language barrier

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This month 5 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts. 

My “Secret Subject” is:

Pick one person and tell them something you think they need to hear.

It was submitted by: https://Bakinginatornado.com 

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I'm typically the kind of person who says what they think and not necessarily bluntly or no holds barred either. If I think your partner sucks, I'm going to say that. If I think

there's a problem between us that we need to discuss, I'm going to tell you and open the floor for that discussion. And that's true for Facebook friends that ask me for advice, people I see every day acting like a butthead, and people I write in prison. If I think it and the friendship matters to me in some way, I'm going to say it. If I think something is important or somehow valuable, I'm probably going to make a post about it. If I want to talk about how much men being whiny assholes makes me enjoy the He-man remake even more, I'm gonna post that too.

But I also have boundaries on that. It's neither productive or useful to say some things to my mom. It's past the point of being useful to wish I could say something to my dad who died in 2006 and honestly the fractured relationship we had said a lot without words. There's not much left to say because it's been his absence from my life that let me find peace with who he was. The things left unsaid and unresponded to helped me find a way to accept the reality of our lives. I am better for the things left unsaid to him at this point in my life. And I certainly no longer drag out arguments with internet strangers for the sake of being right. If they're open to information, sure. I don't think it's productive or at all valuable to do what so many folks online do--tell someone to Google it. I give resources and information and help them understand with my own words. But a stranger? A stranger in the comments of a news story or public page who is hellbent on fake outrage and moving the goalpost and sealioning? Nah. Not worth my time.

And while there's a part of me that wishes I could gather some younger people around me old granny style and ask them what the fuck and request that they please stop using leftist ideologies as brands and for making monetized "content," I also know that generation grew up at a time when 10 year olds could become internet famous and they have to learn certain lessons the hard way. Nothing I could say will stick without personal experience.

So if I could say anything to anyone I think I'd like the opportunity to talk to my dog and have him understand not just key words but what is actually meant by the whole of my statement. And yes I do refer to him as a person as weird as that is. Just ask my kid who always points out when I call any animal a person in this house like I've lost the plot.

"Mother, that dog is not a person."

"I mean, I know but yes he is.

So here's to Fizz:

I did not realize I needed you til you were here. I had my big goofy buddy dog, but you're my anchor. My velcro. In the year you've been here you've grown into such a loving little guy who actually learned some tricks and how to calm down around feet and that humans won't just hurt you then give you up. But I need you to listen to me.

I have to cut your hair. Have you seen yourself without a haircut? I have pictures if you need them. Your hair wasn't cut when you got here, and honestly you could have been an extra in a star wars film. Your poop gets in it. Your food. Buddy, it's gross. You look like a toupee for Andre the Giant and I imagine that's what a toupee worn by Andre the Giant would have smelled like too.

Your nails? Also have to be cut, bruv. You click clack on the kitchen floor like all 3 Billy Goats Gruff, and it's a little annoying. And it will get painful. I'm not going to hurt you, bud. I've done it every month for a year and a half and here you are still alive.

You get ear infections like they're a new TikTok dance to learn, bro. How? And when you get them you do not help matters by being mad about the medicine and the ear cleaning. Got to do it.

Cats are not for humping. Now I know this doesn't happen very much but you know seeing your pup trying to literally raw dog a neutered cat in the middle of the living room doesn't have to happen *often* to be awkward. I know they're your buds and all that but, uh, buds don't hump. Ok some do but not you and the cats.

Yes you need baths. It's not up for debate, buddy, and while we're at it, I need you to know that you have to go outside even when it's hot. I know you'd rather just hold it because you're not pooping and peeing inside either but that's not healthy. Y'all all have to go outside rain, cold, hot, or even when, gasp, the grass is kinda tall.

Sleeping time is not chewing your ass time. I swear to God if you wake me up 5 times a night rocking the mattress to get a better grip on whatever is itching you like I've put 50 cents in a motel bed, there will be a reckoning. And while we're at it, going that hard on your itches is just going to make you more itchy. It's science.

Alright, buddy, I love you. You're doing good. You're my best bud. But you know let's just keep this in mind for the future. There's some chimkins and tacos in it for you.

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Baking In A Tornado https://www.BakingInATornado.com

Wandering Web Designer https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/blog

What TF Sarah https://crazymamallama.blogspot.com/Part-time Working Hockey Mom https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/

Part-time Working Hockey Mom https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/

The New Addition

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words were: dog, coffee, remote, denim, cotton, and fake

they were submitted by:

https://www.southernbellecharm.com

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It's a bit serendipitous that I got these words with "dog" included. My little family has had some big changes over the past couple months involving dogs.

In early December, our senior lady Georgia, a chiweenie of unspecified age but definitely older than 15, got sick, needed emergency surgery, and never came out of anesthesia. It happened so fast. She was definitely getting older, but we honestly thought we had a few more good years. She had a lot of energy, still bossed Rost, our great dane, around, had herself a full time cat boyfriend, and was absolutely spoiled. So it was unexpected to say the least. And devastating. It didn't help that we lost another dog tragically in August to a random snake bite that I wrote about for one of our challenges last year. 2019 was not at all kind to our family, and the loss of Georgia felt like the nail in the coffin.

The cats were depressed, howling for her night after night. Rost missed her. And our holiday smiles were absolutely fake. It hurt. And it hurt badly. This was our 3rd pet loss in 3 years (my last great dane in early 2017 to old age), and we were feeling it. Anyone with pets will tell you those losses are as hard as any others--sometimes harder--and the grief involved is very real.

We weren't necessarily looking hard to find another dog. We weren't sure we ever wanted another. But I had scoped out some rescue and humane society pages missing the little tapping paws following me around the house. I had come close to going to check out a couple and even emailed for more information, but in the end, it just wasn't the right time or fit. The idea of bringing another dog in so soon was weird. Georgia's shoes could never be filled.

I did ask my mom to keep her ears open for me. She has a much bigger local network than I do. I hide out in the country and pretty much cut off 90% of people I know locally for my own sanity. But she works for the courthouse and my stepdad owns a bait and tackle/gas station/convenience store type thing (what a combo...get a sausage dog and a bag of crickets when you fill up your tank) and has for a long ass time, so they know a lot of folks. I told her we weren't in a hurry to move on, so she didn't have to go asking around, but it still wasn't even two days later that she sent me a message about a little shih tzu that had been surrendered to her vet by its owner who was too sick to take care of it anymore. Chewbacca was his name, and he certainly looked the part.

I debated on it a few days. The kid wasn't sold. A shih tzu didn't really seem like our kind of dog, but he certainly looked so differently from Georgia, and that would help ease the pain of comparisons. A couple more days passed and we found out that someone who was supposed to meet the dog didn't, so we took a chance. The possibility of him coming home with us seemed remote.

But then we met him.

He looks like a little werewolf baby. Long hair with gray, black, and white and sometimes a tinge of brown. He has a little floof of white cotton on his chest and a tail like a feather duster. We brought him home on a week long trial. The first meet with him and Rost went better than expected, but it felt so weird having him here. I wanted to cry but also hug him and never let him go. By the second day though, he acted like he's been here forever, so more or less he cbose us. Even the cats took to him pretty quickly considering he's only been here 3 weeks, and his personality keeps shining out more and more. He plays with us, with Rost. He knows his new name. He weirdly never answered to Chewbacca so we call him Fizz which is short for Fizzgig from the dark crystal. If you know the movie, you know why. Haha. He's trained, never pooped in the house and only had two pee accidents. He's good in his kennel but of course he's already sleeping in the bed all night.

I have my mid morning coffee while he dances around the kitchen grinning with his bottom teeth. He sleeps in the bathroom with the Dane while I shower, and anytime I actually get a chance to sit down, there he is begging to be held like a baby so he can sleep.

Now he just needs a ripped denim jacket that says Teen Wolf. Way better than a letterman jacket. And he'll fully look the part of the household cryptid.

He's certainly no Georgia, but that's kinda the point. There could never be a replacement, so why try? He's got a personality all his own, but one that fits in better than I ever could have imagined, and it's been so little time. I can only see it getting better.

Nothing really takes away the hurt and missing our old lady...but Fizz is certainly making those smiles and laughs genuine as hell, and for that I am so thankful.

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Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

Baking In A Tornado https://www.bakinginatornado.com/2020/02/a-song-raven-and-shrimp-use-your-words.html

Spatulas on Parade https://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/2020/02/middle-aged-slump-feb-uyw.html
Wandering Web Designer https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/blog

Follow Me Home https://followmehome.shellybean.com

On the Border https://dlt-lifeontheranch.blogspot.com/2020/02/the-ransom-of-sally.html

Part-time Working Hockey Mom https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.com/2020/02/use-your-words-thongs-vs-flip-flops.html

Southern Belle Charm https://www.southernbellecharm.com

Sparkly Poetic Weirdo https://sparklyjenn.blogspot.com/

Medicated Musings https://mymedicatedmusings.blogspot.com    

A New Kind of Blue

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are: lively, hop, hands down, give an inch, popular. They were submitted by: http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com

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The day before Trump was inaugurated, I lost one of my furbabies (I wrote about it a little before). I’d had Cap since he was just 3 months old, and, at 10 years, he had lived a long, full life for a great dane, but neither of us was ready to say goodbye. Life had other plans though, and after a short battle with a mysterious illness and a 2 year bout with cancer, he took his last breath here at home getting love until the end. It has been (and still is) a devastating loss. Even with all the pets I still live with, the house felt empty. A dog that large with that huge of a personality makes his place in a home. He was part of the family, 100%.

That hurt really took its toll the way that only grief can, and life sort of lost whatever luster it had left especially with Trump taking over, the insanity of our current government, and other life troubles I dealt with at the same time. I was overwhelmed by everything, but not having Cap here to listen to me bitch about it while he looked up at me with those big browns and begged for “rookies” (Scooby doo speak for cookie) left me shattered and feeling those first tendrils of depression taking hold pulling me into the dark.

And then by a small miracle I happened to look on a swap and shop page on Facebook and found an ad for 10 week old great dane puppies. It wasn’t much of an ad--seriously just a woman without a profile picture commenting that she was posting for friends. She didn’t have any idea of the cost (usually this breed is reeeeallllllly expensive, like way out of my cost of living) or how old they were or any details, but she left the number of the owners, and I took a screenshot of it while I mulled over what to do. I mean, let’s face it, buying a dog versus adopting is irresponsible as it is, and my household needs another dog about like we all need lobotomies, but everyone here was hurting, and every dog deserves a good home no matter whether you pay money or adopt one. I know I am justifying here, but every other animal in this house has been rescued and often nursed back from being extremely sick. Just ask my cats. Also, if you have ever been around a dane or live with one, you know there is really no substitute for the giant lap dog mentality and clumsy goofiness, so I figured I would reach out just to see…there’s no hurt in asking, right?

Two days later I traveled down to their house and brought home our new addition, a blue dane we named Rost. Of course I did.

I don’t think I can put into words how much this not-so-little, lively bag of elbows has lifted our spirits. He isn’t Cap by any means, and that’s okay. It’s not a competition or a popularity contest, and I try my best not to compare them, so in no way has he completely erased the hurt and loss I have felt the last couple months, but there’s a new levity here filled with laughs, floopy lips, and doofy ears.

Part of the therapeutic nature of this whole thing is how much attention the little shit requires. Haha. He is absolutely a handful. With him, you absolutely cannot give an inch. One minute you’re folding clothes and the next he is running out of your room with your favorite plush owl in his jowls. Give two dogs the same chew toy and he will throw a tantrum because he wants both. He also throws tantrums when you disturb his sleep or walk in the kitchen (because he doesn’t like the floor and won’t follow you), when you pay attention to anything but him, and when you make him complete commands before he can get a treat. He is a great dane through and through with all their weird, breed-specific idiosyncrasies, but he definitely has his own personality.

He’s been here 6 weeks and in that time, he has mastered about 8 commands, learned to walk on a leash, and potty outside. There is no end to my delight when we’re working on commands, and he hops back into “sit” with those ears still flapping. And the other animals have really taken to him, especially my old dog Georgia. She has played more and gotten more exercise in the past few weeks than she has in months. The two of them are adorable together. Life is adorable, and I’m happier than I can remember being in a while. Hands down, this is one of the best completely irresponsible decisions (out of many, many irresponsible decisions) I have made in my life, and I wouldn’t trade it or him for anything even when he does pretend he hasn’t gotten too big already to lay between the couch and coffee table on top of my feet. These days I cry from laughter far more than the empty weight of loss, and that’s no small victory.

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Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

Baking In A Tornado http://www.bakinginatornado.com/2017/04/cookies-or-jail-use-your-words.html

Spatulas on Parade http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver http://www.thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog.html

Sparkly Poetic Weirdo http://sparklyjenn.blogspot.com/

On the Border http://dlt-lifeontheranch.blogspot.com/

Bookworm in the Kitchen http://www.bookwormkitchen.com/

The Bergham Chronicles http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com

Simply Shannon http://shannonbutler.org

Southern Belle Charm http://www.southernbellecharm.com

The Angrivated Mom http://www.angrivatedmom.wordpress.com/

Climaxed http://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com

Not That Sarah Michelle http://notthatsarahmichelle.blogspot.com

The 6 Thoughts I have While Walking My Dog At 2 A.M.

Given that I’m a night person, walking my very demanding Great Dane at 2 a.m. happens more often than you might think. He’s also scared of the dark so while it may seem like I have the perfect guard with me while I’m out there letting him do his business, he’s actually a big-ass Scooby of a dog who would piss himself and go running for the house as soon as he saw anything that doesn’t belong in the yard.

1. This is how scary movies start.

If a zombie apocalypse started, I’m pretty fucking sure it would be in the cities where congested populations live and cough and snot and things on each other all the time instead of out here where I barely have to speak to anyone throughout my day except for said demanding dog (and the other animals here…and the extroverted kid that never stops talking). But, you really couldn’t convince me of that at 2 am when I hear every little thing in the pine forest across the road and imagine an undead figure stumbling out of the trees wearing a hockey mask and carrying Freddy’s clawed hand under one arm and a hatchet in the other. Whispering “what the fuck was that?????” to the dog like I’m going to get a reply in English doesn’t really do much to help me feel better either.

2. Why do I always forget my pocket knife in the house?

I bought myself a pretty teal Kershaw pocket knife just because…well…you never know. I never remember to have it with me in situations where you never know like if a knife-wielding maniac in a Scream mask came rushing out of the forest. And, let’s face it—even if I did manage to have it on me, I’d probably stop dead in my tracks and piss myself along with the dog before I’d ever even think to grab it and become the knife-wielding dog walker in pajamas.

3. I need pajamas that are less revealing.

I never PLAN on walking the dog at 2 am even though it happens quite often, so you’d think I’d have taken care of this by now. Perhaps I’m hoping I can mesmerize any gun toting mad men with the jiggle of my not-entirely-covered ass cheeks. Perhaps I realize the futility in trying to buy pajamas anymore since the last time I bought anything, my ass cheeks still weren’t covered and the nightgown turned out to be quite sheer ( I swear it didn’t look it in the store). Either way, I’m just hoping the nearby neighbors aren’t insomniacs because they’re getting an eyeful if they are, and I don’t think the old guy’s heart can take it.

4. How the fuck do you even piss that much?

I’m not sure how big exactly my dog’s bladder is. It’s not something I ever felt the need to look up, but it must hold at least 17 gallons of urine. He pees before we even get into the yard all that well…an entire river of yellow. He pees on this spot and that spot and another spot. I scream “not on my fucking trees” 500 times. He pees again. And again. We’re not just talking about marking either because he has a different stance for each. For marking he does a lazy, old man half-mast leg hike (he’s old and has arthritis…poor guy can’t do a full lift) and for regular urination he does this weird half-lean, half-point pose that gives him much more gravitas than he deserves considering the puddle he’s making. But either way, marking or no, I am pretty sure his entire body is a urine cavity while I’m stuck with a bladder the size of a thimble (just ask anyone who has ever gone on a road trip with me). So while I’m waiting on a skulking monster to come streaking onto my property, the dog is leisurely peeing for what feels like 300 hours. It does not bode well for my nighttime-walk anxiety, and I end up yelling “couldyoujusttakeyourdumpalreadyFORFUCKSSAKE??”

5. Did I really just step in that?

Well… that’s the great part about living in the middle of nowhere… You get all the beauty of the stars in the night sky because there are really no lights out here to detract from the view. It’s gorgeous. It really is. But that also means that it’s blacker than Sean Hannity’s cold, cold heart some nights and no flashlight can really give me a good view of just exactly where I’m stepping especially when most of the time I’m using said flashlight to scan the tree line for hipster werewolves in torn skinny jeans and flannel shirts—the scariest of all werewolves.

6. I should have done this BEFORE I had a drink.

I’m not a major drinker…not daily or anything. But on occasion after a long, frustrating day, a glass of whiskey and ginger ale hits the proverbial spot. It seems to me that these are the nights that the dog always, always has to go. These are the nights when I would most definitely fall down while trying to run like every woman in every horror movie ever if anything did actually appear in the yard like the multitudes of coyotes I always hear or a human-flesh-loving Sasquatch or the neighbor’s unsocialized and scary pit bulls (that have gotten loose more times than I can count over the years and even pinned me in a vehicle on occasion like that fucking scene out of Cujo…yikes). And of course by the time I get him out there and he pees 98 gallons worth of whatever he’s been drinking out of the toilet and the sink and my cup then I have to pee and it’s just a big fucking fiasco.

The dog is going on 8 years old which is senior citizen status for Great Danes, and I have yet to see a knife-wielding maniac running from the tree line from the horde of zombies being smashed by the Sasquatch that was just attacked by a hipster werewolf in a hockey mask, but I’m not betting against it. So, think of me when you happen to wake up at 2 am to pee and hope that somehow I mesmerized those fools with my jiggly ass cheeks long enough to get out my trusty little teal pocket knife that I finally remembered to bring with me since we all know the dog left me standing there in his dust to beat me to the house.