A pearl of wisdom:
If you are going to move your orthotics from one pair of shoes to another, it's a good idea to make sure you end up with both of them in the same pair of shoes.
Wearing one orthotic is not very comfortable for distance walking.
If it takes 6 miles to recognize the problem, is it something like one hand clapping?
The dogs Easter picture:
Today I read all your journals about how your flowers are blooming and your weather is so wonderful that you are out working in the yard, breathing in lots of fresh, warm spring air, giddy with joy.
What is going on here? Four to six. That is inches of snow, that are now in the process of falling. On MY yard. It's currently 32 degrees. I just got home from an Errand Run. I had 54 miles left in my tank and there was no way I was stopping for gas. The snow had just started when I left, during rush traffic, and I figured I could run all over the place and not use up 54 miles. On that, I was correct!
I went to the library and returned three books. My next stop was to the hardware store. I went there next, assuming I could hit every where else on my way back home from there. I went to look at shelving units for my garage. I needed to measure the boxes to see if they just might fit in my car. A nice helpful employee at Home Depot said he thought the box might fit in a sedan, and where was my car parked? So, I told him I had a tape measure in my little tiny purse, and went out in the heavy, falling snow and measured my backseat. Should fit, we decided. I told him I thought I could do OK with the 18 inch deep shelves instead of the 24 inch. After all, they are 6 feet high - I can't see myself being able to reach the back of the top two shelves if they are 24 inches deep.
Of course, while I was in tools looking at new locks for my doors, having already determined that they only have itty bitty wedges for doors and not a 3 inch high one like I need, he put three boxes (correct amount) of 24 inch deep shelving units (oops) on a flat cart and left them at the front for me. When I went to pay for the shelving, the lady at the desk noticed that my credit card has a picture of a beagle on it, and she showed me the picture of her dog that she keeps on her phone. We dog people are all nuts.
One guy was summoned to carry the boxes to my car. I said, "You know, these boxes weigh 128 pounds each, and I have leather seats - do you think you might want to get some help?" So a second guy came and they shoved and pushed the three boxes into my back seat, leaving blue ink from the boxes all over the leather seats. We all decided it will probably wash off, and I left. With over 375 lbs of shelving in my car, my car was full and I was sliding on home.
I forgot my first two stops. I went to the pet supply store nearby to see if they have Pup Corn and hopefully a list of potential dog sitters, or a board where people can post such things. No, to both, but the lady was so kind that I bought a box of different dog treats anyway. I then forced myself to stop at Wal Mart. I needed a few things that they should have, and I could check and see if maybe they have a community board there. No to both, but of course I still left with several items.
I did a self-checkout, which I find to be easier in most cases, but this time the machine required the clerk to do something. I asked her, as she was fixing the nebulous problem, if there was a community board because I was looking for a dog sitter. She smiled. I smiled. "Maybe I could do it for you? When do you need help?"
A happy dance was done right there in my mind - a potential dog sitter! She looked kind, and sweet, and quite young. I didn't see a dog murderer in those eye. She gave me her name and number, we shook hands, and I went on to the library, trying to convince myself that I have made dates that fast in the past, and she certainly didn't look very dangerous. I figure to call her, ask a billion questions, put her on the grill, ask for references, ask if I may speak to her supervisor at work, invite her to bring over some ID and meet the poopers. If she isn't intimidated by throwing one pill every morning into Molly's bowl, then we might have a winner. I can be very clear to her that my neighbors will keep a close eye on her so she is safe. She works on weekends, but I can get someone to help out. This just might work.
Yes, I am off on another jaunt soon. Some places where it won't snow. However, since I will be there, it will likely rain. Sorry.
Meanwhile, I arrived home and remembered I had 375+ pounds of shelving in my back seat. It barely fit it and took two men to put it there - how to get it out? The first box came out after I pushed and shoved and walked from the right side of the car to the left and back about ten times. It was really a tight fit, and each box weighs more than I do. I got the first one out - using the basic laws of physics and some specially chosen four letter magic words - carefully walked it right onto a dolly, and rolled it across the garage. The next two, lying on the floor of the back seat, were not coming out. I grabbed a screwdriver and a box cutter and started to carefully demolish the boxes until I got them open enough to get out brackets, etc, and finally the shelves. It took about an hour over all, but they are out. Tomorrow I can work on the blue dye. Or Home Depot can, if I don't have any luck. For tonight, you can stick a fork in me. I am done.
Living on my own for 25 years has given me some odd skills. Removing boxes that weigh each more than I do that are jammed in the back seat? Difficult, slow, painful, but not impossible. I even remembered to leave the garage door open in case I hurt myself. My cell phone was attached to my body, of course.
Assembly should be entertaining. At least, maybe it won't be snowing a half a foot of snow and 32 degrees outside when I get to that.
Probably one set of shelving, if not two, will end up in the basement. I wonder how that will happen?
Excuse me, I need to go find some BandAids, some pain pills, and maybe some leather cleaner.
Did I mention that just as I dragged the third box out my neighbor's garage door went up and he sent me a happy cheer to let me know they are back in town? The big guy across the street. The really big, strong guy. Hey, thanks! Welcome back!
I should ask how his pictures came out. Maybe he took better ones than I did.
Not being one to take "can't," "don't," or "won't,"to heart, I pursued having this compounded medication covered by my insurance. I know some things just aren't, but I suspected this one just is. Armed with the information on the necessary codes from the tipsy, smartass pharmacist, I put on my big girl panties and call the insurance company again, hoping for another nice lady.
This is not easy for me to do. I do not have much patience with a voice recording that is so loud that I have to pull the phone away from my ear to avoid blood running down my neck. Of course some people can't hear perfectly, so instead of asking me if I want another language, how about remembering this is the USA and we speak English, so offer me a volume choice instead? Then I have to punch in 15 digit numbers correctly, verify them, then some more numbers, get put on hold, listen to advertising or very crappy music and try to calm down so I am not rude or impatient. Who wants to help someone who is nasty? I don't think I would. Well, I did, for 27 years, but that is another story.
Next, someone eventually answers the phone if no one has decided to pick it up and immediately cut the call off, randomly. I didn't get the same nice lady, but I got a very serious sounding woman with a very deep voice or a man with a strange voice. She (I will assume it was a woman) did not seem to understand why I was calling so I had to explain a few times until it was clear to her. Oh yes, of course that is covered, is what I heard after holding long enough to make a new batch of dog food. This means it will cost me $15 a month instead of $44, which is why I stayed in a very unpleasant job with low pay - the benefits.
After verifying how to get reimbursed, she asked me if she could help me with anything else. Right off the script, all the way through, in pretty much a dull monotone.
So, in my best cheery voice, I said, "No maam, you and the lady I talked to yesterday were very helpful for me and got me the answers I was looking for. I thank you very much."
She was very quiet. This was off the script!
"Thank YOU, maam, and have a very nice day!" she answered me, with an obvious smile on her face. I love to do that :-)
The cookies were excellent, if I do say so myself. I do need to branch out and try some new and exciting recipes. Once I do, as usual, I will likely return to my favorites. However, once I had a coconut oatmeal cookie from my friend's mother-in-law, I snagged that recipe on the spot! It's now one of my favorites. People either like coconut or hate it - while I don't like a lot of foods, I do love coconut. I also love mushrooms and snails, calamari, and crawfish. Go figure. Just don't make me eat most white foods. Cheese is moldy milk, and yogurt is still alive - no thanks! But a nice snail...a well-turned tentacle...
The Easter festivities with my relatives was out of hand. I tossed in my contribution with a bit of absinthe. A nephew tossed everything else - wooden blocks, toy swords, the dog, babies - everything was flying around. The noise level is always truly beyond my wildest imagination. I swear I can feel it in my bones, like being at a concert. Cowering, I found some nice, soft ham and made a sandwich for myself, and proceeded to eat it in very small bites, trying very hard not to whimper with pain. No sense in ruining someone else's meal. I had a ring of pineapple, too, once I cut it in about ten little pieces. Everything else had cheese on it. The salad, the veggies, the potatoes. I didn't take it personally. I have a niece who also won't eat cheese - we always have nice conversations about how disgusting it is.
Then real life crept back in on Monday. I had a doctor appointment, the kind men don't have to schedule. Was that tactful? I don't mind going - my doctor is incredibly kind and patient. I have never seen two other people in the waiting room. He does not overbook. A very lovable physician.
He listened to my tales of woe regarding his insistence that I reduce my estrogen intake months ago. Somehow it is in my records sounding like I suggested it, almost. Not a chance! He expressed much sympathy regarding my mouth issues (the exposed bone) and understood why I am not taking Fosamax for my bones right now, and agreed to increase my estrogen to help build stong bodies 12 ways. (Or however that old, old commercial used to go!) There are new delivery systems for estrogen I knew nothing about - I am now trying one of them.
He also wrote me for a compound. That is pharmacy talk for forcing a pharmacist to actually "make" something. It's sort of like, for example, dropping a dribble of vanilla into some butter and whipping it up. That would be a compound. I took the script to a special pharmacy to get it filled. I don't know why only some places do it - they all have to learn. These days, the pharmacists can't just do the 5 year program. Now they have to get a PharmD. I think that is 7 years? So, a graduate of a PharmD program is likely at least 25 years old now. My ex graduated at 23, and could have had his PharmD with one further year, but declined.
The pharmacy had told me to leave the script and return today. 24 hours to mix two things together - I don't want them helping me make cookies. They also told me that my insurance won't pay for it. I didn't like that, since I also heard the word "expensive."
Today I tried online to see if my insurance covers it, but to no avail. I had to use The Phone, alas and alack! I reached a very nice lady who could not spell the name of the compound, but I forgave her because she was so helpful. She said she couldn't find it, but if I could get the name of every single ingredient and even one of them is covered, then the compound is covered. She asked me to put her on hold and call the pharmacy.
How nice is that? Instead, though, I used my cell phone so she could hear me talking to the pharmacy. What was I told? Oh no, only the one ingredient. A clerk, knowing nothing, gave me that information. I decided not to argue the point, since I could anticipate some entertainment potential. I returned to the nice lady, and she told me to get the NDCs on all ingredients when I picked up my script. I thanked her.
Later on, I went to the pharmacy to get my script. It was handed to me, and I explained that I needed the NDCs on all ingredients. So, the clerk said I could have the priviledge of speaking to a pharmacist. Be still, my heart! She dragged a young man out of the back room. Ah, my entertainment potential had just ripened.
This is the sort of man who can make any woman smile, and most men, too. The guy is drop dead gorgeous, knows it, and really doesn't care. He must have a bit of a brain, too, since he has what I assume is 7 years of college - his coat said PharmD on it. I explained that I had called earlier and was told that the compound has one ingredient in it, but obviously not, since it's 2 mg per gram - so obviously it has at least two. He acquiesced nicely, agreed to get me the codes I needed, and semi-apologized for the incorrect information I had been given over the phone. I asked what had happened when they tried to bill my insurance, and he said they didn't. In fact, he said they "couldn't." Not being most people, I informed him gently with a smile of my own that I knew he could, since I had spoken to a nice lady at my insurance company about it. He smiled a little obsequious smile and said, "Well, I mean we "don't.'" Not willing to drop it, I added, "You mean, you won't?" "Exactly."
This smiling, nice, attractive young man, who has people's lives in his hands every time he counts to five, possibly wasn't counting as well as we would like to think in our trust. I smelled an adult beverage on his breath. Pharmacists can count to any number by fives in their heads, in their sleep - it's what they do if they don't have the newer machines that do it for them. There was at least one additional pharmacist there, but even so, I will seek another compounding pharmacy in the area.
I had asked the nurse if I needed to be concerned about this compound transferring to someone else after it's rubbed into my skin. She looked baffled, and told me no one else had ever, in all the years she has been there, asked her that. She had suggested I ask the pharmacist, so I did.
The happy pharmacist confidently told me not to touch any young pregnant females for at least an hour after applying the cream.
I wasn't really planning to, you know? I was planning to wash my hands after applying the cream. He really didn't answer my question, and I suspect he knew it.
So we both smiled.
HAPPY EASTER EVE!
I tried to get an Eastery picture of the support staff, but it looks like the other hundred you have seen. The blankets are bunched in a different way, and their fur is clean and shiny, but otherwise, it's the same old sleepy support staff. I could not find anything at all in my house that even looks Easterish. I finally stuck a pink stuffed pig on Baby's bum and took a picture, but it doesn't look particularly like Easter.
What does Easter look like to an atheist? It looks like eggs and candy and baskets and pretty new dresses on little girls. White gloves come out, and hats and pretty little patent leather shoes. Hams, potatoes, pretty salads and desserts. The American Way is to socialize with family for holidays, and Easter is a holiday.
But why is it a holiday? While my facts may not be correct because they are coming off the top of my head and not out of a bible, I believe it's due to the fact that Jesus, a nice Jewish boy whose father was reported not of this world, rose from the dead. He had been crucified and allowed to die over several painful days, was carried to a cave, and the cave was covered up with a large rock. After three days passed, he walked out of that cave. We celebrate that day as Easter.
If my facts are off, forgive me, since I haven't had any religious training in half a century or so - I mean no disrespect to anyone. This is my journal, so I can only offer my perspective.
I don't even think Christianity has the largest number of believers out of all of the religions in the world. However, our calendar is based, loosely, on the birth of Jesus. Almost all of our national holidays are Christianity-based. They are important days to Americans so most people are off work so they can worship in their desired way. Is is their constitutionally protected right to do so.
I try to remember the history when I see the commercialism that has crept in. My first thoughts as mentioned above? Food, new clothes for children, decorations. Parties, dinners, laughter.
But, isn't that part of what many religions are about? People coming together to share happiness? A sense of community, group cohesion, caring, love?
I think I will go bake some pretty Easter cookies. Want some? I am happy to share.
It was starting to look like things were healing up in my mouth. Following the advice of everything I have read regarding my potential condition, I contacted my regular dentist for a referral to an oral surgeon. I went to see the oral surgeon, who barely looked at my mouth. He was very kind, which is why this particular specialist was chosen for me by my dentist. The periodontist is a bit of an arrogant ass, although a good surgeon. I was hoping for some answers to my questions, and to have some fears laid to rest.
The surgeon told me that he did not see any exposed bone, although he also said he didn't want to root around very much, since my mouth is obviously still sore and tender. He is familiar with my periodontist, which is why I hesitated to provide the name. Somehow, like a child, I feared repercussions upon return to the gum guy. Truly a childish feeling, but I felt it strongly. Dr Bonk (could I make that up?) was reassuring and told me he thought I was healing and to not worry.
So, today I returned to the gum guy, feeling a bit more chipper and pleased to have him find no exposed bone. First, he avoided looking at me. Then, he said, first thing, "Bonk called me." The tone he used was exactly what my mom would have used if I had ever been in school and the principal had called. You know, "The principal called." I seriously considered walking out without saying a word, but I didn't. He started to give me a speech about how the Internet is helpful for information but that it shows some extreme cases. I said, "I am not dumb. However, I have been trying to get answers. I can mostly only find information on how this condition can happen, but I can't find much on what to do once it occurs." Wisely, he discontinued the line of conversation.
Upon examination, he told me that I still have a "small spot" of exposed bone. I saw Dr Bonk two days ago, who told me there wasn't any. Me? surprised? No. Gum Guy decided to irrigate the exposed area again, and I am sure it was an accident that he bumped hard into the bone, causing me pain and making me jump. If I had any doubts of bone still being exposed before that, I dropped them at that point along with my spirits.
I decided to try direct, specificquestions. The kind you ask a child, after you ask, "Where were you?" and the answer is, "Out." I know how to ask questions. I did it in my job for 27 years. I can approach directly, obliquely, or from left field, whatever seems to work best. On gum guy, nothing does. Here is how it went:
Do I need to worry in the future if I need an extraction or a root canal?
You probably won't need any of those.
But if I do, do I need to be concerned that I will not heal normally?
This sort of problem tends to be more common with people who take
the medication by IV; anything else is very rare. Besides, you aren't
taking the Fosamax any more, are you?
I am not, but what if my doctor tells me to take it again?
Then you need to discuss that with your doctor.
I admire his ability to evade answers. I tried again:
How much bone do I have exposed now?
Not much. Just a small amount. Maybe a couple of millimeters.
At that point, I quit asking questions, and politely asked if I was done and could leave. I am to return in a month. I know nothing more today than I did a month ago.
Bonus points to anyone who remembers how much bone I had exposed two weeks ago? It was 1.5 mm, according to gum guy.
Any questions as to why I didn't bother to ask him if "a couple of mm" is more or less than 1.5 mm?"
Never in a previous life was I employed as a dog groomer. I figure I do my own grooming, my cats used to do theirs, so the dogs are on their own. Maybe twice a year I see that Molly's dew claws are too long and I whine and beg until she finally goes to sleep and I snip one in her sleep - I get the evil eye, and she zonks back out. There isn't any other way, unless I have the vet's office do it. They need three people to clip one of my dogs' nails. Every time I get a new puppy I solemnly swear to myself that I will clip their nails so regularly that it will not be an issue. Every time, I fail. It's always an Issue.
I have never owned a dog that required much grooming. My last dog was part shetland pony and part donkey, so her fur was easy enough. I could either let it get long and she looked something like a 50-lb Benji, or I could shave her down to her second coat, which was blonde, unlike her outer, black and brown coat. Shaved, she resembled a 50-lb semi-straight haired cocker. Either way, she always smelled bad. I could take her to a groomer, have them do everything possible, and she stunk. The vet was mystified, and I was mildly offended, but no matter what, that dog had a Strong Smell about her.
The beagles, however, have very little odor. Perhaps it is just in comparison to the half-donkey I used to own? I did read once that beagles don't get that "doggy smell." I do know that other breeds do smell differently to me. No matter - it had been three years, and it was Time for Baths.
One dog plus one person - that is workable. More than one person, more than one dog - that works, too. Two dogs, one person - not as easy, especially when one of the dogs has a life-threatening illness that is provoked by stress. Even so, it was Time for Baths.
Preparation is easy enough. I put my cell phone on the floor by the shower door, in case I was injured falling and unable to crawl up to the top of a counter to get to it. Diet soda went in the same area. Priorities, right?
Lots of towels and larger rags were hung over the top of the shower door in anticipation of everyone's favorite: Wet Dog. Dog shampoo was moved into the shower. The shower head was released in order to work with the hose. Anything breakable was removed from the bathroom.
Both dogs were leashed and taken outside for a last pee, just in case. It might be warm where you are, but it's 37 degrees here and very wet. The lawn is like a soft, over-soaked sponge. A doggy blanket was put on my bed because my dogs have always jumped from the bathroom onto my bed so they could wipe some of the water off on my bedspread and if they really got lucky, my pillows.
We came back in the house. I hung my jacket up, but did not unleash them. They gazed at me with love and trust. Never mind, I wasn't letting them out of it. As I talked happily to them, I lead them into the bathroom and then shut the door.
Immediately, they started circling the bathroom. This wasn't normal, was it? They never get locked in the bathroom with their leashes on! I unhooked them, and removed my clothes. I might be in for a nasty chore, but I am not stupid. No way can I give two beagles a shower and not get soaked! Softly, I called them into the shower. No. No way, mom. We are NOT going in there. I kept trying to talk them into it - no. Uh uh. There is sometimes _water_ in there!!
So, I had to get back out, put their collars back on, grab the leads, and pull them gently into the shower. Oddly, they didn't fight me. I shut the door to the shower, dropped the leashes and collars over the top of the door, and looked at the dogs.
Pitiful. Just pitiful. No mercy was given. I turned the water on (which I had thoughtfully pre-heated for them) and got them wet. Oh, the world was about to end, but they let me do it. Eventually, shampoo was added, and they were rinsed and dried as much as possible with towels.
At one point, Baby put her front feet and all her weight on the door - I thought she was going to get free! But no, I kept them in until it was time.
I opened the doors, put my clothes back on, and watched them race through the house and rub their fur all over my furniture, the carpet, and everything except my bed. I guess the doggy blanket worked, but not how I expected it to.
They were then given their dinners, and they don't smell like beagles any more. Now, they smell like wet dogs and doggy shampoo.
Do I ever have to do this again?
They feel soooo soft!
Well, now, this has been a moving experience at my home! (pun intended)
I stayed up until 3 am with the poopers, who are so aptly nicknamed. Molly spent the last few hours of that time with her little shiny hiney, as Deb called it, pressed against my leg on the sofa as I tried to discreetly shove an absorbable, washable doggy blanket between us.
Nothing happened. It was fairly uneventful here after around midnight. I read for a few hours, and since Molly had no further pressing issues, I decided to put a doggy blanket on her side of the bed over the sheet. They rarely move much at night - I get the middle of the bed, Molly is on my right, Baby on my left. The plan was made and I was very tired. Even so, I expected to be dragged outside at least once during the night.
Around 10 am I finally dragged us all out of bed. I had been on the edge of sleep for a few hours, but everyone was sleeping so peacefully that I didn't want to look for trouble. Slowly, I peeled back my covers. Molly's side was clean. YAY!!!!
Baby's side, however, had some yellow stains on it. Yellow? Maybe extra refined mixture of oil and bodily waste? On my Pratesi sheets! I admit I got them on sale, but they were in the 4-digit range to begin with. I love my supima cotton sheets. I have been looking forward to growing (more) old with them and my Frette sheets. Fine cotton polishes as it is used, and the sheets get like silk. I do not like to give up good sheets, not until they are beyond use. That normally takes around 10+ years, and these are less than 2 years old, and aren't even really soft enough yet. I like good sheets, but I love old good sheets.
The sheets and the spread are in the washing machine. I am hoping for the best. It wouldn't exactly be the first stain ever, but I prefer to keep them looking pristine.
Molly and Baby were acting like little toddlers when I wiped their bums off with doggy wipes after our first trip outside this morning. I hope to be able to drag them into the shower. Normally I just wipe them down since it's hard to shower with two beagles who very much do not like to be in water. Molly's illness means I have to try to avoid stressing her. Showers are stressful. I may just have to increase her prednisone and give myself a little glass of Bailey's. Maybe Baby can lick the bottom of my glass. I have to shower them together or they freak out about being separated.
They are currently sleeping peacefully in one small patch of sunlight on the living room floor, between the fireplace, TV to be donated, boxes left over from the ceiling fans, and my exercise ball.
Molly hasn't produced any more colorful, oily farts.
A warning: I did some reading last night on baby/mineral oil. It is something to be kept far away from the reach of any pets. It is a very light oil, and if the pet throws up, some of the oil can aspirate into the lungs, causing pneumonia or worse. Luckily for Molly, she has a digestive tract reminiscent of a cast iron system. I saw no indications of her having horked. She seems to be breathing normally, but as usual, I will be watching them both like a hawk.
Please move any bottles of baby or mineral oil to locations your pets cannot reach them. I don't even know where this bottle was, but I do not ever leave anything I think might be tempting where I think they can reach it. My girls, however, can be very cat-like when it comes to getting to something they think is intriguing.
Meanwhile, I will be laundering many items and trying to get drops of oil off ceramic tiles. And carpeting. And throw rugs. And carpeting. And sheets. And a bedspread. And my clothing.
Let's not forget the dogs! There is nothing like the fresh aroma of wet dog.
Baby couldn't help that; she was sick and wanted to be close to her pack leader.
Molly, however, could have avoided this had she been acting like a lady today.
I had my usual massage at the usual time today. I go the same time every week on the same day. Dogs learn routines pretty quickly and adjust. Usually.
Today I came home and found a chewed up Tupperware cup. OK, I know where that came from, but usually nothing gets chewed unless I am late for a meal. I know I fed them before I left. Also on the floor was an almost empty, 14-oz bottle of baby oil, with the cap chewed off.
Uh, oh, I think, where is the rest of it? Where did that bottle come from? I haven't used baby oil since I moved here in summer of 2006. I don't even know where she found the bottle. I looked around to see if I had left any doors open, or any hint that Molly had opened a cupboard door and helped herself. Not a clue to be found. While I certainly suspected Molly, I had no idea which one did it or if they were both guilty. I just knew I had to get them outside and then fire up the well-used carpet steamer.
The culprit implicated herself within minutes. Molly squatted and squirted poop and oil. I have to admire her ability to hold on. I am sure I would have pooped in the house if I drank some where along the line of 1-13 ounces of baby oil.
As I steamed up small dark spots of poopy oil on the carpet, I saw Molly sit down, heard a tiny little fart, and as she walked away I saw another dark, oily spot that didn't smell very nice. I continued to steam small areas of the carpeting, still unaware of where the "big dump" of oil may be soaking into my carpeting.
When I finally got around to eating lunch/dinner, Molly sat next politely on the carpet next to me. I cringed. Sure enough, when she got up, there was another dark, oily spot. I sighed, and cleaned it up after I finished my dinner.
In an attempt for damage control, I put a blue puppy pad on the sofa and had a talk with Molly about where she was supposed to sit. She sat down and carefully listened, leaving another spot on the carpet. She then jumped up, sat on the paper, and appeared ready to sleep. Yes!! I thought I had been successful. A minute later, she moved over and cuddled next to me. I grabbed the paper, and tried to shove it under her shiny, oily bum. (I am so grateful for the decision to have leather furniture!)
She farted. I have three blankets in the washing machine right now. I hope bleach doesn't ruin them. Who knew she could aim well enough to hit three at once?
My sheets are a light cream color, made by Pratesi. I might not go to bed tonight.
Uh oh, she just farted on the green blanket and the others aren't even in the dryer yet.
My daughter doesn't understand why I keep nasty old ugly blankets on my sofa. I wish she were here. It would save me an explanation.
So far, Baby has not leaked anything, including the news of where there might be a big spill of baby oil. I am thinking Molly didn't let anything hit the floor.
Oops, oh, no, Molly, don't fart!
I am a light sleeper, and anything that goes in my house, I am aware of. I used to hear the cats walk into my bedroom. It woke me up. I heard the newspaper delivery car, I heard the neighbor get home who worked nights, I heard it all. My bedroom in my old house was in the front. This bedroom is in the back. I find more activity goes on in the back of this house at night.
Two nights ago, I was snuggled up with Molly on my right,under the covers, and Baby on my left, also under the covers. 364 days a year they sleep like this. One night a year, they switch for one night. It seems to be by mutual agreement.
Anyway, two nights ago I was only half asleep about 3:15 am. I am positive Molly was asleep. The next thing I know, Molly is barking her little head off and trying to claw her way out of the window. Remember, I don't have a headboard. I have a bay window instead. Less than two seconds later, Baby is also barking at the window, and much louder. I started to shush them, then I remembered Roomie is out of town, and all the windows are closed (this time of year, they are never, ever open), so they aren't bothering anyone except me.
I lifted my tired head and blearily tried to see outside. It's not too easy to see through windows at 3:15 am when there are no lights on outside. I scanned around and saw deer. Two, at first. I am pretty sure there were more. Every night they run through my backyard, and leave prints. As far as I know, they generally just run through.
That night, they decided to hang around and dance around the trees, play with each other, pee on the ground, drop a load or two, and generally act much like squirrels do when they hear dogs barking and know, just know, that the dogs can't do anything about it. At times, they were closer than 10 feet from us. Did you know that deer play a form of tag?
My dogs were tormented for 45 minutes. I watched outside to see the deer dance. I had no idea they have the mentality of squirrels. I have lived in a state with a high population of whitetails all my life, and I haven't seen this behavior before.
It was worth being disturbed at 3:15 am. I just hope the glass in my windows is pretty tough. Luckily the dogs can't really stand on the ledge and put their full weight on the glass like they could in my old house.
I once was working in the yard when Molly was fairly young, and she was watching me from the bay window in the old house. It was summer, and I had the window open. I looked up, and she had her full weight on the screen, front legs up, stretched out, trying to get to me. I had instant visions of her going right through - it wasn't a ground level window! I never again, no matter how hot it got, left the windows open in the bedroom again wide enough for her to fit through the opening. Screens are not going to hold two 30-lb dogs for long.
If the deer decide to come indoors to play, the windows are not going to be much good either. I wonder if they would eat the food I cook for the dogs? I wouldn't want to be a rude hostess.
At least I never use venison.
(NO, I do NOT put out any food for wildlife! I know better than that!)
Now that I think about it, I think "Storm Warnings" is the name of a book I thoroughly enjoyed!
This is our current weather:
Winter storm warning remains in effect until 7 am est wednesday,
A winter storm warning remains in effect until 7 am est wednesday.
Snow, heavy at times, will continue this evening, with some sleet mixed in at times. Snow amounts are expected to vary greatly across the region by late tonight. However, overall storm total accumulations of 4 to 6 inches can be expected in most areas. In addition, strong northeast winds gusting up to 30 mph will create additional hazards of blowing and drifting snow. The snow will come diminish to flurries late tonight.
A winter storm warning means significant amounts of snow, sleet, and ice are expected or occurring. Strong winds are also possible. This will make travel very hazardous or impossible.
They weren't kidding, either. I think the wind was going faster than I was. I met a former co-worker for dinner, and the sky was merely ominous with potential fury on the way there in rush traffic. Even in heavy traffic, I arrived ten minutes early, with the slow time of about 45 minutes to drive 20 miles.
On the way home, the snow, sleet, etc, were so bad I never got past 30 mph. Most of the trip was at 25 mph, and often I couldn't see where the road was. Luckily, traffic was light and I was familiar with the route. I did not see, in the hour it took me to get home, one police car or salt truck or any kind of snow/ice removal equipment.
A particular hazard of this kind of weather is when the ice from sleet starts to build up on the wipers, causing the wipers to merely smear the windshield, and obscuring the driver's view. If the defroster isn't kept pretty active, eventually ice will form on the entire front window. We trade warm feet for a safe view sometimes. Nights like tonight, even with the defroster on high it isn't very helpful. I had to stop at red lights and leave the wipers off for a while, then put them on high with the hopes that the ice would fly off. No sense in getting out to wipe the ice off - the roads were too icy to risk a fall, especially in that wind. I would have had to pull over on a side street and carefully take my time to clear off the wipers and the window, if necessary.
I am still trying to find out what our seasonal snowfall has been this year. It has to be at least double the norm. While March often brings some ice storms, it doesn't usually bring large snowfalls close together. This is getting really, really tiresome!
As I said last year, Mother Nature needs to stop hanging around with Old Man Winter and hook up with Mr Sunshine before we all freeze to death up here :P
The dogs are so sick of it that they are peeing on the driveway if there is any snow on it. I totally understand their position. It must be difficult to squat, balance and pee on uneven snow banks that are partly ice. I do not intend to do a personal test on the theory.
Did I say I really don't have many pictures of them? Breaking them down into groups of eight makes it seem like I have a ton! You are surely tired of them by now, but I am staying on task here so I can finish up. I think it's called "hyperfocus."
Is it time for dinner? Can someone come over to play? When do we eat? Where are my toys?
I am Baby. I am not thinking anything. I let Molly do the thinking because I am not very good at it.
This is MY teddy. It's the only thing that is MINE. I still let Molly play with it if she wants to, though. She said I have to.
Teddy makes me happy.
Who needs drugs? I love my teddy :-)
Teddy does nothing for me, but I want it because it's not mine.
This (lighter) blue blankie is mom's favorite new throw from Restoration Hardware. Child gave it to her for Christmas! It's so soft!What is wrong with "it smells like dog?" What doesn't? Goodnight, all!
Mom tried to take a video of Baby making her own bed and covering herself up with blankies and every time mom turned the camera on, Baby freaked and would just lie down. Ha ha ha!!! Good luck getting that one on tape! Baby is terrified of the camera and runs whenever she sees it coming - I prefer to pose. I don't know how mom ever got any pictures of Baby. She is such a....well you know. Baby.
My dogs are abused, neglected, and starve regularly. If you believe any of that, I have a bridge and some adjoining swamp land you might be interested in. Too bad I don't have pictures of them lying across me while I try to read or of them banging on the bells at the front door. They are supposed to be "let me out" bells, but they are "servant bells." Molly will whack them for anything - the cat stole my milkbone - you are five minutes late for our treat - my toy got stuck under the fridge....and I have to figure it out after she whacks on the bell and then sits down instead of wanting to go outside. Molly is pretty smart, but sometimest it takes me a while to figure out what she is trying to tell me! Baby is dumb as a box of rocks, but they are equally lovable. Just ask them!
Molly with her container of homemade frozen yogurt dog treat (Like Frosty Paws).She also had stitches all over. She must have thought I was going to try to give her a shot, because she grabbed her dish and took off with it!
This is partly why I bought a dozen pair of flip flops. The rest of the reason is on the other side. She had 8 incisions.
She posed with my shoes. I am often surprised after taking a picture to find her in it,
I accidentally left a partial container of home made dog food on the kitchen island and left the room. I figured taking pictures was better than yelling, and made it more fun anyway. Notice Molly's face.
The wall, the tiles, the throw rug, the fridge, the dog, the island - don't worry mom. I will clean it all up. Go away.
How do I lick it off my own face?
That was hard work! When do we eat?
A little birdie was in my window last summer. So far, the deer don't stay put long enough for me to get pictures of them :-(
I have more, sorry to say.....
Without further ado, let's move on to entry three of the poopers:
Two dogs. One at each end. Doesn't leave much space for me, does it?
Damn camera wakes me up every time! Go away!
When will you finish dinner, mom? I am hungry. Can we bake more Christmas cookies?
Dinner was really good! Yeah, so stop farting in my face, OK?
I think I am ready to eat again. Mom? Is it dinner yet?
Why does she get all the blankies?
Can someone come cover us up?
OK, Baby. I get it. Teddy is yours. But everything else is MINE.
I didn't do it. Even if I did, you would forgive me now for anything. Is it time to eat?
You can quit now if you want, but I have even more and I am going to post them! Someone stop me!
Maybe some day I will take the time to size pictures attractively :-)
Just more boring dog pictures:
New toy box, same behavior. Poor Molly! She doesn't seem to understand why she can't really get comfortable lying on 25+ lumpy toys.
This is my mom's bed? No way. But we do let her sleep with us if she feeds us.
Baby? Get me an aspirin. What a night!
Words defy this one and the next. Yes, that is a dog. It's Baby. She is sleeping like that. By choice - I can't possibly pose them. Her nose is down, her leg is up.
Get your own aspirin, Molly, I am too tired to move. That must have been quite a night we had!
How did mom find me?
Train? Where is my private room? How far away is Toronto, anyway? (Hey, she is sort of a pet, right?)
If mom won't cover me, I have to do the best I can by myself.
Again, out of consideration for those on dial up, we are going on to entry three...I hope this makes up for my lack of sending them before?
Depending on how I feel at the moment, the beagles are either referred to as "the ladies," or, "the poopers." No explanations should be necessary.
I have been promising for a very long time to post more pictures of the ladies. As I mentioned in the last two posts, I spent hours and hours getting my pictures together. I was shocked at how few I really have of the ladies. I am not sure how that happened, but I will have to do better in the future.
When I was more involved with the online support group for Molly's Addison's Disease, one of the very informed ladies there used to love to see pictures of my dogs "at rest," shall we say. They relax better than any coon dog on some porch of a shack in the mountains as stereotypically shown in movies. Only one thing gets them up, and that is related to calories. I am afraid to even type to correct word! It not only gets them up, but they turn into some sort of furry frenzied freak show.
The blankets vary, the days change, the poopers age, the light isn't the same, the distance is a variable, but they mostly show the second favorite hobby of my two favorite beagles in the world.
A few show Baby with Teddy. Baby must have the female version of the Dayton Hudson Christmas bears. At least she isn't picky (yet) as to which vintage I get for her, but nothing else will do. I cannot explain why she must have this particular bear. Another animal won't do. The male bear, which has shorter fur, won't do. Nothing else comforts Baby like these bears do. When she is stressed, she will roll the bear over on it's belly, gently but carefully bite the right side of the back of the neck, stick her front paws under the front legs of the bear, throw her back legs straight out, and do the toe thing that cats are famous for. Baby then goes off in some state of nirvana, which I think is not very close to Ohio. It's like a drug for her - instant calm. Eventually, Teddy turns into Stumpy and I am frantically searching for more of these collector bears. Whatever it takes.
These are in no particular order.
Whoops! Wide awake beagles, playing in the snow at my old house in the dog run!
Also from my old neighborhood - part of the daily walk.
A painting scene from the old house. You think you only see one cat? There are two dogs on the sofa. Look carefully!
Also the old house. This was more entertaining when they had a third beagle over doing the same thing, but I can't find that picture! They did this often, but I have no idea why.
Molly zonked. Baby kept up the vigil. Rabbits? Squirrels? Who knows?
Old house. Molly sleeps in her toy box sometimes when she doesn't feel well.
Moving is very hard word.
What is this? Can we keep it? (former neighbor's puppy)
It's MINE, but we can play about it.
Out of an attempt to be considerate to dial up people, I will put more on the next entry.
