions and comments and support and prayers as we have gone through still more trying times. Hopefully things will get better from now on.

What do Waffles and Smeagol do while their Dad is out earning money?

Well, this one lies in a patch of sunlight and stares at the woods, hoping Papa will emerge from them and give him scritches.



And this one lies in the spot where Papa's work shoes live when he is at home and works on her look of maximum dejectedness.

Oh, the places I've been

Updates -

The apartment is quite nice, we are actually really comfortable here. It's quiet and cool and there is tons of room and a big stand of trees to stare while I sit on the deck in the evenings. We also had the following new apartment related conversation the other day:

Me - I thought I would be really scared in this place, what with being so tucked away and on the ground floor, but I've hardly been scared at all.

Paul - Because there are no ghosts here.

Me - *sigh* I didn't want to ask...you haven't seen anything?

Paul - Nope! Ghost free!

So, yeah, I'm pretty much firmly in the 'there are no such thing as ghosts' camp...well, I was. Back in Winnipeg I lived in an apartment that had been converted to a hospital. I never saw anything but when I became the building manager I fairly regularly had tenants move out because they claimed their apartment (or very frequently the elevator) was haunted. Then in the last few months that I lived there, some things happened that I cannot explain, like, at all. Still, I felt that it was generally just kind of silly. A few months ago, when I was having a mini breakdown, I confessed to Paul that I saw all sorts of awfulness in our apartment and he nodded and said that he had hoped that I wasn't seeing any of it so he had never mentioned it. He talked to a friend later on that day and told him what I had said and the friend told him 'that's why I refuse to stay at your apartment overnight anymore'. After that we never spoke of it again...it seemed wisest. Once in a while we would both see something at the same time and sort of glance at each other to confirm and then look away and not discuss it.

Point being...I never believed and never wanted to believe...but I dunno. ACTUAL point being...there's nothing in the new place!


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Paul seems to be getting slowly better. His energy level is back to about 80% he says and his palpitations and chest pain are decreasing. I'm not at all better. Surprise! We went to the doctor again on Thursday and he was very concerned with my description of my symptoms. He sent me straight to the hospital for a bunch of X-rays of my chest and head. I'd never had head X-rays before - they contort you into very weird positions. Then today I had a guy come to the apartment at 8 in the morning and put a heart monitor on me. It's a bit uncomfortable but not too bad, although I bet after 24 hours it will be really unpleasant. It has a digital diary so I press various buttons when I feel various symptoms. Of course, as Paul pointed out, today will probably be the one day out of the last 100 or so that I have no problems.

The new doctor really doesn't know what is wrong, but I liked him anyway because he is the first doctor who seemed genuinely concerned and didn't make my history of depression the cause of all my problems. The only risk factor that I have for heart disease, really, is my weight (I don't smoke, drink or have a family history of heart disease), so the doctor said he would normally not be too concerned but that the way I described my chest pressure and skipped beats he was nervous about the whole thing. So, anyway, I get the results of the X-rays probably on Monday and the heart monitor results a few days after that. In the meanttime, the medical bills for the two of us are piling higher and higher. If we don't get better soon, this illness will ruin us, financially, for life. That is no exaggeration.


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The dogs are adjusting well to their new home, although they have had several accidents already. I have told you before what good babies they are but that they do gross me out sometimes with some of the things they do...skip down to the next row of asterisks if you don't want to read something truly, truly awful.

I am, after hearing a dreadful story from a friend, hypervigilant about checking the dogs' poops for worms when I bag them up. The other day, to my horror, I thought Waffles had pooped out a long, coiled up worm. I called Paul over to check and he stared at it for a while and then closed his eyes and shook his head. I kept asking him what was wrong but he appeared to be unable to speak. Finally, he whispered, 'it's...a condom'. Indeed. We checked the spot where, ahem, last night's condom had been disposed of and it was gone. While we were out grocery shopping he had found it and eaten it. A used condom. Neither Paul nor I were able to talk for about 15 minutes after that. We just kept looking at Waffles, snarfing up his dinner, and shaking our heads.


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It's safe to start reading here again!

Paul has been working long hours, lots of double shifts but the bar is S-L-O-W these days. I've also been very busy...although nobody ever understands how I can have so much to do. Just, frankly, dealing with all the shit that has been piled on us is a full-time job. Nearly every day, it seems, the apartment complex tacks a new note to our door telling us that we owe them money or what have you. Then I have to start sifting through paperwork and photocopying stuff and downloading copies of cashed checks to prove that they are wrong. (Once in a while that actually works...they recently sent us a bill for $170 which we proved was wrong and they only charged us $62 instead. Plus we found out that they owed US $80. Take that, assholes!) Also, we get more bills (both new medical and old, as yet undiscovered, bills from Paul's reckless days) almost every day which is unbelievably exhausting and time consuming because I have to deal with each one, which means mass paperwork and usually many phone calls.

I so badly wanted our lives to be in better order before I could start working again so I wouldn't have to spend hours a day trying to sort out problems, but it looks like that may not happen as I should be able to work really soon. I sure am looking forward to getting out of the house and earning some money. Waffles and Smeagol are NOT looking forward to it.


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A few other things are in the works here too, that I won't go into at the moment - one or two of them are good even! Baffling! But, there are some updates for now. In short, we like the new place, Paul appears to be getting better and I'm trying (although generally failing) to be a little more upbeat.

EW!

Earlier, the boy dog ran over to me ecstatically, as he is wont to do, and dropped something on my feet. I bent down to throw it, since this tactic means 'FETCH?!" and was thrilled to discover that the toy he had dropped on my foot was ...the toilet brush.