Dog Day of Summer

Joe and I celebrated a very special anniversary this weekend. No, not our 8 years of dating- a year ago this weekend we adopted our plucky little dog, Georgia.

And being the hopeless sentimentalist, I wanted to do something extra special. So we stopped into PetsMart and bought her a nice new feminine (because I'm tired of correcting people when they ask us about "HIM") collar, a new bouncy ball toy, and even a big doggy-cinnamon roll-bone thing (complete with "icing" drizzle).

After that, Joe and I were both itching to get some outdoor exercise that we could include the puppy in, so we decided to go for a nice long walk through the Hunt Valley Trail.

It was more crowded than we expected, particularly with bicyclists. I can't remember the last time I sat on a bike, let alone go for a ride on one. It did look rather inviting. Georgia was fascinated by them as well, and proceeded to lunge at each one that passed by.

We took this as an opportunity to do some training with the "leave it" command. We put her back on a shorter leash and when we a bicyclist approached we gave her a stern command- "Leave it". If she lunged, we pulled her back and told her "No." Eventually, she began to understand that if she simply ignored the bikers, we praised her. I often do that alot in her training. She literally gets rewarded when she does nothing. Nice life, huh?

We were having a nice time when suddenly something else was approaching us- another dog. Joe, wanting to introduce Georgia to as many dogs as possible, was about to let Georgia greet the other dog when it's owner pulled it back and away. I shrugged it off; some people are either hesitant about other dogs or worried about their own dog wil react. Joe I think was a little more indignant.

"Well, that was uncalled for...", he said with a slight hurt look on his face. I patted his back and we kept walking with our socially jilted dog.

On the walk back we found ourselves coming up behind another dog, and again, the owners didn't seem too interested in letting the dogs meet. We kept our steady pace but eventually we caught up right behind them. It was kinda awkward- their dog kepts trying to turn around to see Georgia and Georgia was desperately trying to get ahead to meet it. I tried to purposely slow down so as to give the other people the hint to move along or move aside. Since they seemed uninterested in doing either, I did the only sensible thing....stopped and pretended to look at a flower.

Joe, of course, recognized and poked fun at my obvious action.

We finally got back to car, and after worrying senselessly about whether Georgia was exhausted or too hot, Joe turned around and said casually, "What's that on her head?"

I turned around too and as he looked closer we realized what that was- a tick. I immediately got squeamish but Joe simply hopped into the back, grabbed a tissue and got to work pulling the pest off her little head. It took a few seconds but it at last gave up the fight and Joe dropped the tissue outside.

It was a merry day had by all. Joe was relaxed from the fresh air, Georgia was tuckered from the excitement, and I spent the rest of the drive pulling at my skin and checking every itch to make sure I hadn't taken home a blood-sucking parasite of my own.

Scary Movie

I love watching movies. Well, I should say, I enjoy watching happy movies.

The reason being is that when I watch a movie, I am instantly pulled into the movie, feeling whatever the characters are feeling. This is great when the characters are on a great adventure or in love...not so much when they are being chased by a chainsaw-wielding sicko.

What's worse is that those scary thoughts and fears stick with me for a long time, showing up at the worst possible times.

Yet, I try to be a good sport whenever Joe is in the mood for a good thriller. I compartmentalize the story after it's over and walk away from it saying the mantra, "It's just a movie. It's just a movie." But sometimes that's not enough to keep my brain from torturing me later on in scary situations...like tonight.

Joe was out at practice and my girlfriends had left so it was just me and Georgia in the house. I went upstairs, with Georgia right at my heels, to grab a quick shower before bed. I was about to hop in when I suddenly heard the loud bang of doors opening and closing. We've had some weird phenomena happen upstairs, anyway, so I'm already on edge. Then I tried to reason that perhaps the sounds were coming from our neighbor, whose wall we share and whose goings on we can usually hear. No, it was coming from inside our house!

I clutched a towel and, like those hundreds of idiot victims that stupidly walk right into danger, I open the door. I guess I figured, hopefully whoever is standing right outside the door will kill me pretty quickly, saving me the stress and anxiety of trying to get away.

"Georgia?" I call out. She isn't on our bed and she doesn't run up the stairs. Now my heart lurches in my throat and my brain immediately jumps to the thought that a psychopath has trapped the dog somewhere to keep her from notifying me that he's there. He's waiting in one of the rooms to pop out and kill me.

I suddenly hear her whimper and now I think the psycho has hurt her to keep her quiet. But the whimper came from the guest room...which has it's door shut. I call her name again, and this time I can see her little paws hovering around inside the room.

It's then with a delighted sigh that I realize the damn dog had gone inside the guest room and when the door shut behind her she had gotten herself stuck. She was whimpering because she couldn't open the door to get out.

I release her from her self-made prison and gleefully cup her face in my hands, relieved I wasn't headed for a slasher-film conclusion. This movie had a silly comedy twist to it.

Cat-Dog

Ok, this may be a stretch of me simply scraping the bottom of the Ideas barrel, but here we go...

Reasons my Dog is like a Cat.

(these are connections I have made based on my own pre-conceived notions about cats and do not necessarily reflect the ACTUAL behaviors of cats, since I don't own any, so cat-people: be fair)

1.) Sun-hunting- To be immediately followed by sun-lounging. Many a time I have entered a room or come home and spotted Georgia carefully placed with some part of her body touching a sunbeam. I have then left said room or have gotten distracted but when I'd come back I'd noticed she has shifted her body, continuously following the progress of the sun by wiggling her body to be constantly bathed in the warm sunlight.

2.) Batting, pawing or swiping- It could have something to do with whatever Frankenstein-ian mystery breeds she has in her, or perhaps it is simply behavior by physical design, but she is a dog that seems very comfortable using her front paws as hands. For a while now we have noticed that she will scrape her nails against our hands to get us to pet her. She will play by hopping on her back legs and springing forward, her arms (because thats what they look like) outstretched as if doing a "SOO big!"

3.) Picky eating- Granted I'm sure there are millions of dogs that have this problem, but I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say there exists a stereotype that some cats are particular about their food- and in that case, Georgia is similar. Lately we've been buying this food for her that has small chunks of chicken in it. She will very happily pick out the chicken and leave the rest (the healthy component, I'm sure) for much much MUCH later. She also will turn her snout up to her food if it is not gingerly doused in warm tap water. Yes, we are indulging her pickiness and yes, I am the one turning on the faucet.

4.) Climbing- On EVERYTHING. It has almost become a common thing; seeing the telltale paw prints on tables, chairs, beds, etc. Even when I'm usually writing and Georgia decides to stay up with me, if she wants attention she has no problem walking right on my laptop. Other times when Joe or I am stretched out on the couch, she has no qualms about running in from outside and walking right on top of us, as if we are in HER way. Unlike a cat, however, she is starting to feel less like a delicate puppy and more like a rambunctious dog.

Yeah, I may have punted this one tonight, but I'll do something a bit more thought-out tomorrow- my reviews on two restaurants I visited for Baltimore Restaurant week.

Tune in tomorrow.

Staind

In case anyone was wondering the story behind my wall post on facebook yesterday (and why I didn't bother to post anything here last night) here it is...

About a month and a half ago I was changing the bed and noticed a dark yellow stain on our brand new mattress. It didn't feel wet nor did it smell, so I (stupidly) wrote it off as just an odd stain and ignored it.

A few weeks went by and I had pretty much completely forgotten about the stain. Then one night I was playing with Georgia on our bed and folding laundry when she suddenly turned around a few times (as if she was getting ready to curl up and nod off) and peed on our bed...right in front of me! I thankfully caught her in time to shoo her off the bed and gathered up the comforter before it could sink even to the sheets. I scolded her strongly, but was relieved that at least I managed to save the mattress and other linens. Again, my mind simply wrote it off as either a freak accident or the fault of a full and overly excited puppy bladder, nothing more. Until last night...

Though I was certain it was just a one-time incident, I still became obsessed with just checking the bed to make sure she hadn't had the same "accident". The other night I was walking back into the bedroom and petting Georgia when my hand did a casual swipe on the comforter...and hit a wet spot.

Panic stricken I yanked the dog off the bed and began furiously pulling up the sheets, in a race against time and urine before it seeped into the mattress itself. Sadly, I was too late...

Georgia had been naughty a few times this past week anyway, so we can't be sure if this is a dominance thing, a retaliation thing, or even a medical thing. All I know is that my heart was broken a little about this: not just because it seems like a slap in the face for all the good we've done for her and not just because this is something I really didn't see coming. It's because we JUST bought that mattress!! In a way, that thing was the first purchase Joe and I made together with our own money for our place. It represented a small step towards maturity and partnership. Unfortunately the dog has figuratively and literally pissed all over it. Grr.

If anyone out there has any experience with this kind of behavior (or better still, has tips on how to curb it) post theme here or on facebook.

That's it for me tonight guys (I KNOW, less than 1,000 words, what a treat!). Good night, sleep tight, don't let the dog pee on your mattress.

Insectuous

Had kind of a weird moment this morning. I was eating my bowl of cereal in the living room and Georgia was sitting beside me, staring off into space (she was, I wasn't...or maybe I was..who knows).

Anyway, when I finally centered on what she was looking at I realized it was a spider that had dropped down from the ceiling and clinging to a strand of web. I probably would never have noticed it if Georgia hadn't. The strand was so small it looked like the thing was truly hovering in midair.

Still, I leaped so fast off the couch you'd think my pants had caught fire. Georgia just kept gingerly trying to stand on her hind legs to snatch it up so I quickly took one more bite of my cereal and then smacked it with a shoe (the spider, not my cereal. I am a shameful English degree-holder).

Now that I recall, that was the second odd bug-type thing that happened recently. The first occurred yesterday, I think, but this week has been flying by so who knows. One of the fremps gave the other and me a small potted plant to put on our desks, an incredibly sweet gesture. A little while later one of our coworkers stopped by desk.

"So we'll probably have a meeting for that in a day or two....hmm...looks like you have a little friend," he said.

I wasn't sure what he was talking about until my head spun around and noticed one of those damn Japanese stink beetles climbing ostensibly from my little potted plant. Again, I overreacted and immediately pushed my chair away. We all began laughing because it did look as if it was a prank, but the fremp assured me it wasn't and apologized. After that we all quieted down, but I was still left to do something about the beetle. I explained how I was worried about the odor it would emit if I tried to kill it. My fremp Les explained how it really wasn't all that bad, unless you had your nose right up it, and encouraged me to just squash it.

Now, I don't know why, but I have a hard time even taking a tissue to squish a bug- its probably the wimpiest thing about me. I always figure somehow it will escape and suddenly crawl up my arm. It's also difficult because, unlike flies or mosquitoes, this thing is big enough to almost have a personality. I'm not saying I expect it to suddenly throw on a top hat and tap dance, but I'm sure it doesn't WANT to die. I was ready to just leave it alone, but I felt I should try to do my part in eradicating these things from our office.

So, I took a deep breath, plucked a tissue free, and gently place it on top of the beetle. I then knew I wouldn't have the guts to kill it so instead I tried to flick it away. Three attempts and three smacked fingers later, I finally decided to simply let it live. I justified it to myself by thinking I just gave it a pardon and that maybe I'd get some good karma out of it.

Still, things usually happen in threes...maybe I better check the sheets before bed tonight...

Dizzy Day

No specific topic tonight. I think I'll just relay the quirky or interesting tidbits of my day. Starting with the night...

It was weird. As I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom before bed last night I started to feel a tad woozy. Not like I was going to pass out, but just like I was in the Tilt-a-Whirl a few too many times. I didn't really think much of it until I tried to go to sleep. I laid on my back staring into my ceiling as if in a trance. I looked over to my window and it felt like I couldn't really focus on it. That ever happen to you? It reminded me alot of when you've had that one too many and you get "the spins". I HATE the spins because then your last chance for relief is taken from you and you have to sit up like a zombie waiting for the alcohol to finally move along.

Anyway, eventually I fell asleep only to be abruptly woken up to the blaring sound of ACDC on my clock radio. Somehow it was set for 12 midnight so Joe and I both popped up out of a sound sleep. I stumbled over to hit it off and fell back into bed. THEN I was pried awake by Georgia's nails on my leg and wet nose on my arm. At some point she had snuck into bed with us and burrowed into my sheets. I was a little miffed, and then when we heard a sharp bark come from the comforter I was even more so. But I couldn't stay mad then...

Finally as I was driving to work I realized we have now turned another corner in our quest for stupid diagnoses. I was listening to the news and they reported how the newest disorder affecting Americans is "Selective Food Disorder", or the "umm can I have that on the side?-disorder" I am a picky eater, but I'm not about to start labeling myself with a fancy disorder. Now finicky eaters have their very own illness they can parade around with. I swear, if anorexia is Catholicism, selective food disorder must be Episcopalian.

Anyway, work was pretty uneventful so I rushed home to beat the rain and darkness to take the dog for a jog when I get the text from Joe that reads, "U r gona b mad at pupy- she ate one of ur boots." I've come home a few times and discovered Georgia had gnawed on one of my boots (usually my rain boots for some reason) but never has she been THIS destructive. She had chewed off the top seam of my rain boots and had then proceeded to chew off the lining inside my leather boots. GRRR.

Luckily by the time I got home Joe had already done a good job of letting her know she did wrong, and she knew. We only had to both walk outside to where she was playing, stand with our arms at our sides or folded, and she knew she had done wrong. Worse, I'm still such a sucker for her cute face that when I try to be serious she knows exactly how to get me to soften. Those big dumb ears flatten, she makes her eyes as big as saucers, and she even quivers. I'm a goner and while I let her know I'm mad it's not long before I start cuddling. Which is exactly what happened.

But anyway sorry this wasn't a set topic. We'll see what tomorrow brings...

Bedtime Buddy

If there ever was a day that most tempted me into borrowing someone's cable, the day I was long fearing since I began this venture, it would be today...cold, rainy, no where to be, and Joe out in Ocean City till tomorrow.

But I managed to muddle through by reading this huge novel I've been chipping at for over a month. Then of course I ended up passing out on the couch, which ate up a little more time

The worst part about being alone is not the television temptation, though. It's the quiet. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned that, after years of inundating my brain with episodes of CSI and Law & Order, I have become quite paranoid when left all alone. I tend to turn all the lights on, leaving radios blaring in every room, and trying to stay up as late as possible to avoid darkness.

This was one of the reasons we adopted a dog. I wanted some company whenever Joe was practicing late or had to go somewhere overnight. Thankfully we got the right dog for the job. In fact, I haven't even noticed my usual neuroses kicking in. I was even able to do my new shower aerobics.

Yeah that's my new thing: shower aerobics. Because my wonderful little watchdog jumps all over me thinking it's playtime whenever I try to do some crunches, I've had to resort to doing lunges and tae-bo kicks while shampooing and conditioning. In fact, I was in mid-side curl when I started to hear a scratching noise. It freaked me out enough that I stopped and peered around my shower curtain. When I looked I saw my underwear and sweatpants being tugged. Georgia was pulling my clothes under the door. For what, I have no idea. But it did make me smile.

Anyway, I'll leave you with that weird image- can't avoid the night anymore. Good night folks!

Dog-gone It!

This time I really mean it. I am going to keep this s.o.b. short! Especially with how early I was up this morning. Let's begin.

So as you can probably tell from the title, this one's going to be about my sweet little angel face, Georgia. Or "dog" as I like to call her when she's pissing me off. Like lately!

The thing I've noticed about Georgia is that she goes through peaks and valleys, behavior-wise. For about 80% of the time we've had her she has been surprisingly good: doesn't whine for our food at the dinner table, doesn't bark, and hasn't had an accident in the house for weeks. It's just that pesky 20% of bad behavior she dips into that drives us crazy. Luckily it usually only lasts about a week before she's back to being very good. But what a week...

A few days ago, while Joe and I were inside watching a DVD, he received a message from someone saying that he had our dog. We both looked at each other, and realized we hadn't checked on the dog, naturally assuming she was just frolicking in the yard, as usual. Oh this happened on Sunday, the same day I felt like ultimate crap but put on a brave front because we were going to the Renaissance Fest with friends and I didn't want to be a Debbie Downer.

I had been trying to nurse my hangover the whole morning, but the second Joe told me about the message I sprang (well, quickly hobbled is more accurate) to my feet and tried to find some shoes. It just so happened that our friends were meeting us at our house and they arrived around the same time as our dog-rescuer did. We thanked him profusely and he explained where he had found her.

Apparently she had either slipped through a gap in the fence or simply hopped over it, I assume in pursuit of a squirrel. He said she seemed to be trying to figure out a way back in, as she stayed near the fence. This was a small amount of relief to me, since the road right next to our sidewalk tends to get busy and cars often surpass the speed limit by a few miles.

We were happy to have her home, but once again our trust was broken with her. Joe had spent a good deal of time and money fencing in the rest of the walkway, but the reward was that Georgia could run and play outside without much supervision. Now we were both panicky and paranoid.

The next day as we were getting ready for work we let her out to go to the bathroom. Joe and I were talking about something and as he turned his back to check on her he noticed her trying to squeeze her body through the gap at the bottom of the gate. He shouted at her and immediately she pulled back out. This is, we guess, how she must've gotten out, but we're still not 100% positive.

Then I came home from work, walked into the kitchen and couldn't believe my eyes. She had not only been on our small make-shift card-dinner table, but she had completely destroyed the fabric on top. I walked in to find the top of the table in complete and utter shreds. As if that wasn't enough, I then walked back into the living room and spied a fresh, wide, wet pee stain on the rug.

The next day I stayed a little late at work, but Joe texted me to tell me that the place was fine but she had still peed on the rug. Later that night (or Wednesday morning I should say), Georgia woke us both up by suddenly tearing down the stairs and whining. This is unusual for her, as normally if she wants to go out to go to the bathroom she just comes to my side of the bed and whines a little till I wake up. It's not strange to see her animated in the morning, but hyper and hysterical is.

I thought maybe it was because I wasn't being as diligent as I had been with taking her for a run with me, so I made it a point, after dinner with Ash, to tear-ass home to get in a run with her. Unfortunately, with the days getting shorter, it's a rush against time before it's too dark to go. I made it just before it got pitch black, and though it wasn't as long as our runs usually are I still figured I had worked out alot of her pent up energy.

Sure enough this morning she tore off downstairs again, at around 5:00 a.m. I also wanted to try and curb her bladder so I gave her water to drink with her food, but took it away when I left for work. Sadly, when I walked into the house again, there was the yellow puddle, right by the door. I raised my voice a bit, but even without that she knew she had done wrong. Btw, does it make me the most evil person to admit that I think she looks the damn cutest when she's scared or guilty? Her big ears flatten against her head and that curly-cue tail unfurls between her legs. It's so hard to be mad at her when all I want to do is scoop her up and cuddle. But then she's basically learning that peeing by the door is A-OK. I'm not sure what to try next, but the week IS almost up, so maybe we're on our way to the peak.

I'll keep you posted. Until then, goodnight!

Octoberfest

Yuck, what a miserable Monday. Not that it was particularly bad, but weather-wise, it's pretty dismal: cold, rainy, dark. We seemed to have completely skipped over Indian Summer and fell right into early winter. But I think it's supposed to warm up a tad, so maybe we can dry ourselves off.

So since I can't think of a particular topic, Ill just dive into a weekend wrap-up...

We are finally into October (where the hell did September go??), but actually I really like this month. There are so many events to look forward to: Fells Point Fest, Renaissance Fest, a visit to Gettysburg, Hershey After Dark, going apple and pumpkin picking, our anniversary, etc. It's because of these annual events that I love this month so much. Joe, on the other hand, loves it because this is the month where he gets to torture me with horror movies, the only month out of the year I agree to watch them.

True to form, Joe was practically counting down the days till it was finally October and sure enough as soon as Friday rolled around, off we went to the movies. At first we stopped by Chilis for dinner but since the wait was pretty long we decided to go to the movies to get the tickets first and then come back. As Joe ran inside to get the tickets (and I quietly hoped that the movie would be sold out all opening night) I peered up at the other titles on the marquee. It was a surreal feeling. I didn't recognize 90% of the movie titles, and the ones I had heard of were simply because of passing billboards or Internet ads. I mentioned this to Joe as he jogged back to the car, victorious with two tickets in his hand (damnit).

"Well, yeah. We aren't being drilled with the information anymore." It's one of those oddities I hadn't expected when I gave up television.

Anyway, dinner was good (even tho we were late to be called) and actually the movie wasn't horrible. It definitely had its horrific moments, but it's storyline was unique and even...charming. I'm not saying I'd ever want to rent it, or even necessarily see it again, but at least it wasn't gore for gore's sake.

Saturday morning arrived and I was exhausted. It took me forever to finally get up and when I did it was because we were due to appear at our next October event, Fells Point Fun Fest. Now this is an event that we stumbled upon years ago after spending a boring afternoon trying to find something to do. We decided to just check out Fells Point for the day and happened upon rows of boutique stands and food vendors, art showcases and books for sale, and all about were hundreds of people, children, and dogs shopping and taking in the sights. We enjoyed ourselves so much that we made it a point to do it again the following year. And so we had for several years.

The one reason this year was to be so special was because we finally had a dog of our own to showcase and we were excited to let Georgia come along. So after spending a few minutes trying to get the dog prepared with her harness and leash we set off to meet up with Joe's friend Jeff and some mutual friends of theirs.

We had both been quite chilly in the morning so we erred on the side of caution by wearing sweaters and hoodies, thinking that it would be even cooler by the water. As we made our way from Little Italy to Fells Point, the sun was beating down on us directly. It wasn't long before we were trying to roll up our sleeves and cursing our clothing options.

But other than that the day was quite enjoyable. Georgia did surprisingly well meeting other dogs. Nervous, but not nippy or growly. It is weird though how you tend to take for granted your freedom without a dog. Georgia, still in her puppyhood, was pulling this way and that, stopping to sniff every butt or patch of grass she could, or else launching herself ahead to meet another dog. It was fine most of the time, however I became a bit more anxious when the crowd thickened and was forced to carry her some of the way.

In any event, the day was beautiful and after a few hours we headed home with the promise of mowing and weed-whacking the lawn on our lips, but as soon as I went upstairs, I was a goner, and promptly fell asleep.

Ok, I'll stop there to prevent this thing getting too long. Tomorrow: my battle with the weeds and my self esteem. Tune in.

Cap Scratch Fever

Holy hell, it's been awhile. Yeah I know I completely spaced, and I'm sure you all have missed my odd ramblings and rants. This week has been full of activity, none of which included writing, so to make up for it I'm posting on a Saturday, something I never like to do but stories are starting to back-up on me like bran in a muffin. Or does that make you go? Oh well, sorry to be gross, but then again, gross is the topic at hand.

WARNING- Do not read ahead if you have eaten, are eating, or about to eat OR are easily queasy.

As some of you may recall I've been dealing with a bothersome rash that appeared only on the right side of my body. Well, it's been spreading. I noticed a few more bumps around the original area, and now there are some on my ankles, on my leg, my back, even one on my cheek (and I don't mean on my face...). Luckily these are easily hidden-not some much the case for the three on my arm.

I try like hell not to scratch, especially at work. I really would prefer to not have people walk by and see me scratch myself, wondering what the hell I have. So I slather on the Cortaid (thanks again, Mrs. G!), which does soothe it enough so I don't notice. But every once in a while, something will graze the surface of my skin (a desk, a door, my jeans) and suddenly the itch is ignited furiously. I feel like a torture victim, trying to will away the urge to grab a piece of paper, a pen cap, even the little "innovation" toy the company gave us (with the perfect little sharp edges) and scratch myself into oblivion. You ever see that episode of Friends when Pheobe and her boyfriend get chicken pox and she tries to scratch herself with the Monopoly pieces?...I understand her character's pain.

Instead I just try to pretend I'm crossing my leg over my lap or stretching so that I can satisfy the smallest amount of scratching relief. Even still, I worry my coworkers are going to glance over and catch on, so instead I just go into the bathroom and hide like someone sneaking a smoke, where I can scratch to my heart's content.

So on Tuesday I was coming right home, something I hadn't done for a few days since Joe's truck broke down and we had been sharing my car, but his friend/bandmate Dyl was picking him up from work. I was all set to make some dinner, go for a nice jog, come home, light some candles, put on some Barry White, and scratch myself to death. I never once suspected the horror I was about to be faced with.

Now, let me explain that Georgia has been doing better and better at being left home alone. She only whines and barks a little when we first leave, and she holds her little bladder until we get home. Only occasionally, when she just can't hold it anymore, does she have an accident. But nothing, NOTHING has come close to this...(also, Joe's parents were coming for an overnight visit, and being the spaz that I am I had wanted to clean the place top to bottom, even though they were only coming for the night. But really, the place wasn't in shambles, so I figured a good hour of cleaning should do it...)

I open to door and am met with the stench of death and misery. Georgia hops off the sofa and as I come in further is see the carnage. A cow-patty sized (and color) pile of vomit on the floor. Coming in closer I see another, this one more orange-reddish and on the rug. Then I see another brown pile. I face the sofa and on the small square rug I spot two fresh urine stains. I go carefully into the kitchen to see another brown pile of vomit, followed by a few chunks of poop by the door. I was flabbergasted.

I quickly ushered her outside and grabbed my phone to inform Joe. As I did that I noticed Georgia eating something else and realized it was the bits of old food that were coming through the hole in the garbage bag in the trash can. I shooed her away and let her drink water instead, waiting for Joe to pick up the phone. When he did, I could barely suppress my frustration.

"You know all those brownie points she got for not messing in the house?? She just cashed them in!", I said.

"Uh, oh, what did she do?" he said.

I startled prattling on about all her various excrement littering the house. He let me go on and then said finally, "Well, leave me something to clean up."

"No," I bit back, "there's no point, I'll just clean it all up, don't worry about it." He said he'd be home around 8 and that they'd probably end early. Still, I knew he would be exhausted by then, and besides I wanted it to be cleaned up right away anyway. Truthfully, it didn't take all that long, it was more just the drudgery of it.

When I had cleaned up all the piles of vomit and poop, I decided to still try and take the dog for a jog, hoping whatever was left in her system that was making her sick would be cleaned out thoroughly with a little exercise. Thinking back on it now, it probably was minor animal cruelty. Imagine you had been sick all day- would you want someone yanking you along for a freaking jog? Sure enough, as we made it to the top of a hill she began wheezing and then threw up whatever she had been eating from the garbage right onto the pavement.

I cut it short and instead we walked the rest of the way. Finally at home, she drank lots of water and played outside while I cleaned. Afterwards I let her back in and she seemed fine. At around 8 Joe and Dyl showed up and Georgia got up from the couch and puked again, right on the rug, right after I had JUST scrubbed the damn thing clean! They left again, and I still monitored her, to make sure she was ok and had lots of water. That night Joe and I were awoken numerous times by the sounds of the poor dog heaving. I had resolved that if she hadn't improved by the morning I would call the vet's office.

Thankfully, she woke up with an appetite and ate her food right after away (something she hasn't been doing at all lately). And I am happy to report that whatever her stomach ailment was has gone away. She's back to frolicking in the yard, chasing squirrels, and playing with her toys.

I, on the other hand, continue to look at sharp objects as possible scratching tools for these odd bumps. Oh, well. You can't win 'em all.

Female-Fists-of-Fury Friday

Holy hell, what a freaking weekend. Here's what happened...

Friday- Since we got Georgia I'm on the mailing list for the SPCA so I occasionally get emails about fundraising events. One that I really wanted to attend was called "Wine & Wag" in which people bring their dogs and while they nosh on biscuits and treats, we humans get to sample beer, wine, and little hors d'ouerves (sp?).

However, due to the crap-tastic weather we've been having it was rescheduled. They also mentioned that another event called "The Yappy Hour" was taking place at a wine shop in historic Ellicott City, where it would the same sort of thing. Because I was unable to make it to the Wine & Wag (b/c of conflicting schedules) I figured I'd head out for the Yappy Hour.

Things were going pretty smoothly. Though Georgia was still pretty hesitant around all the other dogs, she WAS showing interest. But one dog was paying a little bit too much attention to her, at least in Georgia's mind. It was this little puggle (ironically, the same dog we had originally been looking for) that, when it realized Georgia wasn't going to play with him began loudly barking at her. Georgia, usually timid and shy about barkers, tried to maneuver away from it but when she couldn't she started barking back. (And not only barking, but showing her teeth) I was trying to casually sip my latest wine taste and suddenly had to scoop her up to calm her down.

When things settled I plopped her back down and she rewarded my efforts by taking a nice big dump right by the micro brews. I suddenly panicked, realizing we hadn't remember to bring any plastic bags. Thankfully someone took pity on us, the amateur dog-owners, and handed over a bag to pick up her poop. It was a little hard to regain the moment of sophistication when one hand is holding a dry red and the other a wet brown...

After that we were due to meet up with our friends back at our place, where the drinking continued. This went from destination to destination, till finally, at the end of the night, we came back to the house to finish out the night. The two other girls decided to go for a cigarette run and suggested I come along, with the dog.

As we made our way to the nearest 7-11, I waited outside with Georgia, trying like hell not to stumble and give away my current state. The girls came back out and muttered something about getting in a fight. Before I had the chance to ask them what they meant, this group of young 20-somethings poked their heads, one of them shouting insults at us. One of the girls with us reciprocated, while me and the other tried to pull her along. They explained that one of the 20-something college girls was being disrespectful to the cashier and our friend, acknowledging this, rightfully decided to stand up for the guy. When the college girl made it known she didn't appreciate the comment to her, words were exchanged. After retelling the story, they realized they forgot the cigarettes and went back in, where the other girls finally emerged and began apologizing to me about their friend. Being drunk, and terrified of confrontation, I excused them and told them to just go. As they made their way to the corner I was rejoined by MY girls, who couldn't resist messing with these little girls one more time, smacking the one biotch's butt and then tore off, leaving the other group to hold back their friend who wanted nothing more than to get her hands on our friend.

As we walked back, we started started falling apart laughing, while I kept muttering "oh my God, oh my God,". It was the closest I have ever been to a girl-girl fight since I was a little kid. I was amazed at the gumption of my companions, and slightly jealous as well. I tried to convince myself it was because of the dog that I didn't join their cause, but I think we all knew the truth. When we got back to the boys and we began explaining the story, the girls high-fived proudly.

The truth is, I've always wondered, if the shit REALLY hit the fan, would I do anything? If words were no longer an option, and someone was trying to attack a friend, would I have the balls to drop everything (including *gasp*, manners!) and join in for a good ol' fight? I'm a bit disappointed in myself. I mean, I could have at least been like, "that's right bitches! You're gonna take your medicine!" Guys always talk about getting and giving ass whoopings...maybe that's not a terrible thing for a girl to experience either (from another girl). Oh well, guess I'll have to test my female fists of fury another time...unless I happen to have the dog with me again..

Ok, so that was part one of my weird-ass weekend. Tomorrow- we skip hungover Saturday conclude with Sunday...

A Fool in the Rain

Just thought I'd share my morning today and leave you with a sad pathetic image.

So as I've been mentioning, we've been having frequent accidents with Georgia. Often it is because of our own faults; the door to the backyard was shut or I made the mistake of running upstairs for a brief moment when I knew she had to go (only to come back and find a nice big Tootsie Roll on the hardwood floor). Since then Joe and I have been trying to be like hawks whenever she's alone with us and she starts sniffing.

Luckily, we're starting to get her morning routine down. She wakes us up around 6:30, Joe attempts to get her to go downstairs with him but the damn dog only wants ME to do it (when all I want is to sleep until my g.d. alarm goes off at 7:10), I escort her to the door, she trots out and pees, comes back for the food I put in her bowl, and not more than 10 mins. later she goes #2. This morning was to be no exception.

The crack of lightning this morning woke us all up. Joe, once again tried to encourage her out but that little brown thing kept hopping up near our bed to see me. Terrified she was going to piss all over the floor I finally hopped out of bed in my summer pjs (consisting of a small tank top and short shorts) and hurried her to the door. It took a little coaxing but she finally got the urge and went outside to pee. Meanwhile, I'm standing by the door in my skimpy pjs trying to avoid the gaze of my neighbors.

She jumps back inside and eats. I wait until she is done and then, again, gesture her out the door. She sits and stares at me. I keep waving my arm out the door, even tossing a treat out to get her to go, but still that butt stays on the kitchen floor.

I should mention too, at this point it is starting to drizzle, but I don't care. I keep standing there trying to get her to go out.

When she still doesn't get it, I tell Joe to watch her so I can put on actual shorts and walk her around the backyard.

As soon as my flip-flops hit the grass, the skies open up. Georgia finally follows me, and thinking its playtime, starts giddily dashing to and fro around the yard.

There I was, getting pissed on by big gobs of rain, wearing a little tank top and shorts, thunder and lightning drama occurring right over my head, and a dog leaping and bounding away without a care in the world.

I stood alone in my yard, arms crossed over me, waiting for my damn dog to crap so I could get the hell back inside.

When it finally looked like it wasn't going to happen, I said "eff it" and I stomped back inside. Thankfully Joe took her for a walk (bundled up in a hooded sweatshirt) and she finally did her business.

But as I was standing out there I noticed a guy jog right by our house. I kept thinking, who the hell else would be out here in the rain at god damn 6:45 in the morning? It made me think about a woman Ashley and I met once at a Starbucks who, upon hearing us talk about our fears of losing our bodies when we got older, said, "My trick is to go to the gym everyday before work. And don't give yourself the option to skip."

She walked out and we noticed she did have a great figure for a woman who had four kids, but still. I give alot of credit to people who have that kind of discipline to force themselves up at the crack of dawn to work out, but I think it's not terribly practical for most working people. But who knows? That guy could just be the really smart one and have it so ingrained in his schedule that he doesn't mind it. He's getting the health benefits and good body that goes along with such rigid discipline.

Meanwhile, I'm just the half-naked chick standing in her yard, looking like she's waiting for the mother ship to land. Who's really got it right here?

...Two Steps Back

Just a quick caveat before I begin-- I really loved that title I used yesterday ("Writers on the Storm'), I think it's been one of my better puns. However I really worry that I'm going to use the same pun twice, so if I do please call me out on it. If there's anything worse than a pun, it's an overused pun. In any case, onto other forms of pun-ishment.

You ever feel like you are finally passed a certain issue only to have it come hollering back to you? It's that whole, two steps forward, one step back deal. (Or is it one step forward, two steps back? Whatever, either way, it's annoying.) Let me explain...

So back when we went to pick Georgia up from the SPCA we came bright and early to make sure no one else adopted her. We walked into the small office and told the guy working there we wanted to adopt "Coco". He barely glimpses away from the papers he's scanning and says, "Well, I hope you did your research already. She's a dachshund, and dachshunds don't housebreak, so be prepared."

Both his attitude and statement surprised us. Didn't they WANT people to adopt the dogs? Why the hell would you immediately throw out a big negative like that to two eager people? It's like going to a car dealership and the salesmen says, "Yeah, it's a Hummer, so be prepared to waste half your paycheck every week just to fill 'er up."

We didn't let him scare us off and in fact, for a while now when Joe and I would return home from work and find not only everything still intact, but not a drop of poo or pee anywhere. We'd open the door to our yard and she'd sprint right outside to do her business. We'd exchange glances, and with all the pride in the world in our chests, say, "And they said she couldn't be housebroken!"

Well, we were having a good streak anyway.

About a week ago I went up to take a shower while Joe went down to the basement. Georgia, after realizing she wasn't coming into the bathroom with me, finally wandered away. I figured she had found her toys and was playing happily when I finally got out and came downstairs. There, on our new rug was a fresh wet pee spot. I called down to Joe to let him know, but we chalked it up to the fact that we had the back door closed so she wasn't able to get outside in time.

Then about a day or two later, the same thing happened, only it was Joe this time (and poop). The odd thing was THIS time not only had the door been open, but she had just been outside for a while a few moments before. We were frustrated, but again, we just figured it was her odd puppy system.

Finally, this morning was the last straw. She woke us up as usual to let her outside to pee and for me to give her breakfast. Joe let her out and then wandered up to the bathroom. As I was walking back to the bedroom to sleep for a few precious more minutes, I noticed the door to the guest bedroom had been nudged open. And then I saw two nice little puppy presents on the floor. Annoyed, I let Joe know and while we both cleaned it up, we wondered what was going on with our once perfect angel.

It's not even just the accidents. Another one of Georgia's delightful traits is her ability to escape. Now granted, she only did this once before, but with the putting up of chicken wire and my spraying the crap out of it with dog repellent, we somewhat washed our hands of the problem. She seemed to get it; when we were walking back and forth along the chicken wire she knowingly kept her distance. Again, until this morning.

After we cleaned up the guest bedroom and started to get ready for work, one of us let her out to enjoy the backyard before we kept her in for the day. As I was getting ready to leave Joe suggested we get her in then, before she tried to follow me. Too late.

As I was waiting for him to give me the ok, I realized it was taking a while. I looked out the window and realized she was OUTSIDE the fence. I dropped my bag, grabbed some treats to lure her back, and ran out the back door. Luckily she saw me and came forward and while she nibbled on the treats, Joe snagged her up and dropped her back inside the confines of the fence.

It's been one of those days, and I can only hope we haven't completely lost all the training she had been taught. I want to think that maybe she's just still testing her boundaries with us. But who knows...and who knows what's waiting for us at home....

Moving Women

No, I didn't die or get lost in the bowels of New Jersey. I got sorta caught up in my own crap on Thursday and Friday, and then when I finally got home (to the NEW home), I realized our internet was still not existent-and won't until Friday. So here I am, leeching onto whatever internet I can siphon off, but finally happy to be back and ready to bring smiles (or at least good-humored smirks) to you, the wonderful readers. So let's get to it.

First of all, I enjoyed spending time with my family, although I couldn't help but think about how spending time away from them makes me turn around and look back at my life. They've never made me felt that it wasn't good enough...well, except for my car. You know your car might be ready for retirement when people start fights over who gets stuck riding IN your car.

Now I'll admit it, my car is hardly a Rolls, but then again it's not exactly a total lemon. And you want to know why? Because, even though the air conditioning doesn't work, even though my driver window doesn't work (at least not without nearly breaking the bones of your left middle finger pulling the button up), even though the antennae struggles to go up or down (and sounds like an umbrella getting mangled in a garbage disposal), the overhead fabric flutters, the driver visor has broken off so I have to drive around like I'm either looking out to sea or giving a half assed Nazi salute in order to keep the sun from my eyes, and the dozens of dings and scratches...that sucker still STARTS! And really that's all I need a car to do- start, and get me from A to B.

Maybe I can look into getting a different car, once this townhouse stuff has settled. And speaking of the townhouse...

So I drove home, soaked both from sweat and the downpour of rain (really that AC thing is prob the worst part of my car, because I HAVE to keep the windows down at all times, otherwise you suffocate), and finally arrived at the new place. My heart broke for a second because as I pulled up and saw Joe playing with Georgia outside, she didn't seem to recognize me. But once I started talking I think she finally remembered my voice.

Meanwhile Joe and I began moving more stuff back and forth from the old apartment to the townhouse. As we watched (with white knuckles) the mattress and box spring lurch and sag in the back of Joe's truck, he recieved a call from our friends Dylan and Heather who said they were going to stop by. They showed up only a few moments after we did, with a few bottles of wine in tow. The boys attempted to haul the box spring up our teeny stair case while Heather and I stood by. When they decided to give up and just head back to the old apartment for a second load, Heather and I decided to give it a try.

With a healthy swig of wine, we each took a side and began working the box spring up. In a matter of seconds the box spring finally moved up the hallway and we managed to get it into the smaller bedroom. Extremely pleased with ourselves, we waited for the boys to get home to notice what we had done.

Unfortunately neither one said anything so we finally had to prod them along.

"There's something missing from this room," Heather said, coyly. They looked around confused until finally we said, "The box spring!"

So it was a little anti-climactic, but still, we were both beaming with pride at accomplishing what the two boys couldn't.

My high fell a bit later on, however, when Joe mentioned the next day that we probably wouldn't be able to fit a queen-sized mattress, let alone box spring, up the stairs. So now my mission is to find a "split" box spring for a queen at an affordable price. I know it probably makes me sound, ironically, a little queeny to insist on a larger size mattress. I guess because this is the first place I've lived on my own that actually resembles a house, I want to feel as adult as possible. And besides, we need a new mattress anyway, so why not just upgrade? I dunno, if anyone out there has tips on where to find this elusive "split" box spring, but any ideas are welcome.

Meanwhile Joe is at it trying to resurface the tub in the bathroom with some spray he bought. I'm pretty optimistic about it, and if it works we will have saved a bunch. The only negative is we have to let it dry for over 3 days (!) so are going back and forth to the old place to bathe.

But other than these small bumps, the place is looking better and better. I'm trying to not be a Debbie Downer about the lack of counter space or dirty spots, especially since Joe has been busting his ass getting the place ready while I was sunbathing in New Jersey or escaping to work.

Guess this is that whole teamwork thing they talk about in relationships, huh? Or at least that whole, keep-your-negativity-to-yourself craze that I need to catch on.

Anyway, tomorrow, maybe an update on the No TV Challenge or anything else that comes along. Happy Tuesday!

How I Met Your Mother's Two and a Half Men's Big Bang Theory- Episode 2

Hey folks, hope everyone had a wonderful 4th of July. I did as well, visited with some friends at a cookout. But damn, this weekend was probably anything less than relaxing.

For those who didn't hear, we welcomed home little Georgia on Friday. We walked down the wooden ramp of the SPCA, waiting for them to open so we could see her again. When the employees/volunteers finally opened the door we strode in, walking directly towards her kennel. Joe stopped me for a second and pulled me over to see another dog...it was a puggle! At least that's what I assumed. And for those of you who didn't know this either, it was a puggle (beagle-pug) that we were originally looking for. We glanced at her info: female, year old. She sat on her bed looking fresh from the Sarah McLaughlin commercial- big sad eyes. We noticed too that it said she had just had her spaying, which helped to explain her lifeless demeanor.

Still I walked ahead, and there she was. Little Coco, as she was named there, lay on her bed too, but as soon as we neared she gently walked off and came to lick our hands. Suddenly the other dogs began barking loudly, and Coco looked terrified. My heart went out to the puggle, but with how popular they are now, I felt convinced she wouldn't have to stay there long. But little Coco, with those big bat ears and curly tail...I couldn't let her stay a second longer in that kennel. I felt sick just thinking about leaving her there, even overnight. So, in about an hour of paperwork and meeting with the adoption counselor, she was ours, and renamed Georgia.

Things were going pretty well. She was mostly quiet, slept on her newly purchased bed, nibbled on her brand new toys, and even the housebreaking seemed to be going ok. But soon we realized how very clingy she was, especially with me. I couldn't go to the bathroom without her whining at the door. Of course there was a part of me that found it adorable, but more so I was terrified. Joe and I had all these plans and ideas of things to do with the dog, like traveling or going to outdoor cafes. But I didn't really think about the little things, like, oh say, work, running errands, going for a jog, etc.

Not to mention the long nights. No wonder Joe and I didn't feel like we had any energy this weekend. All night we would listen for her waking up and taking turns walking her outside to go to the bathroom. One night I swore I heard her vomiting, and like a zombie I stumbled for her leash to take her out while Joe cleaned up what little she did yak up. I came back in and realized it was 4 in the morning.

But really it hasn't been all bad. She really is a sweet funny little dog. And she is still a puppy. Besides, anytime I get worried we bit off more than we could chew, I looked down at those big ears and funny expression and I just want to kiss her sweet face. I guess this is sorta what parents experience with their kids- sure there are frustrating times when they are young, but those are also the precious times before they grow up and become independent. (And I can already hear the parents out there chuckling sarcastically as if to say, "Yeah...THAT'S the same". Well, maybe not, but it's the closest comparison I can make).

So anyway, that's primarily why this is gonna be a short entry- 1. because I'm already tired and 2. because tomorrow is going to be an even LONGER day (see tomorrow's entry for more info on that).

I had another one of those small my-life-as-a-sitcom moments today (hence the title). I was driving to work and as I was about to turn into the parking lot I noticed this big dead deer lying lifeless on the corner. Trying to avoid staring at it I parked by the trees (that never give shade, btw). When I went upstairs and turned on the morning show I heard that the temperature today was supposed to reach 103. Fuck, I thought. I parked out of the garage, thinking it might be cool (for some reason I have no idea).

I quietly snuck out back downstairs to RE-park my car, and began cursing it. I was worried the only spot I'd find would be right near the dead deer. And by the end of the day, that thing wouldn't just be drying in the sun, it would start to saute (and not emanating the best smell, I'm sure). Of course, that wouldn't be a problem...if I had air conditioning in my car and had no choice but to leave my windows open, inviting the smell (along with bugs, leaves, and anything else) to infiltrate my car.

I drove around a bit, getting pissed off and jealous at all the other cars that DID have functioning air conditioning. Couldn't THEY park outside? What did they care for a little deer carcass if their could have their windows up the whole time ANYWAY? Finally, I did spy a spot, half covered by the garage and half shaded by some trees. It would have to do.

When the end of the day arrived I got into my oven of a car and breathed in the stiff unmoving air. I drove to the exit and to my surprise, the deer was gone. I figured someone had come to remove it, which was always another thing I often thought about. You ever noticed a truck or something in the actual process of clearing dead carcasses? I know I never have. It must be some special operative by the county, but they do it so swiftly, it's almost as if the animal was never there. Weird isn't it? Something for you to chew on.

Anyway, that's it for me tonight. See you all back here tomorrow.