These Damn Animals

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This month 4 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:

Do you have pets? Tell us about them or if not what kind of pet do you would you like to have someday?

It was submitted by: https://thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog.html/

Hold onto your butts. There's cuteness incoming
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I have what some might call "too many" pets actually. I live in a very rural area without a lot of resources besides an overcrowded shelter, so I've taken in a few too many mouths to feed over the years not even limited to just the normal pets. I even cared for an owl temporarily while it healed. I'm not Snow White or anything but if an animal is in need I'll find a way to help. Just ask me why I'm taking care of a dog that got beat up in my yard recently. It's a lot of work. I have had most of these guys since before I got sick with chronic fatigue syndrome, and I try to limit what I take in to what I know I can handle now, but it's still a lot of work. Dogs get meds twice a day and medicated baths. The beat up dog is getting meds 3 times a day and bandage changes once a day and special food. I have two nearly blind cats I have to dose with CBD oil at the very least. Other cats that need daily allergy meds. One cat has asthma. And they all need one on one attention which is difficult to always fit in my day when I'm cleaning up their messes, writing people in prison, and homeschooling a teenager. 

I don't know what it's like to not be too busy to paint for fun until the weekend when I stay up later.

But they also bring a lot of balance to my life and force me to keep going. I don't have a choice but to get up and take care of them. I have often kept going even when I didn't really have any appetite for life because who else will give them their medicine. I have laughed until I cried at some bozo thing the dog did or marveled at a cat eating a jelly bean but refusing turkey. There's no predictable day no matter how monotonous your routine can be when you have a houseful of pets. Hell, I don't think it's too routine even with one pet. Each one brings unpredictable chaos to your life right along with their lazy naps. The world is worth it when you get to live with their little shenanigans and their unconditional love. There's not a day that goes by that some furred asshole doesn't make up for every shithead thing they somehow managed to do earlier. And when I sat shithead thing I mean, I've accidentally cooked cat pee because they pissed on my stove and I didn't realize until too late. I have to have 2 child locks on the fridge and 2 on the freezer. The amount of plastic that has been eaten in this house... My dog stepped in poop the other day then tracked it inside all over the floor. One of them peed in my shower cap once and I didn't find out until I put the son of a bitch on my head. Nothing is sacred. My trash can is booby trapped and so is the washing machine. And the stove now. And a corner of a rug. Oh and a shelf. The amount of absolute fuckery they get up to feels like a three stooges movie except I'm the only butt of the joke. And yet they still manage to make up for all of that and that's priceless. There is no value I could place on my time that they don't outdo over and over.

So without further ado, here are some pics of the asshole crew.

Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:



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

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

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




What TF Sarah https://crazymamallama.blogspot.com/

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 Different Kind of Hurt

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.

At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them.

I’m using: fun, funny, family, fracture, and fully

They were submitted by: https://Bakinginatornado.com

CW: pet death

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About 9 years ago, we found a family of chupacabras in our crawl space.

Okay, it was actually puppies, but when we pulled them out covered in mud and fleas and spider webs, they were more chupacabra than not. 6 funny looking little things who didn’t even have their teeth yet and eaten up so badly with fleas that our house was infested and yipping like mad because their mom was nowhere to be found. The mom ended up being a neighbor’s dog who didn’t take too kindly to us removing the puppies from her spot, but something had to be done, so there we were with 6 puppies to bottlefeed, clean, and help take a poop every few hours.

Fun.

No, really. Once we got them cleaned up, dewormed, and got rid of the fleas, it was a great time even if it was a bit stressful. Each pup would sit in my lap for feeding times and take the bottle like it was the best thing in the world with their little ears wiggling and tails helicoptering like mad. I’ve played mom to a lot of creatures, but taking care of puppies was one of the best. They loved eating popsicles and fought in their own poop and made me laugh harder than I had in a long time.

That’s how we got Layla.

Between people I knew at work, friends, and family, it wasn’t terribly hard to find homes for 5 of them, but that was the limit here in this rural area. We hadn’t planned on having another dog at the time, but here she was, an almost solid white mutt with a few small brown spots that had way too much energy to burn and was already part of the family. All the others had been brown and black, so she already stood out from the rest of the pack pretty early on. Truth be told, I was glad no one else wanted her, and here she stayed for 9 years. Until early August anyway.

It was a good 9 years. She was healthy with never any concerns or problems other than a penchant for chewing the tip of her tail when she was bored. She was a handful, though, always. Digging holes, never learning to walk on a leash unlike any other dog who has ever lived here, always barking her head off when she wanted something… One time, she drug me down the front steps so hard I had a bruised ass for weeks. WEEKS. I can’t pretend she was some kind of saint with the years of destroying toys in seconds and holes I can never get to fill all the way, and the tons of mud brought into the house, but she was loved wholly and completely.

Then things changed a bit.

Last year the day before Hurricane Michael hit, we found her woozy and unable to stand. She had recently lost some weight that had me a little concerned, and I had been trying to put some back on. After years of rescuing animals, I have a pretty good handle on things and a pretty good first aid kit, so that afternoon, I tested her blood sugar levels on a whim because of her wooziness and weightloss, and it was through the roof. 533 when normal ranges are 80 to 120. No vets were open because of the hurricane, but I had an insulin dosage to start with and knew what to do, so we headed to town to try and get the supplies we needed. After Walmart shockingly refused to sell the insulin to us because they were closing early (15 minutes after the time we arrived) due to the Hurricane (that wouldn’t be here until the next day), we dropped $150 on a bottle of insulin and got her stable.

It took months though to really figure out how to keep her stable, though. Dog diabetes is really pretty rare in comparison to humans, and a lot of vets don't see many cases of it or know too well how to treat it without involving a specialist, so we couldn't get too many answers there beyond what I already knew to do. We changed food time and time and time again. The amount she needed each dose kept going up, and I was really at my wit’s end with it all. Twice a day dosing, fighting with her to eat…so much money had been spent on supplies and food changes and supplements. She hated eating the new food, and so many tears were shed in frustration that nothing we were recommended to try actually worked. I ended up doing my own extensive research into things. It was then that I figured out that sometimes the type of insulin I was using sometimes didn’t last long enough for dogs, and I tried a new schedule. We moved it up to every 8 hour shots. She had to be pricked and stuck 3 times a day, and we were tied to the house unable to ever really get away because no one else could handle that kind of schedule even for a short while, but it was working. We were kicking diabetes’ ass fully, no holds barred, and it was wonderful. It was a kind of triumph I can’t even describe, and since all this really fell on me, we grew even closer. Who wouldn’t?

She was outside for a little while a couple weeks ago like she does from late morning through at least her afternoon insulin dose. She was always an outside dog, a mud lover through and through. She would pass a fresh bowl of water to jump in a mudhole and lap it up like it was the bestest, tastiest treat in the world. But when I went out that afternoon, I knew something was wrong. She was on the ground, not moving, and I felt my heart fracture right then. I was so confused. She’d been fine even a little while after she went out. Her blood sugar levels were still normal that morning, and nothing had changed. I really thought maybe with my brain fog I fucked up the dose (something I’d never done and always checked and rechecked). I was so ready to blame myself because the diabetes was the only thing that had ever affected her even if it being the diabetes didn’t make any sense.

It ended up being a snake bite.

We found the marks when it was time to bury her. And, honestly, I don’t know how to feel about that. We did so much work to get her back stable and healthy. I gave up so much of my life to making sure it happened, to keeping her healthy and from succumbing to her illness just for something so entirely random and unavoidable to take her. It’s a risk where we live especially with an overgrown field right behind our property, but we haven’t ever seen many. It was never something on the forefront of my brain, that worry. And now, I’m just lost. I still get up the same times I always did, and I check the clock when it’s close to her dose times because it’s what I’m used to. I miss her, and I love her still even with her hardheadedness and muddy paws, even with her care costing way more than I could afford.

If you’ve ever lost a pet, you know that feeling. You love and are loved so intensely and unconditionally like no other friendship you ever have, and then it’s just…gone. It’s a hurt like nothing else that nothing really fixes but time eases, and I couldn’t think of anything else I wanted to write concerning family but her. I still have a houseful of fur family to help me through, but it’s not the same without her. Hug your furbabies and feel free to share stories if you can relate.

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Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

Baking In A Tornado  https://www.bakinginatornado.com/2019/08/be-careful-what-you-wish-for-use-your.html

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

Spatulas on Parade https://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/2019/08/the-world-we-live-in-uyw-august-2019.html

The Bergham Chronicles https://dlt-lifeontheranch.blogspot.com/2019/08/house-haunting.html

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

Part-time Working Hockey Mom https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.com/2019/08/use-your-words-dont-shoot-messenger.html

If the Dog Could Talk

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 10 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: One day your (pet of choice) looks at you and says ........

It was submitted by: https://stacysewsandschools.blogspot.com/


I'm not sure I really have an explanation for this.

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I felt like living with so many pets had turned my life into the sort of chaotic weirdness of a Shel Silverstein poem. So I wrote one. And then I read it aloud to them all:


"Rost Bubbert "Bubby" French filled the house with an incredible stench.

It wafted through the kitchen across puddles of drool and came right for us, this posse of fools. It brought tears to our eyes, that stench, stinging our nostrils and causing pained cries.

Each pet took notice, every single French, and all of them added to that merciless stench.

Layla rose from her slumber and gassed her kennel cover off. Now even the cats began to cough. Donnie, not the bowler, howled out a horrendous toot while we managed to yell, "it's a good thing you're cute!"

But still each and every French added more and more to that hot cloud of stench.

Cash, always wanting to be part of the crew, squealed out a tiny fart or two. His brother Pee-Wee, the smallest pooter of all, blasted his stink through the living room and into the hall.

But they were not done, these Frenches with their awful stenches. Not done at all.

The cats joined in singing "the more the merrier" 'til each one of our chests grew quite a bit hairier. Each butt trumpet played a foul-smelling tune filling, to the ceiling, every single room.

But were they yet done? Not even a chance. Across all of our faces that stench cloud still danced.

Finn and Fiona, two peas in a pod, added puffs of their own that smelled of American cod. Me-Mow and Wigs, both nearly blind, let no disability stop them from tooting in kind.

It didn't end, that stench. There were more gas clouds left from the fur gang named French.

Aloy and Zelda lived up to their names and tooted while parkouring like in video games. Olive and Popeye, spooked by the noise, sharted while playing with a few of Rost's toys.

But that stench, having now grown misty, continued its travels smelling rotten and fishy.

Seymour and Mario, brothers for life, shot out foul streams that hit like a knife. But, it was Burton and Andy, the sweetest of lads, who farted right on me and gave me the sads.

Was it over yet? I dared to dream, and that's when all the b-holes really began to scream.

Scully and Marceline, the weirdest of the bunch, waltzed around the kitchen cropdusting our lunch. Queenie and Garth, not to be left out, tooted in unison while prancing about.

That stench grew bigger and bigger yet still. It filled every corner and continued to spill. The pressure was rising; the house began to quake. But the French pets still farted. How much more could we take?

The house expanded with every gaseous poof until finally one loud blast exploded the roof. It shot into the clouds and continued to soar into the stratosphere and a little bit more.

But still these Frenches tooted the smelliest smell until even the walls splintered and fell. So there we stood homeless and reeling. Words couldn't describe the feels we were feeling.

We did make plans though right then and there. This could never happen again; it wouldn't be fair. So we went to every store, every mall, and online and bought every box of gas ex we could possibly find."

When I'd finished, finally, Rost looked at me and said, "what the fuck, ma?"

But I didn't have an answer for him.

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Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:

Baking In A Tornado https://www.bakinginatornado.com/2019/04/water-on-ringer-off-secret-subject-swap.html

Never Ever Give Up Hope https://batteredhope.blogspot.com

Wandering Web Designer  https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/my-dream-car-one-that-runs-secret-subject-swap/

Cognitive Script https://cognitivescript.blogspot.com/2019/04/oh-to-my-surprise-april-sss.html

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

The Crazy Mama Llama https://www.thecrazymamallama.com/

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

Bookworm in the Kitchen http://www.bookwormkitchen.com/2019/04/03/where-have-you-been?/

Stacy Sews and Schools https://stacysewsandschools.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.

Sunday Confession: Aging

Again, I am writing for Sunday Confessions with More than Cheese and Beer. This week, it's about aging as the title suggests. It's not really what one might expect out of such a post, however.


I coexist in a house with my son and a roommate (my best friend). We also live with 5 dogs, 5 cats, 4 ducks (who stay outside), 2 lizards, and a fish.

It sounds like a lot, and it is. I'd probably be better off if I opened up as a petting zoo and told kids my great dane is a pony. The work involved with keeping all those tummies full, terrariums scrubbed, wading pools filled and coats clean is sometimes exhausting, but the love given back is at least 100 fold. There is very little in this life that compares to the devotion given to you by a pet. So the work is very well worth it--the relationships I have with my pets is far from one-sided. But don't quote me on that on a day when the great dane has an accident in his kennel. On those days, it's best not to talk to me at all. 

Two of my dogs, Capone (Cap for short) and Georgia, are seniors. Their aging is something that never really leaves my mind given the continuous graying of their fur and tendency to be a bit cantankerous. At 32, my own aging hasn't really affected me yet. I remember my own mother crying and being depressed on her 30th birthday, but I hit the big 3-0 without too much insecurity. The older I get the more I dig myself even my looks. There are no lines and wrinkles that bother me, no gray hairs (especially since I dye mine so often I can't remember the natural color anyway), nothing too saggy yet. I can't say the same for the dogs, though. 

Cap

Breed: Great Dane

Hobbies: blowing himself 

Favorite past time: refusing to eat until he gets his way 

Favorite treat: Poptarts

Accomplishments: World Record for most Toilet Water Held in Lips then deposited in Mom's lap 

Georgia

Breed: Chiweenie

Hobbies: Catching flies

Bucket List Goal: To eat her own weight in sweet potato fries

Favorite Past time: burrowing under the covers 

Favorite Smell: Cat Ass

As you can see, their grays are pretty obvious. Their teeth aren't as strong nor do their bladders hold as long. They still run and play and get around pretty well, but the other dogs and the cats know better than to bother them when they're napping (usually). I see it every day and help make sure I'm taking extra precautions. We play easier with these two and give them special treats with added glucosamine and chondroiton to help battle any arthritic joints. Their age is constantly a presence not only so we make sure they're happy and comfortable but also because I don't know what I am going to do when they're gone. 

Cap has been a part of my family since he was only 4 months old. He turns 7 on Valentine's Day. Great Danes have a limited lifespan of only 8-10 years. He has grown up with my son who is 8, and the two have always been buddies. I can't imagine a day when there is no Cap around to haul his 150 lb ass into my lap as if he only weights 1.5 lbs or to jump onto the bed like he owns it. He makes me laugh out loud even when he's covering me in drool and dripping toilet water in my lap from his jowls. I love him even on the days when he barks at every noise he hears because his hearing isn't so keen anymore, and he loves me even when I refuse to give him more rookies (cookies) no matter how many tricks he does. This dog made me just as much a dog person as I am a cat person because he's just that fucking awesome. 

Georgia came to this house about 4 years ago. I dogsat her for my roommate's parents. She never left. It was only supposed to be a couple days, but I fell in love. So did the kiddo. She is a total lap dog that never leaves my side. I see Moms complaining all the time about their kids not letting them have privacy in the bathroom. I never really had to many problems with that...it's the fucking dogs that love to watch me take a piss especially Georgia. She loves the cats and cuddles with them as much as they'll allow. She enjoys car rides and still looks good in a dress even though her boobs are pretty sadly saggy these days. Given that she was rescued in 2004, there's no way to really gauge her age. She's been with me 10 years and was nearly full-sized when she was rescued, so a good estimate is maybe 12. Life expectancy for this mix (guessed mix given her looks and temperament) is roughly 13-17 years. Most days she tends to nap and eat and nap some more. But, that's okay. She makes an awesome couch buddy. I can't think about life without her without tearing up. She has made that big an impact in the few years she has been here. 

Both dogs are close to entering the low side of their life expectancy, and it almost seizes me up with fear and sadness. A lot of people like to question why I have so many animals. I don't *have* them. They live here just like I do. This is their home, and they're part of this family. That's why it is so hard to imagine a day when their presence is gone...when their fur isn't part of the technicolor fur coat that I have to remove from my clothes every day, when their barks aren't echoing through the house, when their silliness is just a memory that makes me laugh and cry at the same time. It's hard not to feel that sense of impending doom when you think about two beings which have done nothing but love you unconditionally for the past several years without the drama and bullshit that comes with human relationships not being a part of your every day life anymore. 

Maybe one day my own aging will actually be a topic that concerns me, but I'm still of the frame of mind that I'm aging gracefully like Parker Posey or Gillian Anderson. For now, I'm only worried about what aging means in terms of losing two of my best friends. 

Cap and I. buddies. 

yeah, he drinks from the sink

he lets the kid lay on top of him

Georgia and my niece

she owns this bed

two weenies