Wordless Week Day 1

I miss him. So much.

OK, so it's not my cat.

Short Dog and I took a trip to the park today and the weather was GORGEOUS. It was just warm enough for a little sweat on the brow, but not so hot that it was unbearable. We had a good walk and ran into no one but a few bugs and snakes. Also, pardon my finger. I am not sure what happened there.

Updates

A few random things. Krackle sent me a gchat that just said "update your blog" so I guess that I need to update my blog. You guys are so needy. Jeez.

NCH is doing great, fine, super, still trying to kill me. I accidentally locked him in the guest room yesterday when I went to work, even though I find this to be impossible, somehow I did it. So, when I got home yesterday, he was batting my hand away every time I tried to pet him. He was doing the same to the boy. So, suffice to say, he is back to normal. Pissed and evil. Here is a picture of his belly after the surgery.

It looks like the surgery was done with a chainsaw because he has so much fat on his belly. He kind of has a fat butt on his belly now. It makes me laugh.

Short Dog also got his teeth cleaned and the vet said they were on side by side tables, which for some reason, made me happy. Even though they kind of hate each other. 

I graduate in less than two weeks, which is equal parts exciting and nerve wracking. There are a lot of preparations to do and a part of me is kind of regretting having a party and making a big deal out of it. It is an associates degree in culinary arts, it's not like I am becoming a doctor. And I am almost 30 years old. I feel a bit ridiculous making such a big deal out of it, but it is too late now. So, I guess own it and drink up, right? Plus, my cousin is bringing her twins, so that alone makes it worth it. BABIES!

I will end on a final story, which is quite hilarious. I went to this gay bar on campus with Iceburg Jones. He had been trying to get me to go there for ages and I finally relented. They are in the process of redoing their patio and covered the entire thing in astro turf. Yes, I would think this would be the last decision a bunch of gay men would make, but who am I to judge. Well, the astro turf covered little tiny steps all over the place. I am sure you can see where this is going. So, I take my first beer out to the patio so that Iceburg Jones can smoke and tripped over the tiny one inch step. I rammed my shoulder into a guy's chair, flung beer all over myself, and completely skinned my knee. By the next day, my shoulder was covered in a giant bruise, my knee looked like someone had put a baseball under my skin, and every inch of my body hurt. Oh, and I was the laughing stock of the entire bar.

In case you guys didn't know, awkward is my special talent. 

Friends don't let friends have pet cemetery's in their living room.

Hi. I had a really rough day. Work was like being slowly beaten to death with delicious rotisserie chicken. Sounds pleasant?  It's not. Trust me.

Yesterday's post, by the way, was I don't know what to do with his ashes, not I can't go on. I realize it sounded sort of...dramatic? Definitely dramatic. I am doing fine. Better than I expected actually. Our house is starting to normalize too. Neil is back to plotting my murder in the corner and short dog has resumed chewing on rawhide. The pictures are still up and it brings a smile to my face to see them now, instead of a blubbering nervous breakdown. I think we are going to be O.K.

So, about the ashes. Um. What do you do with pet ashes? I thought it would bother me to have them in the house, but it doesn't. At all. It makes me feel like he is here. But, I love pets. I will always have pets. And I picture myself in 30 years with like 8 wood boxes full of pet ashes and if life has taught me ANYTHING it is to lean towards looking less crazy. This leads me to think that scattering them is the right decision, but isn't that like saying goodbye all over again? Because it feels like that. In fact, I don't think I can do that. Not yet. 

I also contemplated burying them in Big Jed's yard and putting up a little grave stone. She will be in her house FOREVER and she has space and I could totally go visit him! But, there is one problem; I have not, in any way, discussed this with her. Also, I don't know if I even want to do this.

Gah! How do people make these decisions about PEOPLE? 

So, the moral of the story is that I don't know what to do. For now, keeping them feels right. So, I am going to do that. I just need a promise from all of you that if you ever come to my house and there is a weird pet cemetery in the corner that you will intervene. YOU MUST INTERVENE. 

Ashes to ashes

The card contains his footprint and the story of the rainbow bridge. I am not sure what to do now...

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A note

The 24 hour vet that we took Kobi to sent a card. I was scared to open it, but it turned out to be the sweetest thing I have ever read. These people have met me once, when the short dog ate one and a half pounds of sugar and had to be kept over night. And that was only the vet. The vet tech had never met me. Both messages were handwritten.

Ms. Erratic,

I'm so sorry for your loss of Kobi. He seemed like such a sweet boy and I know he will be missed. Try to take comfort in the many happy memories you shared. You are in our thoughts during this difficult time.

The Vet

I'm so sorry for your loss. I know Kobi was a big part of your life and he will be greatly missed. Always remember all of the good times and the years you had together. My thoughts are with you during this difficult time.

The Vet Tech

In the card was a packet of seeds...Forget Me Nots. We are going to plant them with the herb garden as soon as it stops raining.

Maybe they write this on every card. Maybe they don't. Both of them were on the verge of tears that night. Both of them were genuinely empathetic. Regardless, it touched me.

Yesterday was the first day I didn't cry. I cried off and on all day today. NCH is on anti-anxiety drugs and Short Dog is just lost. The boy is distracted by work, but still clearly sad. I just want this house to be normal again...I feel like there is a dark cloud hanging over us, cartoon style. 

I just want a cat that isn't stoned, a dog that looks happy, and a boy that smiles. And to not cry. That part too.

Water Works

I am restless. I find my mind wandering off. I can't fall asleep, so when I finally do, I sleep all day. My whole body hurts from laying around all the time. I know it's only been two days. 48 hours. I feel stupid that this has affected me as much as it has. I wake up and reach over to cuddle with him. It is so weird letting out one dog, coming home to one dog. The house feels so empty. 11 years of coming home to a tail that could knock out a toddler. 11 years of him bringing me a toy. I feel so empty.

My car is weird. I feel like he is there with me in the car for some reason. When we would drive, he always put his head over my left shoulder and sniffed. I keep checking over my shoulder.

His bed is still in our bedroom. His giant bone still sitting at the bottom of the stairs. His food bin sits, full, with his food bowl on top of it. His pictures are everywhere.

I worked 12 hours after we put him down and was a mess at first, but ended up fine. As soon as I got in my car to drive home, I started sobbing. I can't handle the quiet moments, the moments when I have time to think.  

I have never lost anyone I was close to. So, maybe I just don't how to grieve. Maybe this response is normal. Maybe I am a crazy person.

I know it will get better, I do. I will keep hugging the short dog and the boy and forcing Neil to tolerate a hug here and there. I will keep busy and distracted. I will hope that one day I will go a whole day without mother fucking crying. Because, you guys, this is a lot of crying.

A tribute.

I had to put Kobi down this morning. Late last night/early this morning he started panting and couldn't move. It turns out he had a form of cancer that was causing bleeding around his heart and in his abdomen. Nothing could be done.

 He was the best dog in the world. I got him when I was 18 and had just been in Ohio for a year. I remember the day I got him, sitting in the back seat of Krackle's car holding him the whole way home. I didn't have the heart to make him sleep in the closet bed I made him, so he slept with us the first night. I watched as he outgrew crate after crate, collar after collar. The 20 lb dog I was promised at the shelter turned into a 70 lb best friend.

 He was an awful puppy. Destroyed everything in his path. I wish I had electronic puppy pictures of him. He was pretty damn cute.

 He has been with me through countless boyfriends, roommates, apartments, cars, jobs, everything. 11 years of memories.

 He always had the saddest eyes, even though he was the happiest dog in the world. He would look at you and you would cave and give him anything and everything he wanted. How could you resist those eyes?

 THE EYES.

 Oh, the eyes.

 As he got older, he started to slow down. He slept all day, mostly under a blanket of some sort. He got diagnosed with arthritis in his spine and had trouble jumping up and down, unless of course there was an invite to crawl under the covers in bed.

 He never lost his love for life. At times, he acted just like a puppy. Especially on walks and when presented with rawhide.

 After he was done playing, it always looked like he was smiling.

 When the vet came in and told us that he was in pain, the decision was the easiest decision I have ever made, though it was also the hardest thing I have ever done. We chose to be present and he looked right into my eyes through the whole thing. After he took his last breath, I closed his eyes and cried, just holding him. As soon as he started to get cold, I couldn't do it anymore and we left. I asked to get his ashes and I plan to sprinkle them at some of his favorite spots.

Goodbye, buddy. You are irreplaceable and will always be in my heart.

Something I just need to say.

When I tell people I am getting a cat with two large dogs, they generally think I am crazy. Or irresponsible. Or any number of negative things. So, I am going to need to go ahead and climb up on my soap box for a moment. Feel free to skip this if you are not a die-hard, bleeding heart lover of animals.

Neil Catrick Harris is the kitten of a feral cat, meaning it is not domesticated. I have dealt with feral animals before, so I do have some experience in this. Not a lot, and not really in my own home, but I still understand how their instincts differ from a regular animals and how to adjust to that. I have never owned a cat, lived with a cat, or spent any significant amount of time with cats, so their behavior I am unfamiliar with. Don't worry, books are on the way. Along with hours and hours of Internet research that started tonight by reaching out to my Facebook and Twitter friends.

I like animals a lot more than I like people. The boy is a cat person, I am a dog person. I am allergic to both, which is whatever. They have drugs. I refuse to live a life that is void of animals. I refuse.

Last night, I got home from school and just started vomiting. No reason, I didn't even feel bad. Just like, oh, vomit. Then a serious fever hit for about an hour, I fell asleep, and woke up shortly after just fine. The entire time and the rest of the night, Shorty sat on the floor right by me. He gave me kisses and cuddles from time to time, but mostly he just stood guard.

When I cry, they curl up in my lap and just let me hug them. I find it hard to sleep without a dog against my back. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE the dog pile, when both dogs just sprawl their whole bodies across you and you all nap. There is usually an elbow in the spleen, but it's worth it. I adore the pure joy they get out of a tennis ball, a rawhide, or just a walk around the block. I love how happy they are to see you. No matter how bad of a mood you are in, their little butts are wagging uncontrollably.

I have volunteered for various animal shelters and have attended obedience school with a certain dog of short stature who is rotten.

I believe that people who abuse animals are the cruelest most hateful people who have ever existed.

I cry my fucking eyes out at Sarah McLaughlin commercials. I hate it when people are prejudice against animals, especially breeds of animals, because other people have bred them to have undesirable traits.

I. FUCKING. LOVE. ANIMALS.

I am prepared to approach my kitten the same way I have my dogs. Tons of information, even more love, and patience. OK, probably not patience. But, lots of love to make up for it. This kitty will eat the best food, shit in the best kitty litter, have the best toys, and more love than it could ever possibly need.

Is it the best decision I have ever made? No, probably not. But, these kitties need a home and I am a big softy, so here we are.

I still want an otter.

My shins will never be the same.

You know how sometimes you get this great idea for a gift that is going to be AWESOME and the person receiving it is going to LOVE it. Then you give it to them and it kills them or puts them in the hospital or causes their face to swell up...

That is sort of what this was like:

Thanksgiving

It was Thanksgiving, as you all know. And if you don't know, you should probably look into how you missed that. I had a full house and, honestly, it was a pretty good time. And how could you NOT have a good time when this was taking place on your couch:

That is my sister's dog, Gus, who is the cutest thing ever to live ever. However, he is into everything. He took a bite out of the cheese ball. He licked the pecan pies. He drank a large amount of my grandfather's rum and coke. His front paws spend more time on counters than on the floor.

Kobi, being the old man of the group, regulated the dogs. It was hilarious and I wish we would have gotten a video. When the dogs got too loud or started fighting, he would stand up, bark, and just look back and forth between the offending dogs until it stopped. Then he would look at me with a look that I can only assume meant, "Seriously, mom, you thought THIS was a good idea."

The only traumatic part of the weekend was caused by a bad batch of insulin. My sister has Type I diabetes and has since she was four. I had to take classes as a kid on how to handle a situation where she had diabetic seizures (caused by low blood sugar) or went into a diabetic coma (caused by high blood sugar.) Growing up, there were a shit load of the former, none of the latter. Especially when she was going through puberty and hormone levels were all over the place. So, I was very used to this and could handle just about any diabetic emergency you threw at me. A decade ago.

Now? Well, let's just say it came right back to me. Thanksgiving morning, her fiance knocked on my door and calmly stated that she was having a diabetic seizure and he couldn't find the glucagon. She was laying on her face and I managed to get her rolled on her back and get some of the sugar gel into her mouth while the boy called 911. She came to and stopped seizing before the paramedics got there, but you can't really just cancel them. So, they were there about a half hour, checking her blood sugar every five minutes or so until she was at an acceptable level. Nobody thought anything of it, these things happen.

Well, that night, she looked at me and said she was hungry and I could tell by the look in her eyes that she was going low. I went into the kitchen and got everything out of the refrigerator to make her some quesadillas and before I got it all out, she was seizing again. We located the glucagon after the last episode, so no 911 call. We determined it was the insulin and the boy and my sister's fiance went to a 24 hour Walgreen's to refill it. Luckily that solved the problems and the rest of the weekend seemed boring and uneventful in comparison. However, I think her fiance was very relieved that I was there. He kind of followed her around with a look of terror in his eyes the rest of the weekend. I was right behind him.

Six People. Four Dogs. Five Days.

Tomorrow my aunt and uncle arrive. Wednesday, my sister, her fiance, my cousin, her husband, and my other uncle arrive. I will have six people and four dogs for five days.

This bears repeating.

Six People.

Four Dogs.

Five Days.

The condo is 1090 square feet without the finished basement, which is about the size of a bedroom. It is a tradition with my father's side of the family that the "kids" always stay with me and the adults stay with them. This plan is flawed. The kids are getting married, they have animals, and my condo is not getting any larger.

And the news just said it may snow this week. I am in my own personal hell. Now, do not get me wrong...I am glad everyone is coming. I love that we all still make this huge effort to get together. I love that we are closer now than we have ever been. It is important to me. I am happy to have them.

The next week? It is going to be rough. The boy has never met my sister. He has met my mom and my grandmother...who are like two extremes of the crazy spectrum of my family. My mother is the most mild mannered, tame one of all of us. My grandmother the craziest. We have already discussed our total elation at the fact that this house has Xanax to get through the weekend.

I am excited to cook for everyone, to play the roll of the hostess. It is one of my favorite things. I have not seen my sister in a year, so I am excited to see her. I am excited for her to meet the boy. Frankly, I am thrilled to have the whole family (with the exception of my cousin who lives in London and who will be GREATLY missed) together for a reason that is not a wedding or a funeral. To spend time together and talk and laugh and just be a family. We are spread all over the world, so it is hard to get together with any frequency.

I have a list as tall as I am for the store. A cleaning list posted to the refrigerator that the boy and I will chip away at for the next three days.

Six people.

Four dogs.

Five days.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I hope that yours is filled with love and laughter and family, just as I know mine will be. Oh, and plenty of Xanax.

El Diablo Strikes Again

I came home from work yesterday to find wrappers and remnants of a 1 lb bag of Twizzler individually wrapped Halloween candy. On the floor. Eaten. By a dog of short stature.

I really didn't think anything of it. Dogs get into stuff, it wasn't chocolate or bleach, so I figured I would be in for a night of motor boat farts and maybe some vomiting. That all changed when we tried to feed him dinner. When Short Dog is fed, he dances around your feet, runs up and down the basement stairs, sometimes whines, and LEAPS on his bowl as if we have not fed him in a month. He will inhale his food and then circle Kobi, hoping that he leaves a crumb behind. I took a dog obedience course and they say dogs are either motivated by food or praise. We have one of each. Kobi doesn't really care about food at all. He eats to survive, period. He nibbles at treats, rarely finishes his entire dinner, and has never been much of a beggar.

Short Dog didn't just not finish his dinner. He didn't even touch it. The boy and I looked at each other with terror in our eyes. This either meant he was finally going to eat us in our sleep for putting him on a diet, or holy crap, he is full of Twizzler. We then looked at Short Dog.He looked like he swallowed a basketball whole. I tried to draw it for you in Paint, but due to my amazing drawing skills, the portrait was bought by the Art Institute of Chicago and is in their newest digital art exhibit. So, you can see it there.

I digress. So, the boy and I start freaking out. What do you do when a dog is bloated and it is freaking you out? You poke him. Look at each other, then poke him again. It was like poking a monument to my digital art abilities. I immediately call the vet, who is used to me. I tend to have a "we're all going to die" mentality when it comes to my dogs. I fear the day that I procreate. So, does the entire American Medical Association. I will ruin health care in this country, single handedly.

(Man, I cannot stay on subject tonight. This new B12 supplement the doctors have me taking is making me spazzy.)

The vet tech asked me a lot of questions, like, how long ago was it, how much did he ingest, was there chocolate, etc. It happened while I was at class, so I had no idea how long ago and you can only induce vomiting in dogs if it was within 2 hours. After gathering all of my information, they said they would call me back.

TWO HOURS later and the phone finally rings. The boy talked to her, and he is a man, so of course I got like 2% of the details I would have wanted. Nothing against men, but come on guys, even you can admit we would win a question war any day of the week.

Basically, he will be fine. It may take a few days for him to eat (ha! He ate about 11:30 that night after gnawing on my leg.) He would have sugar highs and crashes, which were moderately funny, in a sad sort of way. He would be lethargic and have that glazed look in his eyes that dogs get when they are sick. But, he will be fine. The weird unexpected thing? He wheezed all night. He was so full, his little Short Dog body couldn't breathe. (heart=breaking)

Tonight I made a bowl of popcorn and set it on the coffee table to go to the bathroom. I returned to find a certain dog's nose in it, gnawing away. He didn't get that much, but a part of me just wants to resign and feed him a diet of lard and Twizzler.

Do they accept dogs on The Biggest Loser? Because if they do...he will blame his weight gain on not getting enough belly rubs from his mother. I just know it.

Karate Kid and Dr. Kevorkian

Guess who found Halloween costumes on sale at Target? I will give you one hint, it wasn't me. Short Dog was a much more patient subject.

Not exactly what I expect when I think of a bundle of joy.

I have been sick since Friday and running a fever, therefore the house has been kept at the approximate temperature of the north pole. Short dog has been shivering and cuddling under the covers with me to stay warm. I, of course, love this. The boy and Kobi have quarantined themselves into the guest room where they have a bonfire and matching long underwear.

But, how can you resist this cuteness? Minus, of course, the evil eyes because I am Photoshop challenged.

This product may mean the end of the world.

I am starting this post by saying that no, I am not in fact making this up. I wouldn't know how to make this up. Nor would I want to. This actually happened. You may now either laugh your ass off or pity me. I am OK with either reaction. Or both.

On our way to Louie's, our favorite restaurant, the boy suggests that we get the dogs neuticles. So that they can better cope with not having balls. You have to click on the link now, I know. I will wait.

...

OK. THAT JUST HAPPENED. Let me share a little excerpt with you in case, for some strange reason, you did not click on the link out of morbid curiosity.

Here's How It Works...

Provide us your pets age, weight and breed. We can determine the size Neuticles^® your pet will require based on that information. Select which model you would like and purchase using any major credit card.

Let's discuss a few things here. We will start with the obvious, which I will refrain from typing in all capital letters with 7 million exclamation points.

Who sat in their recliner, thinking, dogs really struggle with being neutered and losing their balls? You know what I should invent? Fake testicle implants so that they can acclimate to their life without balls.

Then they did it.

Then they patented it.

Then people bought it.

AND HAD THEIR DOGS GO THROUGH UNNECESSARY SURGERY TO HAVE FAKE TESTICLES IMPLANTED.

Oopsie. Rage leaked out a little there.

Then they developed different models of the neuticles. Original. Natural. Ultra Plus. And Ultra Plus with Epididymis.

Then...THEN..they sent in letters. That say things like this:

Some of my friends have commended me for being a caring owner who knew the importance of maintaining Bruno's natural look.

YOUR FRIENDS ARE ASSHOLES, DUDE. COMPLETE FUCKING ASSHOLES.

Sorry. Lost a little control.

It is funny when the boy talks about it because he is kidding. And this is ridiculous. And it just reminds me that when I think humanity cannot get worse, I am sorely underestimating them.

I am recruiting an army...an army to find every person who buys neuticles for their pet and punch them in the face. Or neuticles, depending on the gender of the owner. Who is with me?

I am now going to make sure that my vet does NOT perform this surgery.

Cabin Trip

This weekend was the rescheduled cabin trip. The original date we were supposed to go was 4/17 - the day I ended up in the hospital for 5 days. Friday was my last day of spinal rehab and it sort of felt like we had come full circle. The woman credited our cancellation fee for this trip and has been nothing but gracious, even asking how I was when the boy checked in. I was hopeful that this was a good sign of a wonderful weekend. And it was a wonderful weekend. With a few small exceptions.

First of all, the cabin was in her back yard. There is nothing better than a quiet romantic getaway IN SOME ONE'S BACK YARD. It bothered us less than I thought it would, but it was still very odd. This also caused a problem with the dogs, because she had pens of beagles and shit-zu's (I assumed she breeds them) and chickens. We couldn't really trust the dogs to run around and explore because I was afraid they would get into trouble, so we had to keep them on leashes the whole time. Again, it wasn't as big of a deal as I thought it would be, but was still a minor annoyance.

However, there are two things that mean I will never go back. We will start with the water. It smelled like sulfur. We actually had to use bottled water in the dogs bowl because it was making them sick. And the shower? Neither one of us felt like we ever got clean and the water pressure was so crappy that my hair may never be the same. I am not a picky guest...I really am not. But, unless you were born without a sense of smell, I am thinking you should put some kind of filter on the water that is being used by guests who are not used to the water in the region. It was foul. Even washing veggies in it for meals made me nervous.

The worst, though? The bed. Neither one of us slept the entire weekend because if you even looked at the bed, it started creaking so loud the entire world could hear it. It was the most ridiculous thing that has ever happened. Nobody and I mean NOBODY could have slept on this bed. We ended up opening up the futon at about 2 am Sunday morning, and with the bar digging into my back, it was heaven compared to this bed. That bed should be burned, reconstructed from it's own ashes, then burned again.

We had a good time, though. We got to relax and just spend time together. And the boys had a blast smelling all there was to be smelled and peeing on every tree in the forest. The woman fed deer on her property, so there were plenty of deer for them to look at as well. Shorty even developed a little ploy where he would call our attention to dear in the yard, then go eat all the food off of our plates. We fell for it twice before we figured out what he was up to. That dog is a lot of things, mostly evil things, but stupid is not one of them.

Saturday was also my birthday, which we celebrated by drinking champagne in the hot tub and watching some college football. It was perfect and relaxing and despite not sleeping, I feel totally renewed. Although I can still smell that nasty water on my skin, even though I scrubbed myself raw in the shower when I got home.

My camera was possessed by some sort of camera ghost (probably me doing something stupid while I was drunk) so I lost a lot of the pictures, but here are a few that came out well.

This picture is fairly out of focus because I was way zoomed in and did not have a tripod or anything to keep my hand steady, but this was about half the deer that showed up to eat.

This is how close they were - literally, my camera was barely even zoomed in, they were probably about 100 feet away.

The boys stalking the deer, after we figured out the short dog's little ploy. Don't they look weird with collars? I hate the noise, so I never put their collars on, but I figured so far from home, it was stupid not to make them wear them.

All the trees behind our cabin were like this - I assume either from last falls wind storms or just to keep the branches away from the cabin. I was obsessed and took about 100 pictures of them...but camera ghost (again, drunk me) deleted them. I literally only had 30 pictures when I got home. So mad!!

Oliver

I was 15, my sister 13, when my mom finally let us get more dogs. We decided on a Shih tzu, Fred, and a Shih Poo, Oliver.

The first time I ever drove in the snow was to take Oliver to the vet. He ate Christmas potpourri and we all thought he was throwing up blood.

He would spend hours in the backyard, trying to catch Voles and Squirrels. The day he caught a squirrel, he pranced around like king of the yard.

When I would go home to visit my mom, she put him to bed with me after she got up. I woke up to him tapping me with his paw until I rubbed his ears, and eventually scratched his belly.

He had so many nicknames. Omis, Odie Burger, The Tank, Deedle-Doo.

5 years ago he was diagnosed with diabetes. Two shots a day and a very serious weight loss plan.

4 days ago his kidneys started to fail. He wouldn't eat or drink. Today my mom decided he was suffering too much and put him down. She called me sobbing, saying he is with Mickey and Charlie in heaven. I hope he finds Willie and Mylo too. Who knew dog deaths came in threes?

We will miss you, sweet boy.

The Boys

July 4th is my dog's birthdays. Both of them were adopted and their age was unknown, so I was allowed to choose. Kobi is probably closer to the beginning of September, and Shorty was too old when I got him to really tell.

My dogs chose me. When I got Kobi, I walked into a filthy adoption center and saw this puppy cowering in the back of the cage. The moment I saw him, I knew he was mine. I spent a few days trying to figure out what to name him and with the help of Krackle, came up with Kobi. He was a horrific puppy who destroyed everything in his sight. At one point, I seriously considered getting rid of him because I wasn't sure I could afford any more damage. Luckily, he mellowed and became the best dog any person could hope for.

When I got Kobi, Krackle and I lived together and she had Kaya, and later, Ally. When Krackle moved out, Kobi got lonely. So, I started looking. I found a dog on petfinder that looked exactly like Kobi, so I decided to check it out. I went to the foster home and it was like this dog was made for me. His name at the time was Hawthorne and he was immediately attached to me. The lady who was fostering him handed me a leash and said call me if you don't want him. He has been mine ever since. The day I found out that I had been approved for his adoption, I took one look at him and said; "He is the short dog!" His name has been Shorty ever since.

I watched Marley and Me tonight. I don't know why. I have been avoiding this movie since it was released because I knew how it ended and I knew I would be a mess. But, the boy was at a concert and I was avoiding all responsibility, so I ordered the movie. And I laughed. And I cried. And I cuddled with my dogs and I thought about how they have changed my life. I thought about how each of them represents a time in my life where I needed them. How they found me and

how I needed them more than I ever knew possible.

Happy Birthday, boys. Mommy loves you.

Pardon Me

Today was a weird day. It was one of those days where you wake up and think you are going to have a horrible day...and then it's not so bad. But, you feel like you are walking 2 steps to the left of everyone else. I will tell you about two of the things, because, seriously, there were about 12. One of which included a long conversation with a coworker I barely know about who does and does not smoke pot at work.

The day began with me almost getting run off the road. I was trying to merge onto the highway and a semi-truck started to come over into my lane. So, I honked my horn. The problem is that my horn is a complete pussy. Instead of "get the fuck out of my lane" it sounds like "pardon me sir, if it does not inconvenience you in anyway, would you mind not running me over and killing me?" And then you get run over and killed. Lucky for me, the person behind me realized my horn had the shock power of a teddy bear, so they honked, alerting the truck to the fact that it was about to kill me. OK, maybe not kill me...but at least run me off the road and risk the possibility of a flat tire. The horror.

A lot of weird shit happened in between.

I get home, after going to happy hour with some co-workers (and having the pot conversation), and there is this huge dog drama in the middle of my street. There was a guy with a doberman, a guy with a bull mastiff, and a girl with a golden lab. They were staged like this:

So, I can't get by because they are in the middle of the road and they all are glaring at each other. I assumed there was some sort of dog fight prior to my arrival. They finally move off to the side of the road, I drive by, and get out of my car. Then, I see Doberman dude go ape shit on his dog. He threw him to the ground and the dog started barking and snapping at him. (Duh! I would have too.) He has this dog pinned to the ground on his back and is repeatedly hitting it with it's leash and yelling "no." I froze. I just stood there astounded that this was happening in front of me. By the time I had regained my composure, he was walking away. If I knew where this prick lived, I would have called the police.

Instead, I went inside, gave both of my dogs a big hug and a rawhide. People are ass holes.

Also - my paint skills are fucking awesome. I should win awards for that shit.

And this post was kind of random. Just like my day. I felt it was appropriate.