​So today my left foot got nailed by a centipede. I didn’t see it, but based on the pain it caused I’m assuming it was about 10 feet long and infected with some form of zombie or vampire virus because holyowowfuckityow. 

Or perhaps I’m just a wuss…..all things are possible. All I know is ice = good and heat = bad. 

While my left foot is working towards frostbite (kidding, I know to remove the ice once the skin turns blackish purple! I’ve watched ice road truckers! 🙂 ), I am being entertained by a pretty little clown named Piper (aka “weird stinky” (don’t ask, we also have “biggest stinky”, “brindle stinky”, and “littlest stinky” who is no longer the littlest. smh)) as she fights with one of the recurring villains at FoodLady’s house known as Evil Knotted Rag! 

Love,

FoodLady

​Dear (dumbass) Rooster, I am very sorry for the stress and trauma that you underwent in my yard at 07:08 this morning. You are apparently new to the area and the other chickens did not inform you of the only important safety guideline for prey animals enjoying FoodLady’s front yard: If the door opens – RUN/HOP/FLY OVER THE FENCE. 

Okay, I mean maybe you got the first three words of the safety guideline because you sure as hell did all of those but you forgot the most important part – over the fence. 

Thankfully(?), the really fast one (Humphrey) has minimal teeth and when he caught you (the first time) you lost some feathers, some dignity (see next apology) and you gained quite a bit of drool – I’m sorry about all of that. I would also like to apologize for the “little” dog aka Ziesa. Please understand that you running around the yard was probably the most exciting thing that has ever happened to her in her 8 months of life. Because you were pretty busy running for your life and all, you may not have noticed she is not as fast as the other dogs. I believe this may be affecting her self confidence. However, that does not give her the right to bounce up and down on you with her front feet while Humphrey holds you down – it was just rude. “Roosters Are Not Trampolines” shall be a discussion we have later today. 

Lastly, I’m sorry that, after Humphrey caught you (the second time) that I had to pick you up and toss you (gently) over the fence, I promise it came from my concern for your safety. I am very sorry that you were treated as a trampoline, are covered with dog drool, and that you lost some feathers. I can sympathize greatly with the first two (both happens to me a lot), but I cannot imagine the tragic loss of pretty butt feathers. 

Next time, please remember – Door Opens? Get outside of the fence! 

Love,

FoodLady

​FoodLady Chronicles: What Ziesa Is Made Of Edition: 

Okay, so I have Ziesa’s genetic report back and I officially know of what breeds she is supposedly composed. But before I give you the official answers it is important to note that we stand by the fact that she is truly composed of grunt, thud, stomp, sloth, and a soupçon of Jaba the Hutt; or as we call her, “The Huttlet”. 

Miss Ziesa is 85% American Staffordshire Terrier and 15% Boxer. How in the hell two incredibly high energy dog breeds created the slacktastick wünderpup that is a Ziesa I do not know, unless it’s like math where a negative times a negative equals a positive [-1 × -1 = 1]?

​Dear human who lives sort of near me who drives that redish vehicle that looks like the ugly offspring of a car & suv: maybe if you spent less time nastily screeching out the window of said car at the Humprey-dog to “Shut Up!” and paid more attention to *what* he was barking at, then you wouldn’t have to slam to a stop to avoid hitting the freaking LOOSE HORSES. jerk.

Poor Humphrey, he just *really* wanted to get to the source of that horse poop; remember it works as a cologne AND a snack. 😩blegh😩

Love, FoodLady 

Medical insurance companies can be a challenge to navigate at the best of times, however yesterday the insurance pharmacy made me grin and laugh out loud. If you recall from my last post, the dogs destroyed my (new) 90 day supply of two maintenance medications (yes, dogs are just fine; they wanted the chewy chewy plastic, not the ucky meds): the tablets were mostly okay, but the gelcaps were drool-melted into “an gelcap”. Blegch.
So, called the insurance pharmacy and after awkwardly trying to explain the situation the nice lady asked, “can I get your policy or social security number?” Uh, whoops!? First things first I guess (so. awkward.). Got logged into the system and then explained the story a little more slowly. The nice lady expressed concern over the dogs’ health (which I hopefully alleviated), and then said she had to call the benefits office and see if they covered a “situation like this.” I rocked out to some impressively bad elevator music for about 30 minutes and when the nice lady came back on the line her voice sounded happily smug. She explained that my policy covers “theft” and that she got them to agree that the dogs had, in fact, stolen the medications.
*slow, impressed clapping*
Well played, nice insurance pharmacy lady, well played.
Meanwhile, life at FoodLady’s Home for Wayward Canines continues on as normal. ❤

FoodLady Chronicles – Humphrey’s Gifts:
Dear Humphrey, you beloved asshole, I welcomed you into our home because, dude, your previous life was shit. You didn’t really realize your life was shit because you have a giant heart and people are your favorite things EVER! But you were chained for the first 3-4 years of your life and until you were lucky enough to get new neighbors who couldn’t handle the deplorable conditions you were kept in, you played with the only thing you had, your chain. Sadly, chewing on a tow chain for almost 3 years completely destroyed many of your teeth and as soon as we can afford it (have Herbert’s vet bill 75% payed; down to less than $1000 now!) we will have all of those broken teeth removed. They have to be painful, but your heart is so big–you don’t show it. Speaking of your sweet heart, yours is full of worms. We are treating that and have been since you arrived and it’s going pretty well. You are also, unfortunately, a cat-hunter and that SUCKS. I hate it and I was really hoping to train that out of you, but it is not going well – your brain has been conditioned that cats are food and I’m currently using segregation methods to keep everyone safe (kittens safe from you; you safe from me if you were to hurt the kittens). I accept all of these things about you and am doing my damndest to make your life awesome, but this morning I’m not going to lie – I was a little shocked. If you had showed up with a German Shepherd-like coat I would have been prepared, but not with your thin short coat. This morning you began what dog people call, “blowing your coat”. Yep, you are losing the thinner, softer, insulating (?!) fur and it is just freaking weird (to me) on a short-haired dog.
In conclusion: Humphrey, you big clutzy galumphy ball chasing broken-toothed heartwormy cat-hunting no-personal-space-giving extra-fuzzy-shedding expensive sonofabitch, you are loved.

Last night’s bed thieves!

Just cleaned up poop in the back yard that was literally two perfectly round balls the size of softballs.
*blinks confusedly*
So, we either have dung beetles or Humphrey can crap like a Clydesdale; I don’t know which option is less disturbing.

So….this isn’t a rant, or hell–maybe it is, I don’t know. But what I definitely want to make clear before I…whine? complain? is that I don’t mean to diminish or claim to know/understand other people’s grief in regards to their losses. okay, got it? good.

The next person who says to me that they understand and it’s hard losing a pet may actually get head-butted.

I know, I know….this may actually make me a bad person, right?
Yes, losing a pet is horrible. I have lost quite a few and it’s never ever been, “phew! glad that bastards gone!”  The loss of a service dog, especially one so many years before he should have needed retirement, has been the worst thing I have ever felt in my life. I don’t know if it has been so horrible because I trained him and put so much into working with him every day, or if it is because I feel like I lost a part of myself because he was ALWAYS with me, or maybe because I had to fight so damn hard to get people, businesses, and my employer to accept that he was integral to my health; but I suspect it’s all of that combined with him having been a pretty damn spectacular dog.
All in all, I’m doing okay. I do better when I’m busy or distracted, when it’s quiet I tend to lose it a little.
I feel a little lost….a little sad….
I assume it will get better day by day; but right now it hurts.