FoodLady Chronicles – Dear all mah doggies edition:
Dear Dobby, you are annoyingly confident at home. Yes, annoyingly. Yet, the real world causes you great trepidation. Could you pretty please add both sides of your personality and divide by two? Also, continue being adorable – it has kept me from killing you.
Dear Humphrey, duuuuuuude. You have turned into like 89% of a great dog. I LOVE how much you LOVE people and how you get all serene and happy when a baby is pulling on your ears and face; seriously, all of that is wonderful. Less wonderful is that you have now decided that the generator noise is super scary and now, after well over a month of intermittent generator use, you refuse to go outside to the poopin’ yard to, well, “go” if one is running. Instead, you leave toilet clogging (literally) presents directly in front of the OPEN door often with an adjacent liquid surprise. I will continue taking you out separately until fence is built, because…..love.
Dear SamSam, please continue being awesome. You have just turned 5 and have entered the glorious age of no-longer-an-asshole. You deserve all the belly rubs and tennis balls.
Dear Ziesa, you are the baby. I know other people see a big strong dog, but to me you just look like a itty bitty wittle princess. I truly believe you are the soul of a teacup purse dog trapped in a 60lb boxerbull body. Continue being adorable and weird.
FoodLady Chronicles – Dammit Dobby Edition:
I gave him a plastic toy which he was gleefully destroying while I wrote work emails. I could hear the happy chewy plastic noises, it didn’t even occur to me he had moved onto the next item. My item. My Bluetooth ear buds that I use to listen to audiobooks while I fall asleep, or as I call them: my nubbins.
Rest In Peace right nubbin and most of charging case, you were loved.
*in tune of “off to see the wizard” begins singing*, “🎶…we’re off to kill the Dobby, the disastrous Dobby of doom…🎶”
[Unlike beloved electronics, no actual Dobby’s were killed or maimed due to, or because of, any topics discussed in this post and any wounding, death, and/or maiming which occur following this post is to be considered completely coincidental and accidental.]
Okay, so…Monday was a mourning dove (pigeon) and Wednesday was a starling (I think?). Why. Are. Birds. Coming. Into. My. House?! Note: no animals were harmed during these bird intrusion and release events. Although my beloved idiot dogs now keep wandering around staring at the ceiling hoping against hope that another bird will begin flapping excitedly.
Dude. I understand that it’s raining and that your 100lb butt is truly a delicate flower whose main skill appears to be slurping humans when we least expect it, but did you have to poop right in front of the open door? Also, what possible canine joy could have come from managing to land that chihuahua-sized log perfectly centered on the extension cord?
I think I might hate you.
FoodLady Chronicles – nope/no/nuh-uh edition.
I hear you. Please leave.
Just trying to do some work emails here. I do not have time for this.
Dear pigeon/mourning dove, only death for you lives here. This is not your place. Please fly right back out that door.
*walking into bedroom*
Goddammit, get off my bed.
Why. Why is this happening?
*chases it outside*
Edited to Update: stupid bird came back.
I had chased it outside earlier, but apparently it decided to embrace it’s inner jerk and come back? This time we did a capture & release.
1. I will *never* complain about going to my local post office ever again. When your local post office gets squished you end up really missing the convenience.
2. I have never missed anything as much as I miss my fence and gate. I have no refrigeration, only intermittent running water OR electricity (using a baby 2000W generator); turns out I would trade a LOT to be able to play fetch with the dogs in the yard.
3. Puppies are awesome n stuff, but life is easier with dogs over 5 years old.
4. Guilt is a really useless emotion. Everyone has something that is better than our current sub-par life. Whether that be a really good generator, working washing machine, inexplicably good cell phone service, a close-able fence/gate, a working vehicle, a refrigerator, a job, the ability to cut grass…..whatever, everyone has something that keeps them going. What this knowledge has taught me is to really enjoy your personal little “luxuries,” share what you can, don’t feel guilty about whatever you *do* have.
5. Before now, I thought I had experienced every form of tired that existed; I was wrong. In my life I have been physically tired, mentally tired, emotionally wrung out, grief-exhausted, and post-adrenalin crash tired; this has been none of those. This is a different level of weariness altogether.
6. I find I have to take everything one little step at a time just to keep from feeling overwhelmed and wanting to give up.
7. Everyone is going to have at least one rather embarrassing hilarious moment of frustrated rage over something incredibly inane. My moment occurred a few days ago when I tried to put on my new expensive sports bra I bought pre-hurricanes to use at an exercise class I had started attending. My rant went something like, “damn Maria diet made this damn bra too big! Dammit! Why!!!!!!?” as I flopped dramatically on the bed. [Please do not say how great it is to lose weight no matter how it happens; there is a vast difference between losing weight while becoming healthier and stronger vs. losing weight due to stress or illness.]
8. While hand washing clothes like it’s frakking 1845 is fine, how in the ever-loving-hell do you get dog hair out of your clothes without a dryer?!
I’m sure there’s more, but that’s all for now.
World, meet Zippy; Zippy, meet world. For no good reason, I am remarkably invested in Zippy’s health and well-being and have brought him bugs because his tail is skinnier than I would like. Yes, I know this is weird. ❤❤❤
Me: *on toilet*
Dogs: *begin going batshit crazy*
Me: *various loud profanities*
Dogs: *take turns running to me while continuing batshit craziness*
Me: *pull up pants and continue profanities while stomping to find out what the *profanity* the *profanity* problem is.*
Dogs: *end is nighe crazy continues*
Me: “ooooh! Horsie-friend!” *Grab carrots, zip outside.* “Hi, horsie-friend! Wanna carrot? Horsie-friend?! Why you leaving?! Come back!! I have carrots! Awwww!” *sadly flashes back to every kitty I have ever chased around while channeling my inner Elmira and walk back to the house*
Dogs: *chest-bumping and high-pawing each other* “Did you see our FoodLady?!! She scared the cologne/snack right outta that horsie-interloper!”
Me: …..and my day has begun.
This is Dobby, he is an unquestionable pain-in-the-ass. What’s interesting is that him being the destroyer of all things and a rampant pain is what will save my life.
Putting aside the whole diabetes blood sugar ups and downs thing for which his scent training has paused while we recover from the hurricane; I get depressed. Yes, it is normal to be upset following a hurricane, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the kind of depression that makes it hard for me to get out of bed. I’m appropriately medicated, but that fun little vacation we took to Washington that lasted three times longer than it was planned for did *not* help with the stabilization of the feels.
So, if I lie here and try to rest (aka-forget the world in sleep) having a 50lb pibble vibrating with energy next to the bed ready to find that next adventure keeps me going.
So, given that he has been farting up a storm next to me it appears to be time to go for a potty break…or at least find a gas mask.
There he is, keeping me going again….*grin*
Ziesa stood half-on the couch and half-off for about 3 minutes (first photo) and when I finally said her name she gave me some glorious side-eye that clearly stated, “don’t judge me lady!” or something else not as nice. (second photo).