I have a 1996 VW Jetta, and I hate it. It knows that I hate it, and I don't care.
We bought it because we had to, our 4-runner's engine blew up and we didn't have another reliable car, so we bought it. Afterwards, we checked Consumer Reports and found that they advised NEVER buy a 1996 VW Jetta, it was a very bad year. Thanks.
The door trim falls off. That handy lump of rubber that runs along the door just oozes off, drags along the ground, makes people laugh as you drive. I've had it replaced at least three times (at 80 bucks per trim, per visit), until finally I just gave up. A myriad of electrical problems, things falling off it, expensive upkeep, and no matter what I do to it, it ungratefully falls apart a week later.
Not more than a month ago, I gave it brakes, brand new brakes. Before that, I fixed the oil leak it developed. Friday I go to start it and the coolant light is blinking. I should have known... we got some unexpected money, so it wants a piece of that action.
A few days ago, I put air in the tires. I really, REALLY hate putting air in tires. When I was a kid, I saw a news report about some guy that was putting air in a semi-truck tire, the tire exploded and took off the guy's head. EEEEP!
Ever since then, I contort my body into bizarre positions in order to reach the tire thing, but keep my head out of the way. Better yet, I'll just wait until the tire gets noticeable low before putting air in... like when it's completely flat. My other devious plan is to wait until hubby is in the car, then go get air because he'll do it for me.
So just when I start feeling somewhat better about tires not blowing up, I'm watching some tv show about a blind guy that works on race cars. Pretty cool stuff... until they announce that he lost his sight 6 years ago after a farm tractor tire blew up in his face.
Next time the tires are low, I'm just going to go get new tires... if the stupid Jetta will run.
Saturday, October 2, 2004
Saturday, September 25, 2004
Smack in the Face
Our 15 year old Siberian Husky, Nova, has been doing very well since his refusal to eat and discovery of liver failure. He has his more creaky days, but generally he's a cranky old dog going about his business as usual.
He seemed even more creakier the other day, plus we noticed that his butt was a bit irritated. Called and got him an appointment for his follow up bloodwork and to check out the butt problem. We were also going to see if he could take some new arthritis medicine to help his creaky bones.
Our usual vet saw him, we really like her because she's very diligent, attentive, and good. She gave him a thorough once over before the bloodwork, which included a prostate check, her reaction was immediate "CRAP!". He has a small fist-sized mass in his lower intestinal tract close to the anal glands. It wasn't there 4 months ago when she last checked, and we could tell she was very upset that she hadn't checked at each visit.
Turns out that even if it isn't cancer (we're waiting on the cytology to come back to see whether it is or isn't) the mass is in an inoperable spot. It will continue to grow until it blocks the rectum. Even if Nova were a young dog, it still would not be operable. If it is cancer, then chances are the cancer will spread to other organs, and the brain. His lymph nodes are very tender, so she suspects that has already happened, and it may be why he's been disoriented at times.
Best case scenario: it's not cancer, but eventually the mass will grow and block his rectum. Worst case scenario: it is cancer, it'll affect his entire body. Either scenario: we're talking months. Not "if", but "when".
We thought we were going to lose him a few months ago, but he recovered. We went into the vet thinking "we got this under control", only to find out that you really never "control" things.
Hubby is taking it very hard. I'm in "gotta be strong, think clearly" mode. I have to keep reminding the both of us that we can't dwell so hard on death that we miss what life we have with him. Our vet is crushed. She blames herself for the whole mess, but in fact, she's done a fantastic job, which is why we like her so much. She actually cares, and her patients' health affects her.
This really sucks, but it's a part of life... and death. Embrace life now.
He seemed even more creakier the other day, plus we noticed that his butt was a bit irritated. Called and got him an appointment for his follow up bloodwork and to check out the butt problem. We were also going to see if he could take some new arthritis medicine to help his creaky bones.
Our usual vet saw him, we really like her because she's very diligent, attentive, and good. She gave him a thorough once over before the bloodwork, which included a prostate check, her reaction was immediate "CRAP!". He has a small fist-sized mass in his lower intestinal tract close to the anal glands. It wasn't there 4 months ago when she last checked, and we could tell she was very upset that she hadn't checked at each visit.
Turns out that even if it isn't cancer (we're waiting on the cytology to come back to see whether it is or isn't) the mass is in an inoperable spot. It will continue to grow until it blocks the rectum. Even if Nova were a young dog, it still would not be operable. If it is cancer, then chances are the cancer will spread to other organs, and the brain. His lymph nodes are very tender, so she suspects that has already happened, and it may be why he's been disoriented at times.
Best case scenario: it's not cancer, but eventually the mass will grow and block his rectum. Worst case scenario: it is cancer, it'll affect his entire body. Either scenario: we're talking months. Not "if", but "when".
We thought we were going to lose him a few months ago, but he recovered. We went into the vet thinking "we got this under control", only to find out that you really never "control" things.
Hubby is taking it very hard. I'm in "gotta be strong, think clearly" mode. I have to keep reminding the both of us that we can't dwell so hard on death that we miss what life we have with him. Our vet is crushed. She blames herself for the whole mess, but in fact, she's done a fantastic job, which is why we like her so much. She actually cares, and her patients' health affects her.
This really sucks, but it's a part of life... and death. Embrace life now.
Saturday, September 18, 2004
Flung, Tossed, What's the Difference?
After having just read the Bernard Goldberg book "Bias", I'm a little hyper-sensitive about the news lately. What better example of "slant" can there be with the recent news story where a young man was fleeing police in a car with his girlfriend's baby inside.
I saw the video. Had I not, the stories written about what had happened would have made me angry and caused me to hate this man (who later died after ramming a police car).
Here are two examples of headlines:
"Baby Flung Out Of Car During High Speed Chase"
"Baby Tossed Out Of Car Window During High Speed Chase"
HOLY SHIT! Some guy FLUNG a baby out of a car during a high speed chase? "Flung" gives the reader the image that as this guy was whipping down the highway (at a high rate of speed) he FLUNG the baby (just the baby) out of the car. Subsequent descriptions written about what happen to the baby (in a car seat) after it was "flung" suggest that the car seat "tumbled" across the highway. Well, duh... if a baby in a car seat had been flung out of a speeding car, you would think it would skitter down the road. He must have done that to create a distraction for police so he could get away! He certainly deserved to die in the ensuing accident as he probably purposefully rammed the police car.
HOLY SHIT! Some guy tossed a baby out of a car window during a high speed chase? While this guy was whipping down the highway (at a high rate of speed) rolled down the window and flung the baby out the window. He must have done that to create a distraction for police so he could get away! He certainly deserved to die in the ensuing accident as he probably purposefully rammed the police car.
EXCEPT, I saw the video. Even before I read these stories, I happened to catch the video feed on CNN and from my perspective, I saw this:
Some guy was being chased by police. He slowed the car down to almost a complete stop. He opened his car door, and placed the baby seat on the road. The car was still moving slightly, so the babyseat bounced lightly a few times and tipped over, as the man pulled away. Police stopped and picked up the carseat and unharmed baby. Later the man died when he hit a police car (that part wasn't on the video, so who knows what really happened). When I saw the video, I thought "At least the guy had the common decency to get the child out of harms way". I felt his actions were that to save the child from harm, that his intention was not to harm the baby. The news people didn't say why he was being chased, but even if it were for murder, he had at least a SHRED of common decency in him.
So... upon seeing the video, not once did I think the baby was flung, and there's no mistaking that he opened up the car door, so how could it even be written as truth that he threw the baby out of car window... unless whoever wrote the story did absolutely NO ivestigating whatsoever, and didn't even watch the video, and perhaps wrote the story based on what someone told them. That's not reporting, that's pure fiction!
Regardless, doing a Google News search, the flung baby, and tossed out a window story were perpetuated by news service after news service throughout the United States (and probably other countries as well). People who were not able to watch the actual video were led to believe (mistakenly... maliciously?) that this guy flung a baby, or tossed it out a car window from a speeding car.
This is just one blatant example of how the news MEDIA manipulate their audiences. It gets them ratings. I can't count the times CNN alone played the video over and over, with their newscasters explaining to us what we were seeing... because we're too stupid to make our own decisions on what actually happened.
I've been very cynical of the "news" for a long time, but Mr. Goldberg has helped me understand more of the "spin", so I can be aware of other "untruths" that filter into reports to help me "make up my mind" on important issues.
I saw the video. Had I not, the stories written about what had happened would have made me angry and caused me to hate this man (who later died after ramming a police car).
Here are two examples of headlines:
"Baby Flung Out Of Car During High Speed Chase"
"Baby Tossed Out Of Car Window During High Speed Chase"
HOLY SHIT! Some guy FLUNG a baby out of a car during a high speed chase? "Flung" gives the reader the image that as this guy was whipping down the highway (at a high rate of speed) he FLUNG the baby (just the baby) out of the car. Subsequent descriptions written about what happen to the baby (in a car seat) after it was "flung" suggest that the car seat "tumbled" across the highway. Well, duh... if a baby in a car seat had been flung out of a speeding car, you would think it would skitter down the road. He must have done that to create a distraction for police so he could get away! He certainly deserved to die in the ensuing accident as he probably purposefully rammed the police car.
HOLY SHIT! Some guy tossed a baby out of a car window during a high speed chase? While this guy was whipping down the highway (at a high rate of speed) rolled down the window and flung the baby out the window. He must have done that to create a distraction for police so he could get away! He certainly deserved to die in the ensuing accident as he probably purposefully rammed the police car.
EXCEPT, I saw the video. Even before I read these stories, I happened to catch the video feed on CNN and from my perspective, I saw this:
Some guy was being chased by police. He slowed the car down to almost a complete stop. He opened his car door, and placed the baby seat on the road. The car was still moving slightly, so the babyseat bounced lightly a few times and tipped over, as the man pulled away. Police stopped and picked up the carseat and unharmed baby. Later the man died when he hit a police car (that part wasn't on the video, so who knows what really happened). When I saw the video, I thought "At least the guy had the common decency to get the child out of harms way". I felt his actions were that to save the child from harm, that his intention was not to harm the baby. The news people didn't say why he was being chased, but even if it were for murder, he had at least a SHRED of common decency in him.
So... upon seeing the video, not once did I think the baby was flung, and there's no mistaking that he opened up the car door, so how could it even be written as truth that he threw the baby out of car window... unless whoever wrote the story did absolutely NO ivestigating whatsoever, and didn't even watch the video, and perhaps wrote the story based on what someone told them. That's not reporting, that's pure fiction!
Regardless, doing a Google News search, the flung baby, and tossed out a window story were perpetuated by news service after news service throughout the United States (and probably other countries as well). People who were not able to watch the actual video were led to believe (mistakenly... maliciously?) that this guy flung a baby, or tossed it out a car window from a speeding car.
This is just one blatant example of how the news MEDIA manipulate their audiences. It gets them ratings. I can't count the times CNN alone played the video over and over, with their newscasters explaining to us what we were seeing... because we're too stupid to make our own decisions on what actually happened.
I've been very cynical of the "news" for a long time, but Mr. Goldberg has helped me understand more of the "spin", so I can be aware of other "untruths" that filter into reports to help me "make up my mind" on important issues.
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
Vacation
Most people go places on vacation, but we haven't for the past 10 years. Depressing, yes, but then how many times have you greeted a returning from vacation co-worker with the fateful words "How was vacation", only to be captured and tortured by their tale of woe. "The plane was late, our luggage lost, the car broke down, there was no rental car, the hotel had fleas, my kid puked in the lobby..." on and on and on.
Vacations are stressful, if not downright unhealthy.
1.) Packing: what do you take? What's the weather going to be like? What will you be doing? Fancy dress clothes or casual clothes? No matter what you bring, it isn't enough, or not the right kind, and you always forget something important, like medicine that allows you to live.
2.) Getting there: plane, train, automobile. It all takes time and time away from "relaxing". Long lines at airport security, sitting on a train for days, or driving until your butt takes the form of the car seat.
3.) Strange beds, stranger things left in the bed. There was an article about the myriad of diseases, insects, vermin and other pleasantries left in hotel bedding. Some experts suggests packing your own bedding and pillows (another suitcase to haul around).
4.) Strange food: in foreign countries what you eat may eat you back later in the day. Plus you have to pay for it if you eat out, or you can save money and get a room with a kitchen, but why go on vacation at all if you spend half the day cooking?
5.) Coming back: plane, train, automobile (see #2).
By the time you get home, you have to unpack, wonder why you bought the hula girl souvenir, hear people complain that you didn't bring them something back (if you want something that bad, pay to go there), and get ready for work!
We take the non-vacation vacation approach. My brother-in-law flies in from the West Coast. We wake up every day around noonish and go out and get a latte and relax. We meander home, play with the dogs or nap (with the dogs, they're big nappers), then later go out to eat. Come home and play Unreal 2004 Tournament until the wee hours, then go to bed. Repeat for a week.
It's sorta like being on summer vacation as a kid, except you have a car, driver's license, and money.
So when people ask "what did you do on vacation", I simply say "nothing" and walk away to get the life blood sucked out of me by micro-managers. At least I'm well rested.
Vacations are stressful, if not downright unhealthy.
1.) Packing: what do you take? What's the weather going to be like? What will you be doing? Fancy dress clothes or casual clothes? No matter what you bring, it isn't enough, or not the right kind, and you always forget something important, like medicine that allows you to live.
2.) Getting there: plane, train, automobile. It all takes time and time away from "relaxing". Long lines at airport security, sitting on a train for days, or driving until your butt takes the form of the car seat.
3.) Strange beds, stranger things left in the bed. There was an article about the myriad of diseases, insects, vermin and other pleasantries left in hotel bedding. Some experts suggests packing your own bedding and pillows (another suitcase to haul around).
4.) Strange food: in foreign countries what you eat may eat you back later in the day. Plus you have to pay for it if you eat out, or you can save money and get a room with a kitchen, but why go on vacation at all if you spend half the day cooking?
5.) Coming back: plane, train, automobile (see #2).
By the time you get home, you have to unpack, wonder why you bought the hula girl souvenir, hear people complain that you didn't bring them something back (if you want something that bad, pay to go there), and get ready for work!
We take the non-vacation vacation approach. My brother-in-law flies in from the West Coast. We wake up every day around noonish and go out and get a latte and relax. We meander home, play with the dogs or nap (with the dogs, they're big nappers), then later go out to eat. Come home and play Unreal 2004 Tournament until the wee hours, then go to bed. Repeat for a week.
It's sorta like being on summer vacation as a kid, except you have a car, driver's license, and money.
So when people ask "what did you do on vacation", I simply say "nothing" and walk away to get the life blood sucked out of me by micro-managers. At least I'm well rested.
Sunday, August 22, 2004
Stop the Monkeys (and other woodland creatures)
Ok, so we have a possum that vacations in our recycle bin (I've since named him Clyde), and little bunny rabbits that dart across the street every morning when we go to work (Friday, one of these bunnies sadly didn't make it across the road... no, I didn't hit it, it was dead when I passed), and the other day, Loki (mutant pawed wonder puppy) decided to show me just what is lurking in my very own back yard.
It's dark, he's out there shaking his head and prancing around, which is the international husky sign that he's found something cool to play with, and it's not a squeeky toy. Armed with a flashlight, I investigate and find... a snake! EUUUUUWW. Loki backs off when told and throws up his dinner. Now I'm really freaking because what if he threw it up because said snake is poisonous?
It's about a foot long, and oogie snake-like, and STILL ALIVE!! AAAAAAAAAH! I check it over, and it looks like a garter snake, doesn't have a rattle on the tail, doesn't seem very poisonous, so I attribute the throwing up to just general doggie excitement. I picked it up (cursing that once again I neglected to put on the rubber gloves I bought for just these occassions), and the snake's tongue starts darting out and it's bleeding from a lovely puncture wound on the head. Carried it over to the fence of bones (where all dead and dying get tossed) and heave it over with that chilled goosebumpy feeling of ick.
After herding Loki back inside (he's looking for more snakes to play with), I consult the Internet. I LOVE the Internet, as it affords me the ability to look up things immediately, instead of freaking out and making whacky calls to people in the middle of the night trying to find out just what does a poisonous Maryland snake look like. It has pictures of snakes and facts on snakes, and to my relief, there are only two types of poisonous snakes in the whole state, and one of those only lives in the mountains (like you can call those hills in Maryland mountains. Washington state has MOUNTAINS, Maryland and Pennsylvania have big hills... when was the last time you heard of someone becoming trapped on a Maryland "mountain" and needing a helicopter to rescue them... but I digress).
I found this great Web site:
Wildlife & Heritage Service - All About Snakes in Maryland
It lists all poisonous snakes in Maryland, and even pictures. I google searched for more pictures to be sure, but apparently Loki had come across either a rat snake or garter snake, neither of them are dangerous, unless you are a rat or garter.
Last night all of the dogs were VERY interested in something that was in the neighbor's yard, peering through the fence and refusing to leave. I have no idea what it was, don't want to know what it was, and I hope it doesn't decide to come in the back yard because I'm running low on rubber gloves and the bone pile is growing.
It's dark, he's out there shaking his head and prancing around, which is the international husky sign that he's found something cool to play with, and it's not a squeeky toy. Armed with a flashlight, I investigate and find... a snake! EUUUUUWW. Loki backs off when told and throws up his dinner. Now I'm really freaking because what if he threw it up because said snake is poisonous?
It's about a foot long, and oogie snake-like, and STILL ALIVE!! AAAAAAAAAH! I check it over, and it looks like a garter snake, doesn't have a rattle on the tail, doesn't seem very poisonous, so I attribute the throwing up to just general doggie excitement. I picked it up (cursing that once again I neglected to put on the rubber gloves I bought for just these occassions), and the snake's tongue starts darting out and it's bleeding from a lovely puncture wound on the head. Carried it over to the fence of bones (where all dead and dying get tossed) and heave it over with that chilled goosebumpy feeling of ick.
After herding Loki back inside (he's looking for more snakes to play with), I consult the Internet. I LOVE the Internet, as it affords me the ability to look up things immediately, instead of freaking out and making whacky calls to people in the middle of the night trying to find out just what does a poisonous Maryland snake look like. It has pictures of snakes and facts on snakes, and to my relief, there are only two types of poisonous snakes in the whole state, and one of those only lives in the mountains (like you can call those hills in Maryland mountains. Washington state has MOUNTAINS, Maryland and Pennsylvania have big hills... when was the last time you heard of someone becoming trapped on a Maryland "mountain" and needing a helicopter to rescue them... but I digress).
I found this great Web site:
Wildlife & Heritage Service - All About Snakes in Maryland
It lists all poisonous snakes in Maryland, and even pictures. I google searched for more pictures to be sure, but apparently Loki had come across either a rat snake or garter snake, neither of them are dangerous, unless you are a rat or garter.
Last night all of the dogs were VERY interested in something that was in the neighbor's yard, peering through the fence and refusing to leave. I have no idea what it was, don't want to know what it was, and I hope it doesn't decide to come in the back yard because I'm running low on rubber gloves and the bone pile is growing.
WAH! Make them stop!
So, Senator John Kerry didn't have too much to say when 527 groups were slamming President Bush in ads, but now that the tables are turned, he's crying foul, pointing fingers, and doing nothing much to discredit these ads except to say that the Bush campaign is in on it.
CNN.com - Bush adviser quits after appearing in swift boat ad - Aug 21, 2004
Is this how he'll run our country? When terrorists are bombing our cities and killing our people, will John Kerry step up and whine "Stop it, it's not fair!"
I don't know if he got his awards fairly. I've spent time in the military, I know how things are spun to make them seem more dramatic, more heroic. It happens all the time, and I doubt Kerry is the first to get an award the easy way, when others lost limbs or lives for a medal. He spent a whopping 4 months in Viet Nam, where others served longer, lost more.
Ok, he was over there, he won medals, big deal. Winning medals and serving in combat does NOT make a President. If that were the case, there are millions of qualified people to be President. What makes a President is a good leader. Someone that can lead the people with concise and decisive actions and decisions. I've been trying to figure out what Kerry's platform is since he started running. "I'm going to create more jobs, cut the taxes, do this and do that..." BUT HOW? It's nice he's saying all these things, BUT HOW IS HE GOING TO DO IT? Nobody seems to know, or isn't telling. Am I going to vote for him and wait for the rabbit to get pulled out of a hat and hope he makes good on all these promises? HELL NO! I've been promised to death by other candidates who never produced that rabbit. I want someone who says what they mean, and does it. I'm tired of being lied to, and with all this hoopla over his "war" record, and with him doing nothing but whining and telling the bullies to stop picking on him, I doubt I'll be picking his name out when I'm standing in that ballot box. I actually have no idea who I'm going to vote for at this time, but I do know one person I won't be voting for.
CNN.com - Bush adviser quits after appearing in swift boat ad - Aug 21, 2004
Is this how he'll run our country? When terrorists are bombing our cities and killing our people, will John Kerry step up and whine "Stop it, it's not fair!"
I don't know if he got his awards fairly. I've spent time in the military, I know how things are spun to make them seem more dramatic, more heroic. It happens all the time, and I doubt Kerry is the first to get an award the easy way, when others lost limbs or lives for a medal. He spent a whopping 4 months in Viet Nam, where others served longer, lost more.
Ok, he was over there, he won medals, big deal. Winning medals and serving in combat does NOT make a President. If that were the case, there are millions of qualified people to be President. What makes a President is a good leader. Someone that can lead the people with concise and decisive actions and decisions. I've been trying to figure out what Kerry's platform is since he started running. "I'm going to create more jobs, cut the taxes, do this and do that..." BUT HOW? It's nice he's saying all these things, BUT HOW IS HE GOING TO DO IT? Nobody seems to know, or isn't telling. Am I going to vote for him and wait for the rabbit to get pulled out of a hat and hope he makes good on all these promises? HELL NO! I've been promised to death by other candidates who never produced that rabbit. I want someone who says what they mean, and does it. I'm tired of being lied to, and with all this hoopla over his "war" record, and with him doing nothing but whining and telling the bullies to stop picking on him, I doubt I'll be picking his name out when I'm standing in that ballot box. I actually have no idea who I'm going to vote for at this time, but I do know one person I won't be voting for.
Saturday, August 21, 2004
Update on Katie.com
As of 6 August 2004, Penguin (choad publisher of kiddie books) has finally realized that they can't win with all of the tech world breathing down their throats, and has agreed to rename the book "katie.com" to something equally tasteless, but gripping.
Congratulations Katie Jones for winning one for us little folk.
For those who want to let Katie Jones know of their support:
www.katie.com
For those who still think Katie Tarbox is a manipulative weasel:
www.katiet.com
Congratulations Katie Jones for winning one for us little folk.
For those who want to let Katie Jones know of their support:
www.katie.com
For those who still think Katie Tarbox is a manipulative weasel:
www.katiet.com
Sunday, August 8, 2004
General Ramblings
When I was growing up, only poor people ate Hamburger Helper, or Ravioli out of a can. Granted, we were not rich by any means, something I discovered when I grew up and went back to the house where I grew up (I lived in this tiny little dump?). It was more a state of mind. My mom stayed at home and cared for my sister and I until I reached high school, and every meal was created from scratch. Less caring moms popped open a can and oozed out Ravioli, where my mom mixed the noodle ingrediants, hand rolled the dough, created the filling and did it all.
I've discovered that Hamburger Helper isn't entirely nasty, and when I'm feeling particularly lazy and don't want to cook, it's quick and filling (after a few rolaids)
Shake -n- Bake is the thing of Gods though. I'm a complete failure when it comes to cooking anything breaded. My concoctions end up this slimey floury goo that leaves itself adhered to one side of the pan. Then, I found Shake-n-Bake and my life was turned around. I bread everything now, because I can.
What the fuck is wrong with the world lately?
Some moron gets pissed off that someone MAY have stolen his precious X-box and designer sneakers or something, and gets three teenagers to go over to some house (where he suspects the culprit is), breaks in, and they proceed to beat 6 people, and one dog to death with aluminum baseball bats... FOR AN X-BOX!!!!!!!
CNN.com - Sheriff: 4 charged in Florida killings over Xbox - Aug 8, 2004
Since this "caring" 27 year old moron has a history of criminal activity, it was probably an X-box he stole from someone else.
I'm just glad he did it in Florida, a state that gladly executes just about anyone, and in a timely manner. I hope someone gets to him first in prison and beats his head in with a ball bat, because that's what he certainly deserves (then steals his prison shoes).
I've discovered that Hamburger Helper isn't entirely nasty, and when I'm feeling particularly lazy and don't want to cook, it's quick and filling (after a few rolaids)
Shake -n- Bake is the thing of Gods though. I'm a complete failure when it comes to cooking anything breaded. My concoctions end up this slimey floury goo that leaves itself adhered to one side of the pan. Then, I found Shake-n-Bake and my life was turned around. I bread everything now, because I can.
What the fuck is wrong with the world lately?
Some moron gets pissed off that someone MAY have stolen his precious X-box and designer sneakers or something, and gets three teenagers to go over to some house (where he suspects the culprit is), breaks in, and they proceed to beat 6 people, and one dog to death with aluminum baseball bats... FOR AN X-BOX!!!!!!!
CNN.com - Sheriff: 4 charged in Florida killings over Xbox - Aug 8, 2004
Since this "caring" 27 year old moron has a history of criminal activity, it was probably an X-box he stole from someone else.
I'm just glad he did it in Florida, a state that gladly executes just about anyone, and in a timely manner. I hope someone gets to him first in prison and beats his head in with a ball bat, because that's what he certainly deserves (then steals his prison shoes).
Monday, August 2, 2004
He's BAAAAACK!
This morning we took the trash out, and there, in the recycle bin... is the baby possum.
I have no idea why he finds our trash bin so comfy. There is some stinky rag in there from his last visit, possibly his security blankie or something, and that's what brought him back. We have yet to figure out how he crawls in there, or if he's capable of crawling out on his own. For all we know he's been sleeping there every night and we just haven't noticed him, or possibly, he slept in this morning and got caught.
He is kinda cute, but I can't have possums moving into my recycle bin. What if he tells other possums what fantastic digs he's found and we have a whole possum invasion. Next thing you know he'll be wanting to build an addition to the recycling bin, perhaps dig a pool, want us to fix up the place for him. We just can't have squatter possums demanding things from us.
I'm torn with carrying his little butt down the road to the forest and letting him go there. What if mamma possum actually put him there. She comes home from a hard day of shopping and junior isn't in his recycle bin. Will we have an irate mamma possum coming after us? Hoardes of search possums combing the yard? Possum helicopters hovering overhead?
I read on a Web site that they are transient and don't stay in one place too long, but what if this recycle bin thing is just a dream home come true and he decides to stay here? I guess I'm going to have to do something about this. Keep the recycle bins turned upside down, but I imagine that he may move in under the tarp that covers the motorcycle (that hasn't worked in 17 years, why we keep it is beyond me).
Why us?
I have no idea why he finds our trash bin so comfy. There is some stinky rag in there from his last visit, possibly his security blankie or something, and that's what brought him back. We have yet to figure out how he crawls in there, or if he's capable of crawling out on his own. For all we know he's been sleeping there every night and we just haven't noticed him, or possibly, he slept in this morning and got caught.
He is kinda cute, but I can't have possums moving into my recycle bin. What if he tells other possums what fantastic digs he's found and we have a whole possum invasion. Next thing you know he'll be wanting to build an addition to the recycling bin, perhaps dig a pool, want us to fix up the place for him. We just can't have squatter possums demanding things from us.
I'm torn with carrying his little butt down the road to the forest and letting him go there. What if mamma possum actually put him there. She comes home from a hard day of shopping and junior isn't in his recycle bin. Will we have an irate mamma possum coming after us? Hoardes of search possums combing the yard? Possum helicopters hovering overhead?
I read on a Web site that they are transient and don't stay in one place too long, but what if this recycle bin thing is just a dream home come true and he decides to stay here? I guess I'm going to have to do something about this. Keep the recycle bins turned upside down, but I imagine that he may move in under the tarp that covers the motorcycle (that hasn't worked in 17 years, why we keep it is beyond me).
Why us?
Saturday, July 31, 2004
What's Mine is MINE!
Recently I read a news story about a woman whose domain name is being hijacked.
Some of you may have heard of a book called "Katie.com" about a little girl whose parents parked her in front of a computer instead of spending time with her and teaching her about the real life. She apparently was drawn in by the lies of someone on the Internet (doi), and agreed to meet this person in real life, where she was molested. Gee, how many times does this have to happen before parents realize that its their responsibility to keep track of their kids and not let them go off on their own before they have a brain? By the way, I'm the spitting image of Nicole Kidman, and rich... uh huh.
Penguin books published her story, and since the victim's name is Katie, they called the book Katie.com. They were going to call it "girl.com", but apparently girl.com is a porn site, which defeats the entire message of the book. So, they called it Katie.com... except that Katie.com actually belongs to a person named Katie... not the girl who was abused, but a woman that was given the domain as a gift from her husband in 1996 to share pictures of her family and blog. The abused girl has her own domain called Katiet.com, but apparently that doesn't trip off the tongue and isn't "marketable".
Since the publishing of katie.com, zillions of abused people, sickos, whack jobs, and morons have been posting to katie.com about their stories, asking questions, looking for help, much to the non-amusement of poor Katie... who leads a normal life and just wants to share pictures of her family. She asked Penguin to stop using her domain name, and sanely asked them to rename the book katiet.com so people would be directed to the proper site where they could vent their spleens about their abuse, or post crack pot crap as they wished. Penguin (being a big mondo corporation who claims to be the leading publisher of children's books) sent their lawyers after poor Katie and asked her to donate her domain to them. Um.. what?
Once the initial hoopla over the book ended, the e-mail flood slowed, and Katie thought she could get her Web site back... until Al Roker latched onto the Katie story, now it's begun again.
First of all, why should this woman "donate" her domain to a big named publisher who should have checked to make sure they weren't infringing on her domain in the first place. They checked out girl.com and found it inapropriate, so one has to think that they found katie.com to be easy pickings. Katie isn't a horrible person for not forking over what is rightly hers to the publishers, she's not "anti-child" or "pro child abuse" because she wants to hold onto her domain. It's Penguin's evil plan to get what they want by pressuring an innocent person to hand over something they want.
The abused Katie claims that it was all Penguin's doing and she had no choice in the matter. To her I have to say "didn't you learn your lesson the first time you were manipulated and used?" I certainly don't think you are qualified to write a book telling kids how to keep from being manipulated and used when you continue to be so yourself. Whether its a child molestor, or a big company, you are a pawn and haven't learned your lesson apparently.
To Penguin, I have to say: you really suck! You publish children's books, so what are you teaching children by what you are doing? Hey, if you want something, harrass and steal it!
To Katie, the real owner of katie.com I say: keep up the good fight and don't let go! I tried to think of some way for her to get back. Publish porn on it... funny, but nah. Perhaps throw "Hamster dance" on there to annoy everyone? Stick a HUGE link on there to the real katiet.com site and tell people to harrass her instead?
Inevitably, Katie should be able to do anything she wants to her website, and she shouldn't have to fear opening her e-mail every day because some sicko, whacko, or just plain idiot can't see that this isn't the site of katiet and her tale of woe.
Leave Katie.com alone! Spread the word of this to your friends and tell Penguin books to shove it and rename the stupid book. Tell Katiet to grow some nads and stop getting used and manipulated, and support katie who is just an average person like you and I, and some day we may be dealing with the same crap if we let Penguin win.
Some of you may have heard of a book called "Katie.com" about a little girl whose parents parked her in front of a computer instead of spending time with her and teaching her about the real life. She apparently was drawn in by the lies of someone on the Internet (doi), and agreed to meet this person in real life, where she was molested. Gee, how many times does this have to happen before parents realize that its their responsibility to keep track of their kids and not let them go off on their own before they have a brain? By the way, I'm the spitting image of Nicole Kidman, and rich... uh huh.
Penguin books published her story, and since the victim's name is Katie, they called the book Katie.com. They were going to call it "girl.com", but apparently girl.com is a porn site, which defeats the entire message of the book. So, they called it Katie.com... except that Katie.com actually belongs to a person named Katie... not the girl who was abused, but a woman that was given the domain as a gift from her husband in 1996 to share pictures of her family and blog. The abused girl has her own domain called Katiet.com, but apparently that doesn't trip off the tongue and isn't "marketable".
Since the publishing of katie.com, zillions of abused people, sickos, whack jobs, and morons have been posting to katie.com about their stories, asking questions, looking for help, much to the non-amusement of poor Katie... who leads a normal life and just wants to share pictures of her family. She asked Penguin to stop using her domain name, and sanely asked them to rename the book katiet.com so people would be directed to the proper site where they could vent their spleens about their abuse, or post crack pot crap as they wished. Penguin (being a big mondo corporation who claims to be the leading publisher of children's books) sent their lawyers after poor Katie and asked her to donate her domain to them. Um.. what?
Once the initial hoopla over the book ended, the e-mail flood slowed, and Katie thought she could get her Web site back... until Al Roker latched onto the Katie story, now it's begun again.
First of all, why should this woman "donate" her domain to a big named publisher who should have checked to make sure they weren't infringing on her domain in the first place. They checked out girl.com and found it inapropriate, so one has to think that they found katie.com to be easy pickings. Katie isn't a horrible person for not forking over what is rightly hers to the publishers, she's not "anti-child" or "pro child abuse" because she wants to hold onto her domain. It's Penguin's evil plan to get what they want by pressuring an innocent person to hand over something they want.
The abused Katie claims that it was all Penguin's doing and she had no choice in the matter. To her I have to say "didn't you learn your lesson the first time you were manipulated and used?" I certainly don't think you are qualified to write a book telling kids how to keep from being manipulated and used when you continue to be so yourself. Whether its a child molestor, or a big company, you are a pawn and haven't learned your lesson apparently.
To Penguin, I have to say: you really suck! You publish children's books, so what are you teaching children by what you are doing? Hey, if you want something, harrass and steal it!
To Katie, the real owner of katie.com I say: keep up the good fight and don't let go! I tried to think of some way for her to get back. Publish porn on it... funny, but nah. Perhaps throw "Hamster dance" on there to annoy everyone? Stick a HUGE link on there to the real katiet.com site and tell people to harrass her instead?
Inevitably, Katie should be able to do anything she wants to her website, and she shouldn't have to fear opening her e-mail every day because some sicko, whacko, or just plain idiot can't see that this isn't the site of katiet and her tale of woe.
Leave Katie.com alone! Spread the word of this to your friends and tell Penguin books to shove it and rename the stupid book. Tell Katiet to grow some nads and stop getting used and manipulated, and support katie who is just an average person like you and I, and some day we may be dealing with the same crap if we let Penguin win.
That Morning Jolt
Some people wake up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. My mornings usually consist of pulling a dead thing out of the mouth of one of my dogs.
This morning (like many mornings) an unfortunate decision was made by a woodland creature to come into my heavily guarded, overly fenced in yard. I don't know how they get in, or why they get in. I would think that after so many have died in the fortress, they would have erected some type of sign, or smell that said "you will die if you go in here". This time it was a fledgling bird, too young to realize its mistake until it was too late.
As always, the three of them (Nova is 15 and retired from killing), gathered like the hungry, slathering pack they become when something potentially tasty and fun enters the yard. I've stopped trying to save these creatures, it's useless. At one point (before I knew better) I would run behind the dogs as they chased the terrified creature, trying to stop the carnage before it happened. They are all much quicker, and more determined than I, so now I merely stand in one spot (trying not to get run over in the zeal of the chase), and wait for the inevitable, kinda rooting for the hunted to find an escape route, knowing what will eventually happen. Squirrels know the sound of the door opening and run for the trees, birds float away quickly as the dogs come running out. Fledgling bird season brings a lot of carnage though, and it's that time of the year.
Loki lunges into the barrier that is piled against the gate to keep them contained and then quickly runs away gleefully while the others investigate the barrier area. They don't realize that he's found the prey, and now he's trying to swallow it before I get to him.
I have them somewhat trained to spit out stuff they shouldn't have. "Trade up" means they get something even tastier than what they have, but what could be more tastier than a dead thing? The answer to that question is goldfish crackers, but as usual, not only do I not have enough time to grab the bag of goldfish crackers kept by the back door for this reason, nor put on the rubber gloves I bought to keep my flesh from touching the still warm, sometimes still quivering dead, or mortally wounded thing they've caught.
I'm glad it's Loki that has the bird, as Sam runs and chews. Meeshka usually spits out, but she spits out before I'm standing there, and then Sam steals it and runs and chews. Loki is a good boy, he stands and chews, and allows me to grab him by the scruff, pry his jaws open (with promises of a trade up) and pull the dead baby bird out of his mouth by the leg... ick. I deposit it over the fence, in the same spot that all dead or dying things go. I imagine the pile of bones to be growing, or that cats are lining up there waiting for the next dead treat to be tossed over.
I'm sure the neighbors love our attempts at retrieving the dead things. One morning at 5 a.m., successful in bagging a squirrel, we chased Sam around the yard screaming "DROP IT, TRADE UP", as he tried to swallow the adult squirrel whole, the other dogs chasing him like a ghoulish version of keep away.
One afternoon, a young bunny ventured into the yard through a tiny little opening in the fence. The chase was on, and I just stood out of the way, awed by the pack as they plotted, planned, and schemed how to get the running toy. It was actually quite beautiful to watch them synchronizing the chase, who would do what, all in the 10 seconds it lasted. As the group converged into the corner, I was sure I'd hear the death scream, and have to start the task of retrieving it, but amazingly enough the bunny shot out of the pile of dogs and squeezed through the crack in the fence to safety. I was amazed, the dogs were pissed.
As with all prey, they return to the original scene of the crime, expecting to find more birds, as if the barrier were a bird dispenser. After a few times out, they'll forget about the goody they found there, and continue stalking other creatures that happen to venture into the yard.
This morning (like many mornings) an unfortunate decision was made by a woodland creature to come into my heavily guarded, overly fenced in yard. I don't know how they get in, or why they get in. I would think that after so many have died in the fortress, they would have erected some type of sign, or smell that said "you will die if you go in here". This time it was a fledgling bird, too young to realize its mistake until it was too late.
As always, the three of them (Nova is 15 and retired from killing), gathered like the hungry, slathering pack they become when something potentially tasty and fun enters the yard. I've stopped trying to save these creatures, it's useless. At one point (before I knew better) I would run behind the dogs as they chased the terrified creature, trying to stop the carnage before it happened. They are all much quicker, and more determined than I, so now I merely stand in one spot (trying not to get run over in the zeal of the chase), and wait for the inevitable, kinda rooting for the hunted to find an escape route, knowing what will eventually happen. Squirrels know the sound of the door opening and run for the trees, birds float away quickly as the dogs come running out. Fledgling bird season brings a lot of carnage though, and it's that time of the year.
Loki lunges into the barrier that is piled against the gate to keep them contained and then quickly runs away gleefully while the others investigate the barrier area. They don't realize that he's found the prey, and now he's trying to swallow it before I get to him.
I have them somewhat trained to spit out stuff they shouldn't have. "Trade up" means they get something even tastier than what they have, but what could be more tastier than a dead thing? The answer to that question is goldfish crackers, but as usual, not only do I not have enough time to grab the bag of goldfish crackers kept by the back door for this reason, nor put on the rubber gloves I bought to keep my flesh from touching the still warm, sometimes still quivering dead, or mortally wounded thing they've caught.
I'm glad it's Loki that has the bird, as Sam runs and chews. Meeshka usually spits out, but she spits out before I'm standing there, and then Sam steals it and runs and chews. Loki is a good boy, he stands and chews, and allows me to grab him by the scruff, pry his jaws open (with promises of a trade up) and pull the dead baby bird out of his mouth by the leg... ick. I deposit it over the fence, in the same spot that all dead or dying things go. I imagine the pile of bones to be growing, or that cats are lining up there waiting for the next dead treat to be tossed over.
I'm sure the neighbors love our attempts at retrieving the dead things. One morning at 5 a.m., successful in bagging a squirrel, we chased Sam around the yard screaming "DROP IT, TRADE UP", as he tried to swallow the adult squirrel whole, the other dogs chasing him like a ghoulish version of keep away.
One afternoon, a young bunny ventured into the yard through a tiny little opening in the fence. The chase was on, and I just stood out of the way, awed by the pack as they plotted, planned, and schemed how to get the running toy. It was actually quite beautiful to watch them synchronizing the chase, who would do what, all in the 10 seconds it lasted. As the group converged into the corner, I was sure I'd hear the death scream, and have to start the task of retrieving it, but amazingly enough the bunny shot out of the pile of dogs and squeezed through the crack in the fence to safety. I was amazed, the dogs were pissed.
As with all prey, they return to the original scene of the crime, expecting to find more birds, as if the barrier were a bird dispenser. After a few times out, they'll forget about the goody they found there, and continue stalking other creatures that happen to venture into the yard.
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
Possum Recycling
As hubby and I were leaving the house to go back to work, I noticed a large amount of flies were buzzing around my recycling bin. Since I only put cardboard in there, I looked in to see what they were so interested in.
Inside my recycling bin was a young possum. My first thought was:
"Who the fuck put a dead possum in my recycling bin?"
Then I noticed that not only was it breathing, but flicking an ear to ward off the flies. So my second thought was:
"Who the fuck put a half-dead possum in my recycling bin?"
So I told hubby to go dump it somewhere where it could die in nature. He picks up the bin and carries it to the edge of our front yard and dumps the critter out. I was actually thinking of a much farther place, and more nature-like than the street, but whatever. That's when we discover that it wasn't half dead, it was just taking a little nap in our recycle bin and boy was it pissed to have been disturbed.
It bared its 50 teeth (I looked that up), and stood all stiff and evil looking, until a car drove by, then it decided to scamper off (well, scamper isn't a good word, more like mosey). It mosied right back toward our front porch actually.
After a quick discussion about what to do with it, we decided it was just easier to let it be and hope it didn't decide that our back yard was a good place to nap... the dogs would make sure it took a good LOOONG forever nap.
Inside my recycling bin was a young possum. My first thought was:
"Who the fuck put a dead possum in my recycling bin?"
Then I noticed that not only was it breathing, but flicking an ear to ward off the flies. So my second thought was:
"Who the fuck put a half-dead possum in my recycling bin?"
So I told hubby to go dump it somewhere where it could die in nature. He picks up the bin and carries it to the edge of our front yard and dumps the critter out. I was actually thinking of a much farther place, and more nature-like than the street, but whatever. That's when we discover that it wasn't half dead, it was just taking a little nap in our recycle bin and boy was it pissed to have been disturbed.
It bared its 50 teeth (I looked that up), and stood all stiff and evil looking, until a car drove by, then it decided to scamper off (well, scamper isn't a good word, more like mosey). It mosied right back toward our front porch actually.
After a quick discussion about what to do with it, we decided it was just easier to let it be and hope it didn't decide that our back yard was a good place to nap... the dogs would make sure it took a good LOOONG forever nap.
Monday, June 21, 2004
Wait and See
I haven't posted in a while. About three weeks ago, we thought for sure that our 15 year old husky Nova was about to die. Prior to that time, he had been healthy, good appetite, but showing some signs of doggie alzheimers, so we took him to the vet for some tests to make sure everything was ok, and to put him on a brain food diet.
The bloodwork came back normal, but his urine was a bit diluted. Our vet suggested an x-ray, which revealed that he had gallbladder stones, a rarety in dogs. She wanted to put him on some gallbladder medication, but recommended an ultrasound to rule out a blockage first. The ultrasound revealed that he was undergoing liver failure. Wait a minute... we came in for doggie alzheimers food and now he's got gallbladder stones and liver failure? This is just more proof that doctors and hospitals make people sick.
So... he got some medication, one of which we had to fill at a regular drugstore, and the woman behind the counter wouldn't believe that it was for our child "Nova" and we took him to a vet because it's cheaper than an HMO. So, that wasn't covered under our co-pay (80 bucks for 30 little pills). Gave him all the pills that first night and he was yacking up the pills and his dinner within an hour's time. Then he refused to eat after that (don't really blame him, he probably thought we were out to poison him).
After a variety of dog foods, then homecooked people foods, we finally got him to eat and he was fine for a week. Sunday came and it was like he had a stroke. Almost no function in his back legs, whining, pacing, listless, and frankly we thought for sure that if he didn't die in his sleep, we'd have to help him along and give him some peace. We only wanted to spend some more time with him before taking him in, so we took some time from work... and the next day he was almost back to his old self, except that he refused to eat. How embarrassing to go crying to your boss that your dog was on its last legs and it was just a matter of time, only to see him bounding down the stairs first thing in the morning.
Since we had the time off, and since we were convinced that he would relapse and go when we weren't there, we stayed home and tried every concoction known to man to get him to eat.
A holistic dog book had the fantastic idea (for sadists) to boil liver, puree it in a blender and force feed him with a turkey baster. As we gagged and heaved while making this noxious mixture, wearing rubber gloves and sterilizing everything the liver touched, we force fed the poor guy this nasty liver "soup". The other dogs (Meeshka, Sam, and Loki) by this time were thoroughly peeved that the old guy was getting all these "tasty" foods, AND going for a ride in the truck (we decided to treat him with trips to Petsmart and Starbucks), that they decided to hold a revolt, so we started feeding them bits of the things that Nova wouldn't eat.
After a few days of the liver "soup", Nova decided that it was in his best interest to eat something. A friend had sent us a recipe for "satin balls", which is mainly raw hamburger, molasses, total cereal, oatmeal and eggs, which we dutifully made and lumped into bite-sized balls, which he ate (thankfully, because now everything we touched smelled like liver).
Our life was on hold for about two weeks, watching him to make sure he was breathing, holding celebrations outside when he took a normal poop (the new neighbors luckily have three dogs of their own and don't look at us too strangely), and feeding him. He's now gotten extremely picky about what he'll eat and when. He'll eat chicken if it's on our plate and we hand it to him, but he won't eat it if we cut it up and put it in a bowl. He'll eat the satin balls if we hold it in our hands, not out of a bowl. He's playing us like a fiddle at this point.
He's not out of the woods at this point. He goes in for follow-up bloodwork to see if the liver meds are helping, because at the last blood test his liver levels are astronomically high. If they're lower, we have to put him on the expensive gallbladder pills too.
Just tonight I was able to spend some time outside with the other dogs, watching them chase and maul each other. They only play if there's an audience. We're starting to get some routine back in our lives, and feel a little better about going to work in the morning and not worrying about what we'll find when we get home.
Some people think we're nuts, "they're only dogs", they say. But to us they're our kids, because we don't have any, don't want any, and frankly don't like them. We don't dress them up and pretend they're kids, they are our dogs, but we've learned more from them than any human, and would rather spend time with them than most people in the world. After dealing with petty people, demanding people, ignorant people, selfish people, and just plain assholes, it's refreshing to come home and get such happiness and love out of one ear scratch. They don't ridicule our clothes, tell us we're fat and need to exercise, want something impossible in 5 minutes (unless it's their dinner), and cuddle up next to you and look at you with such trust and love for so little in return.
I wear my husky fur to work with pride, knowing that they'll be there for me when I come home and not want anything more than just to be with me.
The bloodwork came back normal, but his urine was a bit diluted. Our vet suggested an x-ray, which revealed that he had gallbladder stones, a rarety in dogs. She wanted to put him on some gallbladder medication, but recommended an ultrasound to rule out a blockage first. The ultrasound revealed that he was undergoing liver failure. Wait a minute... we came in for doggie alzheimers food and now he's got gallbladder stones and liver failure? This is just more proof that doctors and hospitals make people sick.
So... he got some medication, one of which we had to fill at a regular drugstore, and the woman behind the counter wouldn't believe that it was for our child "Nova" and we took him to a vet because it's cheaper than an HMO. So, that wasn't covered under our co-pay (80 bucks for 30 little pills). Gave him all the pills that first night and he was yacking up the pills and his dinner within an hour's time. Then he refused to eat after that (don't really blame him, he probably thought we were out to poison him).
After a variety of dog foods, then homecooked people foods, we finally got him to eat and he was fine for a week. Sunday came and it was like he had a stroke. Almost no function in his back legs, whining, pacing, listless, and frankly we thought for sure that if he didn't die in his sleep, we'd have to help him along and give him some peace. We only wanted to spend some more time with him before taking him in, so we took some time from work... and the next day he was almost back to his old self, except that he refused to eat. How embarrassing to go crying to your boss that your dog was on its last legs and it was just a matter of time, only to see him bounding down the stairs first thing in the morning.
Since we had the time off, and since we were convinced that he would relapse and go when we weren't there, we stayed home and tried every concoction known to man to get him to eat.
A holistic dog book had the fantastic idea (for sadists) to boil liver, puree it in a blender and force feed him with a turkey baster. As we gagged and heaved while making this noxious mixture, wearing rubber gloves and sterilizing everything the liver touched, we force fed the poor guy this nasty liver "soup". The other dogs (Meeshka, Sam, and Loki) by this time were thoroughly peeved that the old guy was getting all these "tasty" foods, AND going for a ride in the truck (we decided to treat him with trips to Petsmart and Starbucks), that they decided to hold a revolt, so we started feeding them bits of the things that Nova wouldn't eat.
After a few days of the liver "soup", Nova decided that it was in his best interest to eat something. A friend had sent us a recipe for "satin balls", which is mainly raw hamburger, molasses, total cereal, oatmeal and eggs, which we dutifully made and lumped into bite-sized balls, which he ate (thankfully, because now everything we touched smelled like liver).
Our life was on hold for about two weeks, watching him to make sure he was breathing, holding celebrations outside when he took a normal poop (the new neighbors luckily have three dogs of their own and don't look at us too strangely), and feeding him. He's now gotten extremely picky about what he'll eat and when. He'll eat chicken if it's on our plate and we hand it to him, but he won't eat it if we cut it up and put it in a bowl. He'll eat the satin balls if we hold it in our hands, not out of a bowl. He's playing us like a fiddle at this point.
He's not out of the woods at this point. He goes in for follow-up bloodwork to see if the liver meds are helping, because at the last blood test his liver levels are astronomically high. If they're lower, we have to put him on the expensive gallbladder pills too.
Just tonight I was able to spend some time outside with the other dogs, watching them chase and maul each other. They only play if there's an audience. We're starting to get some routine back in our lives, and feel a little better about going to work in the morning and not worrying about what we'll find when we get home.
Some people think we're nuts, "they're only dogs", they say. But to us they're our kids, because we don't have any, don't want any, and frankly don't like them. We don't dress them up and pretend they're kids, they are our dogs, but we've learned more from them than any human, and would rather spend time with them than most people in the world. After dealing with petty people, demanding people, ignorant people, selfish people, and just plain assholes, it's refreshing to come home and get such happiness and love out of one ear scratch. They don't ridicule our clothes, tell us we're fat and need to exercise, want something impossible in 5 minutes (unless it's their dinner), and cuddle up next to you and look at you with such trust and love for so little in return.
I wear my husky fur to work with pride, knowing that they'll be there for me when I come home and not want anything more than just to be with me.
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