FoodLady Chronicles – it’s 1am, do you know why StolenDog is barking edition:

Dear Ms. Scrawnypants StolenDog, you’re killing me. First, the good news – you’re looking great better! Your fur is shiny and you have gained some weight. In fact, your progress in just one week has been impressive. We segregated you with access to outside to limit the amount of mopping and sanitizing I have to do and while I’m sure that you think you feel great and strong and that you must stand in the front yard happily barking and howlingly whooping it up along with the other neighborhood doggies, here’s what happens in the bedroom; you wake up the idiot pain in the ass noisy son of a female dog special dog (Sam) who has never had a single day of discomfort in his entire life and quite literally kept the entire house awake last week singing the song of his abuse (high pitched keening) because, GASP!, someone put a laundry basket in front of his food bowl and he no longer had access to his kibble for two HOURS! I know, the horror, right? Anywhoodle, when you go all barky-bark-bark, Sam snorts himself awake from his upside-down-neck-breaking-looking position and starts “helping”. Loudly.  So
pretty-pretty-girl, pretty please shaddup? Kthanksluvyoushutup! Love, FoodLady.

So now that the FoodLady world has been rearranged and Ms. StolenDog is closed in the house and the brindles (Herbert & Sam) are again asleep, I’m going to try this sleeping thing again myself–I hear it’s keen. -smooches!

She really is looking better! ❤

FoodLady Chronicles – Fuck-it, I stole a dog Edition:
So the home of FoodLady is now down $175 due to an incredibly stressful visit to the vet with NotMyDog. NotMyDog is a sweet dog that Herbert (my dog) has known since he was a wee widdle Werbert of epic cuteness. NotMyDog has had a rough life…in her short 3 years she has survived parvo, a stray dog attack, and worst of all – passive neglect. As long as she had food and water and looked healthy I didn’t feel I could step in but now, now she looks like hell. I could count her vertebrae and every rib. The other two dogs with her looked fine and I knew food was available but she was dying and I couldn’t take it anymore. She has always been a wiley little thing and in the past I could never coax her into my car even with food but today was different. With absolutely no coaxing she hopped right in and curled up into a little ball. I held her flea and tick infested body on the way to the vet and at the vet I had to hold her down and muzzle her to get blood and give shots. Diagnosis was heartworms, bowel infection, and starvation due to said bowel infection but with proper care and a whole bunch of meds to be given over the next couple of weeks her prognosis is good. She is segregated from the healthy pups with a comfy spot, food & water and is sleeping hard night now. Poor NotMyDog…I hope you feel better soon. 

FoodLady Chronicles – the gate ain’t done yet edition:
In the ongoing FoodLady Chronicles of “this is why we can’t have nice things,” great effort, cost, and all of my favoritist tools (bashkins included) were employed in the ongoing drama of “Gate Maintenance.”  Many a moon ago we put in a second latch on the chain link gate…you know, them steel U shaped thingies? … We put the second one down at the bottom and made it more secure.  This flummoxed the brindled bastards for a while, but a few days ago the tension wire either snapped or was gnawed through by the wee-est brindle bastard (Sam).  Following that, the evil pair of them realized the gate was made of mere steel (bwa-ha-ha) and could be defeated with a push and then they could go visit their favoritist stray friends in the bush. 
Well.  Frak. 
But rejoice! We are humans! we have ingenuity! we have a credit card! We even have a home depot within driving distance.  Take some pressure treated lumber, some decking screws, some heavy duty gate latches, a really expensive wheel and (obviously) some string and that damn gate is HEAVY SECURE. It is SO damn heavy secure the it barely opens.  Tonight, while playing the requisite hour(s) of fetch I accidentally bounced the stupid ball out of the yard. So, I *heaved* that sumbitch heavy secure gate open just a little and squeezed out to grab the ball.  Right in the middle of my re-entry gate *heave*, Sam, the wee-est brindle bastard, made a break for it and ran in circles with excited ‘I’m peeing on different grass’ glee.  I sighed deeply and grabbed the squeaker Emergency Dog Recall Device.  (See, there was a toy with a decent honky squeaker and when the toy was dead I pulled that plastic squeaker thing out and it made a great dog-caller.) He came running back because these buggers just cannot resist prey squeakers the Emergency Dog Recall Device. I re-*heaved* that heavy sumbitch secure gate open a crack and Sam stuck his head in and I swear, looked at Herbert in a way that said, “dude, we can DO it, come on!” and before I could close that ridiculously heavy impressively secure gate, those little freedom loving bastards scampered right into the bush. 
So, joy of all joys, I spent 10 minutes on the road next to the bush squeaking utilizing the disembodied squeaker Emergency Dog Recall Device looking (more) like a crazy lady than I would like, going *squeaky squeaky* “come on boys,” *squeaky squeaky* “leave the disgusting hotbed of smells and strays and come and play a game of fetch.” *squeaky squeaky* Midway through this noble display of animal husbandry I suffered a catastrophic failure of the squeaker Emergency Recall Device and the little plastic part that is responsible for the squeaking detached from the accordion bit and landed on the ground.  Well, damn.  I grabbed that piece, brushed it off a little, put it my mouth (judge me, I do) and embraced my New & Improved Travel-sized Emergency Recall Device–Now Twice As Annoying Effective! I honked my way to success and *heaved* everyone back through the incredibly heavy impressively secure gate. 
I think we have some more work to do on the gate this weekend. 

FoodLady Chronicles – Cheese Pie Edition: Here’s a wee bit of backstory, Herbert (dog) is just not very food motivated. He sort of flips his lid for WhippyCream (literally, whipped cream. almost everything in my house gets a weird nickname) but most of the time the amount of crap he gives about food is minimal. Cut to a couple days ago and me making a new recipe which I completely stole from a website and altered the ingredients to fit what I had and naming it Cheese Pie. And people? Cheese Pie is YUMMY. Of course it is yummy, it is basically a pie made of cheese with some spinach thrown in to make you feel like less of a “just ate a pie made of cheese”-type person. What I didn’t expect while enjoying some delicious cheese pie was a Herbert staring at me longingly, silently begging for some cheese pie (I cave easily) and after giving him some getting to hear, “please sir….some more?!” in dog language. Also, he has turned into a VERY GOOD cheese pie alert-er. If anyone needs any help in finding their lost cheese pie; I can help you.

*sticks nose in bag, points foot*, “did you know there is cheese pie in there?”

Yes….yes I did. That’s my lunch, jackass.

“do you need me to eat that cheese pie for you? cause, I found it. it’s right here in this here bag….I can help you with that cheese pie if you need me to?”

*sigh*

twenty minutes later…..

*sticks nose in bag, points foot*, “did you know there is cheese pie in there?”

dude. seriously?

 Love ya, FoodLady

FoodLady Chronicles – you are freaking killing me Edition:

Dearest Herbert (dog), you are freaking killing me. It was bad enough a week ago when we were in class and you started snoring loudly enough to cause the lovely lady across the table from me to crack up which in turn caused me to chortle-snort getting me in trouble (again) from the teacher (to be completely fair, that teacher is an ass and I don’t really mind being in trouble–but still). You are in fine form this morning and the super deep breathing, lip-flapping snore you are rocking from beneath my desk is not encouraging me to be zippy and alert. In fact, it makes me want to find a pile of blankets and puppy-pile until we are all happily snoring. Please cease being adorable and cuddly and resume your excited pokey-ness immediately. Thank you!

Love, FoodLady.

FoodLady Chronicles –  I’m Sorry You’re Stinky Edition:
Dear Life (dog), Herbert (dog), and Sam (dog), I’m sorry that I gooped you with the stinky stinky pesticides.  I know they smell super strong and make you feel icky, I promise they are for your own good. Herbert & Sam, I understand your initial instinct to run outside and roll in the dirt and Sam,  you are completely forgiven as after the initial “I’m so stinky” crazies wore off you fell asleep on the floor.  Herbert, you’re an asshole and while you are not forgiven, I do admire your aptitude for vengence. Following the initial roll in the dirt you waited until I was in the bathroom before performing the “I’m so stinky” crazy rolls in. my. bed. pillows.  And these weren’t just the normal “I’m so stinky” crazies,  these were the “New and Improved– Complete with MUD!” stinky crazies with the optional willy nilly flinging pillows included. 
You win this round, Mr. Herbert…..sigh.

FoodLady Chronicles–Herbert’s Birthday Edition: Today the wee widdle Werbert turns 3-years-old. Kind of hard to believe, isn’t it?
This was the very first picture I ever saw of a Herbert (thank you again Chelsie!) This dog has seen me through hell and back a couple times over the last 3 years–he has proven smarter & more trainable than I deserve. 🙂
Love, FoodLady.

Dear Life (the dog, not the concept),
that whole debacle was a bit much. You are 100lbs of the most delicate princess I have ever seen. I found a tick which meant it was TIME FOR EVERYONE’S PESTICIDES. Herbert (dog) & Sam (dog) received their stinky neck goop with only a wee bit of fuss. However, when it was your turn, I looked up to see your fuzzy butt quickly sashaying out the door.  I grabbed your dose and hobble-hopped out the door behind you without shoes and without….well….pants. I proclaimed loudly that, “I WASN’T GOING TO CHASE YOU ALL OVER THE YARD IN MY UNDERWEAR!” and, “YOU HAVE HIP DYSPLASIA; THIS SHOULDN’T BE SO DAMN HARD!” (dear reader, this was a lie–I was chasing her all over the yard in my underwear AND it was WAY harder than it should have been). FoodDude came out (wearing both pants AND shoes, like that’s normal?) and proclaiming his shod feet were more appropriate for following your fuzzy butt under the flamboyant tree. You almost convinced him that the stinky neck goop was, in fact, a violation of the Geneva Convention by digging a small hole and burying your face in it (despite all evidence to the contrary Life is certain that if she can’t see us, we can’t see her) but despite your woeful demeaner I managed to convince him that you needed the stinky neck goop to keep you healthy! So, I am sorry you had to have stinky neck goop put on you despite your extreme overemotional display and your magical invisibility spell, but perhaps you could dial down the drama a wee bit? Love, FoodLady.

Dear Gerald (aka Kit-Kat; aka Kit-Ten; aka Puddin-Pop; and aka The Great Pokey), please? please can I pee (aka urinate) in peace? I don’t exactly know when (or why) the practice of you leaping onto my shoulders at the exact moment my butt hits the toilet seat started,  but it’s getting annoying in that mostly annoying but just cute enough that I don’t kill you way–please stop. You don’t sit on my shoulders any other time or place, and no–using me as a step-down from the top of the refrigerator doesn’t count.
Thanks again!
Love,
FoodLady

Thanks again!
Love,
FoodLady

FoodLady Chronicles – well, that just happened edition: *sigh* I was kind of excited because the next FoodLady Chronicles was going to be an adorable soliloquy about the kitten being back in the drawer and how dang cute (and mildly creepy) it was…and there were going to be pictures! But this morning wasn’t cute….it was gross (so no pictures–you’re welcome). I was reading my camera’s manual because….well, I’m a nerd, shut up. So Sam-puppy crawls in front of my book and tries to take my glasses (no Sam, not for you), then he attempts to yoink the antihistamine bottle (no Sam, not for you). He looks around and I giggle saying, “sorry buddy….nothing here is for you.” His response? Projectile vomit onto my camera manual, my arm, and the bed. There was no warning, there was none of the heaving…..it was just open mouth and spray. It was mostly water with one lone piece of green grass floating in it but ugh! yuck. Good morning to you too, ya ass! Your disagreement has been noted. Have a non-vomit day y’all, love FoodLady.