FoodLady Chronicles – Choot ’em! edition: Allow me to update y’all. 1) We have been watching a disturbing amount of Swamp People in this house, I cannot recommend this show about alligator hunting in the bayous as good television, but one of the show’s catch phrases is “Choot ’em!” which, inexplicably, is never not funny. 2) Yesterday morning a good friend contacted me about a serious problem she was having with her 6 month old puppy and I had her bring him over, so we have a short-legged border at the moment who looks A LOT like Herbert if you were to cut Herbert’s legs off at the knees. 3) I explained to Darrin (bf) that dogs are crepuscular (most active at dawn & dusk) and that has jokingly turned into our dogs being “crappy-tuscular,” etc.
So, now that you’ve been updated on the goings-on ’round here my story should, if not make sense, at least be more understandable. This morning at approximately 5am I awoke to the fingers on my left hand being delicately nibbled. My left arm was hanging off the bed and I jerked it back onto the bed. Unsurprisingly, a short-legged little swamp-monster full of teeth and tongue followed (after a running start cause, ya know, wee widdle wegs) and I woke up Darrin by giggling out, “Gator In The Boat! We have a gator. in. the. boat!” Without missing a beat and with his face still pressed into a pillow he cried, “Choot ‘im!! Choot ‘im!!” and much dorky laughter was had by all while fending off a short-legged-crappy-tuscular-extra-toothy-floppy-tongued-swamp-monster!
Good Morning!

FoodLady Chronicles – Life IS a bitch OR the story of the fifty-dollar-ball: So, FoodLady confession time – I spent $50.00 on a ball. It is sightly larger than a basketball but much harder (as in don’t kick it because OwOwFuckityOw!). I bought this product because it is 100% guaranteed to be Herbert-proof. I know, I didn’t believe it was possible as he has the ability to destroy ALL OF THE BALLS: tennis balls – 30 seconds; basketballs – 2 minutes; golf balls – 4 minutes. So, after historically spending a fortune on balls to destroy (or to replace the little neighbor kid’s basketball) I figured this fancy indestructible ball was worth a try. When it arrived in the mail a few days ago I was excited and introduced the ball into the Herbert enclosure (yes, i put the damn ball in the damn yard – other way sounded fancy though, huh?) and it was awesome….he pushed it around, tried to but couldn’t bite into it so he grumbled, growled, and wrestled with the fifty-dollar-ball and much fun was had by all. Then a weird thing happened, the old lady dog (Life) appeared to decide that the bright orange fifty-dollar-ball was the ball she had been waiting for her ENTIRE life and that it is now TimeToPlay! She came toddering towards us and began to push, roll, and play! The pretty pretty princess came out of her playtirement and much more fun was had by all! Now here we are a few days later and Herbert was playing with the fifty-dollar-ball when Life decided to get in on some of that there ball action and with a spectacular display of bitchy MyBall!OnlyMe-edness, Life turned on Herbert and pinned his surprised-as-hell whipper-snapper butt to the ground. FoodLady’s VoiceOfDoom broke up the scuffle but now Herbert is convinced the ball belongs only to BigTeethGirlDog and he is not supposed to touch BigTeethGirlDog’s ball under penalty of death by really BIG teeth. *sigh*
But, for your viewing pleasure please enjoy Life playing with her fifty-dollar-ball: http://youtu.be/NMl9abJguzU

FoodLady Chronicles – the old man at the beach edition: I don’t know what in the hell possessed me but the other day during a quick sunset swim I decided on a whim to grab the blindish, deafish, grumpy-ass OLD man to come along. I was probably feeling all guilty and sentimental due to that picture of the hippie and his arthritic old dog in the water, you know the one….it’s as bad as that damn Folger commercial when Peter comes home *sniffle*. Anyway, Teak (doodle) was always good swimmer and I thought we could be reminiscent of all the good times he had (eating toast & peeing on things) in his youth as we watched the sun set into the Caribbean sea while I cradled him. Yeah, my life doesn’t often turn out the way I intend; I did cradle him in my arms for a bit but in all reality he had more of an “are you SMURFINGing kidding me with this SMURF” mentality rather than my anticipated hippielovesnuggle. I let him go and he steered his majestic girth to the sand looking incredibly irritated. I swam out a’ways and when I dragged my butt back on shore I noticed that OLD bastard had found an eldery couple and he was following them down the beach, “these are my people now….I bet they will feed me toast EVERY SINGLE DAY! Hey new FoodPeople, did ya know I was abused? I think that means I get extra toast, right?” That old bastard was straight up LEAVING. And because his old butt is deaf AND blindish I had to jog after them and tap him on butt to remind him I existed and he had home.
I swear to you that the old dog watched longingly as the old couple, after “oohing & aww-ing” over the “sweet old man”, kept walking down the beach. I think he found a pair of marks and was sad to lose out on a potential toast providers….

FoodLady Chronicles – it’s going to kill us edition: I’m thrilled to have another human living in my house for many reasons, not the least of which is the proof that I’m not completely off my rocker and my animals are incredibly weird. (Aside: I’m also incredibly thankful that the boyfriend is so forgiving of Herbert’s freakish ability to whack him in ‘nads at any given opportunity) Tonight, as we sat on the couch watching bad television, we heard…..something. Then, with only seconds of scratchy warning, a creepy lump beneath the couch cover crawls up from behind the couch and comes straight at us! Creepy Gertrude Of Doom – Tremors Edition!
It eventually caused much laughter, but she may kill us soon if we don’t open a can of food immediately.

FoodLady Chronicles- FYI edition: remember that game you played as a kid that was super annoying where you put your finger right in front of your victim’s face and say, “I’m not touching you….”? Yeah turns out cats (especially Gertrude) really do not like that game and OW!
Next time on FoodLady Chronicles….how to stop bleeding and important bandaging techniques.

FoodLady Chronicles – what’s that smell this time edition: so I’m in my bedroom sanding wood (No, that’s not a euphemism; I’m building a headboard for my bed) and I smell…..something. It’s not a good smell, but it’s also not one of the standard bad smells I’m used to around here (including but not limited to any sort of equine waste, any form of decaying prey, and on one memorable occasion a disturbing aroma given off by pieces-parts of a recently murdered chicken). So, given I spent way more money than I could afford (food is for the weak!) at the vet paying for Teak’s (old dog’s) buttular issues and a special kind of wormer and flea & tick meds for all the beasties I assumed someone’s belly was upset and I grabbed the closest canine and dragged my pretty pretty princess Life off for her toilette. The stink did not appear to emanate from her but(t) a’bathing we did go and now she is spiffy clean. So, the old man Teak dog had buttular concerns–had to be him, right? Nope, but he got scrubbed anyway and his old man bones liked the hot water and he fell asleep sorta in my arms and we had a bit of a sentimental moment n stuff….anyway, the only stinker left was Herbert–he had to be the source of that smell!?! I find him playing in the yard so I grab the hose. I had him attacking the spray for a pre-rinse, then suds him up, then more hose-attack until he was rinsed. But during the sudsing….no. darn. smell. So, I turned into the weird(er) FoodLady and tracked down cat 1 (Pratchett), and sniffed him all the while thinking whatthehelliswrongwithmeimsmellingacat and he wasn’t the smell. And in for a penny, in for a pound I grappled with cat 2 (Gertrude) and she also smelled fine (this has happened, I now smell cats. smdh.)
So, I still catch whiffs of whatever the hell that smell that is/was but it is less. Current Theory: I think I just bathed 3 dogs and smelled 2 cats because Teak has some fairly impressive gas.
But we aren’t talking normal flatulence here, we are talking eye-watering, can’t breathe, chemical weapon-type gas.
If I’m asphyxiated in my sleep, please remember me fondly.
Love, FoodLady

FoodLady Chronicles – Valentine’s Day: So…happy VD everyone! This morning I noticed our beloved Teak (aka Doodle) was attempting to ingest himself from his butt forward. This incredibly stubborn dog had begun ripping his hair out while digging at his butt and was looking decidedly moth-eaten and ragged. *sigh* Time to go to the vet…what’s that Life? If Herbert AND Doodle are in the car you will stand in front of the car looking abused and abandoned?! The hell you say!! Okay then, *rearranges dogs* now EVERYONE’s going to the vet! On the way into the vet’s office Teak was kind enough to take a massive dump right before we got inside (Thank you SO much Doodle!). The vet came in to the exam room and wished me a Happy Valentine’s Day. I replied in kind, gave him the bag of poop, and then asked him to stick his fingers in my dog’s butt (impacted anal glands). Worst. Valentine’s. Present. Ever.
Love always, -FoodLady.

FoodLady Chronicles – Cat Fountain Edition: Dear Pratchet (cat), the cat fountain I bought because you and Gertrude would not deign to use the dog water buckets is NOT YOUR BIDET. Please stop sitting in it. It’s creepier and weirder than normal. Other than that, please feel free to continue your regularly scheduled creepy and weird behavior.
Love, FoodLady.

FoodLady Chronicles – Dammit! Edition:
Well, that lasted almost a week. Either there is a magical horsie that jumps over my fence in the middle of the night giving Herbert that cologne/snack he craves or the little bastard found a new exit which he gleefully used at some point in the middle of the night and came home around 4am very proud of his new aroma. Need. More. Rebar. Dammit.