Good morning! The poor emaciated little dog found on Friday, February 23, 2018 (currently named Honey) wagged her tail for the first time on Monday morning when her savior (Eby) came in. In all honesty, none of us were sure she would make it through the night on Saturday – once an animal becomes that emaciated it is not so easy to bring them back. After Honey’s body began settling down (classy way of saying after she stopped exploding from both ends due to stress, food, medications, etc.) she began healing and was finally able to have a bath Monday afternoon. During my visit on Monday I took her outside where she used the facilities (like a LADY!) and boy howdy did she use her sniffer. These are great signs of recovery. In fact, she followed her sniffer right on into the kitty room and stomped right past all the kitties to find the closest bowl of kitty food (she was sad she couldn’t get to it). While it’s too soon to say she will be “cat-friendly,” it is not too soon to say any prey-drive she may have does not appear to include cats. However, she does appear to be excellent at hunting any open cat food.

I’ve been visiting her daily and she is slowly improving. Here are photos from Monday, February 26, 2018.

So, other people find adorable puppies and kittens.
That is not my skill. My skill is that I find the broken, the starved, the diseased, and the stinky.
I found this starving little lady on my way home today. People often make fun of me for always having rope and dog treats with me, but this is why.
She is an intact female about 3 years old I found foraging for food in trash. Starved and wary, but sweet. Ticks and fleas and worms and all sorts of other (blegh) joy – which is why she is at the vets for a couple days while I try to find her a home.

Nothing quite like a 90lb Humphrey-dog running inside after completing his morning constitutional and dropping his booty on the ground and scooting. Ah, the booty scoot. Is it a recalcitrant turd? parasites? a piece of grass or string? The canid can be a stunningly strong and regal creature, however ain’t none of that happening during a scoot. It just looks embarrassing and awkward to do, hell it feels embarrassing and awkward just to see it.

Poor Humphalumph, he has an irritated booty-hole. So, I spent my morning cleaning his asshole affected area with baby wipes and then treated it with a 2% chlorhexidine ointment…..which is bright blue.

So now poor Humphrey looks like he ate too many Smurfs and is having issues digesting them.

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.

Love, FoodLady.

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.

Dear Humphrey,

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.

Love,

FoodLady.

FoodLady Chronicles – nope/no/nuh-uh edition.
No.

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*

Dude.

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.

Dear MouseRat, you are an Asshole.

No, seriously….you are.

You are *not* a lizard or a bird, you have a sphincter and therefore I know that MouseRat turd left in the middle. of. my. bed. was an act of war. Just one turd. Dead center. Asshole.

I will find you and I will kill you.

Unless you want to go live outside and never come back in, in which case… bygones.

But, other than that, death to you and any of your comrades!!!