Enough already…

Well, the last of the original ‘beasts of burden’ is now gone.

For the 3rd time in less than 3 months I had to put one of my “original” pets to sleep. Allie was my first “real” (non-fish, non-bird) pet. I never even thought I was an animal person until I got her from the Humane Society 15 years ago.

She had been found in an alley so I named her “Alley”  but much like my own name nobody got it right, so it morphed into Allie.

I got better stories from Bubba but Allie lived a no less colorful life and had her own idiosyncrasies and unique qualities.

*She was annoyingly unmercifully affectionate, always trying to be right where I was all the time. “Talking” to me. Hence the suffix “the co-dependent kitty.” She always had to be nearby, if not on, me.

*She liked it when I held her tightly. Really tightly. She would relax into my arms and quit whining right away.

*She’d been separated from her mother too early and would try to suckle on my ear until the end. For real.

She’d get this look and wouldn’t even look at you, just at your ear, as she tried to go in for the suck. I warned several people, they didn’t believe me, and they experienced otherwise.

Fortunately she didn’t do this with too many people.

*Until very near the end she chased her tail, caught and dismembered rabbits (the 2nd to last one was brought into the living room and I dragged it, Allie, and the area rug they were on out to the front porch overnight), and rested on the kitchen window ledge looking at birds.

She was defintely the great hunter, having caught and partially dismembered innumerable m/voles as well as the aforementioned rabbits. Oh, and the snake (story here). Who could forget the snake?

*Several years ago she disappeared for 2 months and 1 day. She got trapped outside during a storm and freaked out and I guess ran. Twice I saw her down the block at the park but she was so traumatized (weird for such a co-dependent animal) that she wouldn’t come near me. I finally gave up.

Then one morning I was out in my garden and she toodled up and rubbed against me like I’d just seen her yesterday. She had lost some weight but she’d survived the mean streets of S’bury just fine.

From that point on, she put up with absolutely no sh** from any animal she didn’t want around. Girl was scared of her (for no reason) so she wasn’t an issue, but Bubba was used to being able to antagonize her at will. When she got back after her street livin’ she wouldn’t take it no mo.

*My favorite features were her Egyptian looking profile and her tan front paws that bowed outward like Vs.

Unlike Li’l Effer, Allie was calm at the end and died peacefully. I’ve been wishing the cats would finally die already, but I will miss her.

Yet I have to admit I felt a huge sense of freedom when I threw away the litter boxes the other day. Huge. Cannot be over-stated how huge…

I was confident I was over cats and then I saw this young cat in the ‘hood the other day. It was soooo sweet and affectionate. I wavered for a moment and then I remembered all the dead m/voles, rabbits, litter box scooping, the tail-breaks (objects broken by their tails), the amount of hair (example here).

The cats were a great addition to my life and I loved them mostly dearly, but I’m over the cat thing for now.

Allie (left) and Bubba in their “fat cat” days.

 

I told my friend I’d try to post photo w/out feeling obligated to write anything but I have to ask: When will I learn to focus my damn camera?

 

For real this time…

Earlier post about Bubba

This time it’s for real. He went out just like he lived his nickname. The vet had to give him 2 sedative shots (each enough for a 50 lb. cat!) and I still had to hold him down when he gave him the “real” shot. He wasn’t even really fighting or threatening though, just growling…

I really didn’t want it to be that way. I wanted it to be calm and for him to not resist. But if he’d done that he wouldn’t have been my L’il Effer…at least his little constantly-purring engine died quickly.

I’ll miss my little Bubby. Nobody liked him but me and he didn’t really like anybody but me, so it’s hard for people to be sympathetic except to say they’re sorry for “my loss,” and seldom have truer words been spoken. It is (only) “my loss.”

Well, and Allie’s. But she whines about everything anyway. This just adds fuel to her dimming fire.

 

New medical condition?

I think it’s because it’s digital, but my new TV (aka the thing that makes even soap operas look appealing because it has a pretty picture. Thank god I have a job) has a delay of a few seconds compared to the old TV.

Right now I’m in the dining room, which is in between the living room (land of the pretty pictures) and the kitchen (the room I want a permanent attendant for).

I don’t want to say the kitchen TV is old, but it is a Sony Watchman (made for about 2 years), which is a mini-black and white TV with a cassette player and am/fm radio.  We are all about cutting edge here.

Anyway, there is a delay of a couple of seconds on the pretty TV. Now you might be thinking: maybe it’s that the kitchen TV is ahead and not the living room, but this idiosyncrasy didn’t manifest until the Pretty Picture TV came along. Before, the old TVs both yelled at you simultaneously.

So I’m hearing 60 Minutes on both devices but the living room one repeats the kitchen one a couple of seconds later, just enough time to throw me off-kilter (don’t go there). It’s like a recurrent echo that only repeats once. Or someone repeating himself.

You wouldn’t think that hearing the same things a couple of seconds apart would be such a big deal, but I think I have indavertently discovered a new medical condition: auditory vertigo.

 

A ’special’ kind of diet

–>5/31 update: She crapped like an 80 lb. lab and she weighs 16 lbs.

As you know, it’s “all dog all the time” around here. And boy, are puppies stupid ignorant of so many things I take for granted.

Today’s oh – dear – god – not – another - dog – story is about what Fanny did not eat.  She did not eat any of the following:

1 mourning dove
1 used feminine hygiene product
1 small bar soap
1 backer rod (used behind caulking)
1/2 catalog
1 pen

No, she ate those yesterday…

Today seemed better – than – average until my friend D left here and I was cleaning up. There was a (now-empty) bowl of (what was) soy nuts on the table (which I’d already caught Fanny on twice today).

Just for grins I called D, who had not eaten the rest of them. I knew that before I called of course, but I had to check.

Did you know that 1/4 cup soy nuts provides 25% of your nutritional fiber?

I wonder how that translates for a 16.5  lb. dog? 400%? 500%? Do you think the house could blow up?

I’m leaving some windows open tonight so flammable gasses and noxious fumes don’t build up.

 

And now: ‘Moments in Women’s History’

I love Formula One (open-wheel) racing. Now I would consider myself a casual fan, but I didn’t used to be so casual.

I’ve been to races in KC, Long Beach, Michigan, Florida (24 Hours of Daytona), not to mention all the ones I’ve watched on tv. So yeah, I love open-wheel racing. I even had my picture taken with Johnny Rutherford.

It used to be shown on regular (non-cable) TV, but since the onslaught of NASCAR Formula One has gone (presumably) to cable, which I don’t have. So I’ve gotten out of touch with it.

Just turned on the Indy 500 though, and there are not one, not two, but three, count them THREE women in the race.

And I probably don’t need to point this out but I will anyway: If you get to the big leagues (F-1) then you are not an amateur and you didn’t get there on your looks (although I love a man ’s butt in a racing suit).

You got there because you are good,  you found an obnoxious number of well-heeled sponsors to back you, you have progressed from (probably) go karts to sprint cars, etc. to prove your ability and (the true test) you have qualified for whatever race(s) you are in.

So rock on, all you Indy women! You’ve made us proud.

 

what a goof

My dog is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at herself in the mirror on the opposite wall.

Only she doesn’t know she’s looking at herself.

Fanny, formerly the “love me, please love me” dog who tries to cross the street when she sees someone who might possibly pet her, has suddenly turned tough.

Her brow is furrowed, her ears are raised, and she occasionally punctuates the self-induced tension with a gutteral growl to her reflection.

Such a little goofball…

 

A goal achieved…

I inadvertently and totally unintentionally insulted a colleague today (no really, I did, though I still think he took it in a way I didn’t intend – story of my life).

But more important, I was reminded that I still hadn’t posted here about my therapy session with Bob.

If you’ve been reading me for a while, you probably shouldn’t be surprised that I’ve had some therapy over the years. No really!

Personally and in my opinion, I think if you haven’t ever had some therapy you probably really need it and someone’s too scared to tell you.

Overall, it’s been a great investment. Like everyone’s investments it’s depreciated a bit lately, but overall it’s been enlightening.

So imagine my amazement when I found out I could have a free session in Chicago with my all-time favorite one-time psychologist, Dr. Bob.

It’s weird, because I’ve known him almost forever but we’ve never met. I’ve loved and have respected him for years.

I could never have imagined I’d get to see him, lay/lie on his couch and have a session. It’s kind of like getting to have a session with Dr. Freud if I’d lived in the 19th century and spoke German better.

So the last time I was in Chicago, my friend S. and I fought our way through the Windy City winds to get to his plein-air office. It was a brief session, and even though S. got just one usable photo of me I’m pleased the moment was captured.

(She also inadvertantly also videoed the session with my cell phone, but would you put your therapy session on your blog?! I don’t think so…)

But I am willing to post the photo, because it was a dream come true I want to share:

I don’t know how my friend S. feels about this, though, so I’m using my extensive Picasa skills to anonymize her:

It’s nice when a dream comes true.

 

What I know so far (or “all dog all the time”)

<The flash reflected off her face strangely here and I’m a “picasa easy fixes only” kind of person, not a perfessional. Her face is really almost all caramel brown and doesn’t look like a mask, as it does here. See next photo or wait for the next blog entry with 4 dozen more.>

I’ve always wondered what Girl might have been like as a puppy, and with Fanny I thought I might find out. And I have.

Now if you have kids I’ve probably listened to you talk about everything from their poopy color and consistency to little Muffin being so advanced for his/her age, so please indulge me while I discuss what I’ve learned in the past couple of weeks.

• Puppies have lots of energy. Tons of energy. So much energy I sometimes want to cry. Seriously considered another dog but am now sober resorting planning on seriously considering doggy day care 1 day/week. It costs more than a Pilates session (not that I do that, but now I for sure can’t). It’s still cheaper than another dog.
• ‘Mature in body’ does not equal ‘maturity in mind.’ Please note that I knew this before I got Fanny. How many times did I wittily remark that “in some ways they are always puppies.” How little did I realize what I was saying. Love IS blind.
• I have laughed more in the past 3 weeks than in the previous 3 months.
• When she (maybe all dogs that dig?) digs holes she furiously digs, then stops and listens for (something) literally with ear to the ground in the hole, then keeps digging until either distracted or yelled at? Literally – ear to the ground.
• Fanny saw a dog on tv. It ran off screen. Fanny ran around for the next couple of minutes trying to find the dog. She looked and barked at behind the tv, sniffed and barked at the front door, opened the shutters in the big front window and barked, went out to the back yard and barked. There was a lot of barking involved. Girl never barked except to yowl at a rabbit.
• I’ve left the (so far) most humiliating for last: I’ve adopted a horndog. My neighbor was over the other night and just loved Fanny. Fanny loved her too. So much so that Fanny mounted her leg a few times. I just did not know what to do. Neighbor has raised several dogs so I let her decide. She sat there for a good 30 seconds, acting like Meg Ryan in the infamous “I’ll have what she’s having” diner scene in Sleepless in Seattle. She then asked Fanny if it was good for her.  I swear this is true.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t a one-time deal and now my back and my leg have been her latest, uh, conquests. She is fixed so I really don’t have a clue what’s going on here. I swear I know more about raising children than I do this little puppy, and I confess I called her ‘Little Satan’ yesterday.

It’s quite vexing actually.

 

So much to learn…

Silly silly Fanny – she’s still trying to get Li’l Effer (more here) to play with her, even going into the “hey let’s play” position (aka ‘downward-facing dog’  pose) and play-barking at him.

To his credit (or is he just in shock?) he’s not running or hissing or swatting her, though. He’s just looking at her and staring.

If he had a brain he’d be thinking, “Are you nuts? Do you know who I am, what I represent? I am the have scared large dogs and children before you.”

But he’s just staring at her while she keeps trying. Me? I am just sitting here in disbelief that she still has energy after 3 walks, running and playing separately and together with the neighbor girl, me, at least 4 toys, and another dog in the back yard today.

I also can’t believe that after 10 days she’s still trying to get him or Allie to play with her. She just doesn’t get the whole hissing thing and that it means ‘No, I am menacing – go away.’

Poor naive little Fanny has so much to learn on the way to growing up.

 

New arrival

Once again proving that you’re never too old to be a sucker, I am a new mother at the ripe old age of 46.

Here’s my new-to-me baby, Fanny.

The photos aren’t that great, but regular readers will get sick of seeing her photos over the next X amount of time, anyway, so these will give you enough of an idea…

She’s one year old, chews on everything, has a tail that could be registered as a weapon in some states, and just discovered the scent of rabbit a couple days ago.

Despite being hissed at she continues to attempt befriending the cats, has found a potential escape hatch (in the yard) that Girl the beagle never found, and likes to dive bomb the bed and lick me to wake me up (which frankly, I don’t like, but it does makes me laugh and is hard to escape except by hiding under the pillow).

“Mother” and “daughter” are doing fine, except “mother” is exhausted from saying “leave it” all the time to “daughter,” who’s a little dense.

The new mother is registered at Petsmart and the St L Hills Vet. Clinic, which will undoubtedly receive lots of dogupuncture business as Fanny ages.

She’s pretty irresistible, albeit aggravating at times, but I guess that’s how we all survived, isn’t it? In some way, we were all just cute enough that our parents didn’t kill us.

 

Please use pesticides.

Basically they’re asking the Obamas to poison whoever eats out of their garden, albeit slowly. This has On-say-San-say-To-say-Mon all over it. I am so proud to live here.

 

Save me from myself (or ‘Oops, I did it again’)

Sometimes I just don’t know when to quit. I get wrapped up in something I’m curious about and I lose all sense of perspective, time, common sense – whether what I’m obsessing over doing could be done differently, better, faster, stronger, not done at all, or if the real answer is actually right in front of me <see this for a lesson I thought I’d learned already>.

I am like a dog with a bone and won’t, no I can’t give up on it.

Take last night: I spent 1/2 hour effing with my phone’s memory card because the adapter slot couldn’t read it. Duh – that’s what the data cable that came with the phone is for.

Then I downloaded the photos onto my lappy, and proactively (for a change) deleted them from my memory card.

I spent another <who knows how long because I was in the dog bone/geek zone> amount of time “organizing” my photos.

<And then I decided to clean out that sticky ctrl key, which resulted in a blog entry, Are You Retentive?>

All was well until I shut down for the night and realized “hey, I didn’t see my Chicago photos.” Reet reet reet!!! Boot up.

But no, turns out that when deleted some “excess photos” I – oops – deleted some real ones, ones I wouldn’t have a backup for, ones I’d wanted for months (photos of me with Bob in Chicago – entry coming soon, but I’ve had the “Me with Bob” photo idea on my “non-existent but would be great if I ever did it life list” for about a year).

My Bob photos captured a moment in time that I’d looked forward to and enjoyed. (Wait til you see the photos – talk about cheap thrills) But no, I’d deleted the effing images off my phone memory card without a backup. MAN I hate when that happens. It seldom happens that I don’t have a backup, but it does happen. Clearly.

Anyway, the point (if you haven’t gotten it yet) is: I had deleted photos of Bob and me.

So then I was just sad. I’d really cherished this interaction with Bob and was so excited to have photos from it. But I didn’t have ‘em anymore.

I remembered I recovered some photos successfully a few years ago with Art Plus Digital Photo Recovery software. But it was really late so I just downloaded the most recent version and decided (finally!) to cut my losses.

Actually I was just worried I’d screw it up more if I kept messing with it, but I finally gave in and went to bed.

Good news though – I recovered 123 photos from my memory card and (most importantly) my BOB photos!!!

 

Are you retentive?

You might be anal… if you spray compressed air on your keyboard.

You might be anal…if you unseat specific keys (or know what the word ‘unseat’ means) to clean them with compressed air.

You might be anal…if you actually go get tweezers  to pull hair from the unseated key.

(Click on image for the full effect)

Then again, you might not be that anal if you have this much hair under just one key…

(Click on image for the full effect)

 

My Spring Break

I took a brief trip recently. It was too late to call it a “Winter vacation” so we’ll call it “Spring Break.” And you know I love my annual Winter (this year, Spring) vacation. I have to be around the water…

(As always, click on the images to expand. They are beautiful! And you see so much detail.)

,

There were bright, beautiful, tropical fish…Even the green thing below is a fish (or something—please don’t correct me—I don’t care. I’m an art historian, not a biologist).

,

Now there were a few things missing, namely the outdoors, the beach and the sun. But there were plenty of chairs, which are usually in short supply near the water:

Yeah, good times. Good times…