Day 6: Almost Forgot Already

You've all been missing updates on Huck, haven't you? Not to mention the silly drawings I make of him.

Update #1: This is where he prefers to sleep when the weather gets too chilly. Too chilly for Huck is anything under 65°F. I caught him outside on his chain a few weeks ago, when the weather was still a balmy mid-sixties, shivering in a pathetic ball on the grass. Poor dog was not meant for Wisconsin winters. I'll toughen him up eventually.

Walks

The first time I went for a walk for the purposes of walking, it was to find a good spot for reading.

I walked again today, Huck is in heaven with the walking.

He likes jumping on the ice-shelves that form on the edge of the sidewalk as the snow melts. It's very endearing.

Fresh

Well, I drove past the aforementioned quiet hills and yet again resisted the urge to get out and roll around for a while. It's starting to seem like less of a good idea, especially after the dunk I took on Monday.

Huck and I went for a walk tonight, just a jaunt. I'm incredibly lucky to live within two blocks of the Mountain Bay Trail, and I should totally use it more often. For one thing, it is miraculously clear of snow and slush. Unlike every other surface in Wisconsin.

Huck wore his jacket. It was... adorable. He's very happy to walk. I am, too! It's a surprise, because I haven't done any sort of exercise in months and months (Hello! I'm Lazy), but I love to walk. And it was nice to get out in the brisk (ha) refreshing (haha) air and see Huck bounding around (as much as his leash would allow - not much) and having fun on the ice. But not on the trail! The trail was iceless!

Snug

Day 7

The time is drawing nearer when I'm moving back to my parents' house. I know most of you are probably cringing at the very idea, but I think it's the best decision for me right now. I want to pay off some of the debt that's been riding along with me for almost 10 years (student loans, ha. What good did being a student ever do me?) and then save up some money. I hope to someday buy a house, and it's not going to happen before those two things get done.

I like my parents, but I'm worried about some things. Things like my animals. Specificially, Huck. He's very naughty, and my parents let him get away with it. I'm going to have to specifically put down some ground rules so he doesn't turn into the world's worst dog while we're living there.

Rules:

1. No people food.

2. No people food. No matter how cute he looks.

3. If people food falls to the floor and he snatches it, either ignore him completely and let him think he's sneakier than he is, or shout at him and shake a spoon or something to make him think you're really mad that he ate the people food. Do not make squealy noises or otherwise indicate that you're secretly pleased he got away with something.

4. It's not cute when he jumps up into your face. No matter what your brain is telling you. Don't let him do it. No excuses.

5. Don't make him think he is the most important part of your day. Even if he is. He shouldn't be. He's a dog.

I'm sure there are more. I'm getting antsy thinking about it. This will be ok, right? RIGHT?

Updates!

I haven't talked about Huckleberry in a while, so here are a few fun facts:

He loves to ride in the car. And he can smile.



If I mention "Daddy", he will sit and watch out the window for him.



He came back from my mom and dad's house after a two-day vacation with his customary "I've been at Grandma and Grandpa's" limp (they have stairs, he's too enthusiastic, and yes, I'm a teensy bit peeved they haven't blocked them off yet) with an eating disorder. He's always been the type to drool over his dish until I tell him "OK" and then he inhales it and looks for more, so when he wouldn't touch it last night, I called Mom to see if they'd, I dunno, given him "lunch" or something. If there was some reason he wasn't hungry at "TIME". ("TIME" as in, "Huckleberry, is it TIME? *cue hysterical dancing and celebration from the dog.) He didn't eat all last night, and this morning, out of sheer desperation, I brought the food dish into the kitchen. When I walked in the door, he got all excited (cue hysterical, if limpy, dancing, etc) and barely bothered to chew as usual. Apparently, Mom and Dad have taught him he can eat inside. Damn them!

As far as the Linus goes, there are a few fun updates:

He loves watching my birdfeeders outside the window.



He suddenly discovered the bathroom sink, but will only lay in there if someone's in the bathroom with him.



He spent all last week and part of this one laying under the coffee table with his belly sticking out, panting.



Oh! And have I mentioned he likes to try to mount the dog?

Teamwork

This morning I woke up to a clack. Something had fallen from somewhere, and it sounded like Linus was the culprit. Linus is usually the culprit.

Of course I went running, and guess what I found?

Linus was dropping dog treats to the floor for Huck.

Yeah.

1 Year Old

Huckleberry had his birthday on March 11th.

True Confessions! Five AM version!

Do you know those magazines they sell called "True Confessions!"? They come out with a new one on a regular basis, and it's like Penthouse letters for women. They're meant to be little titillating stories for housewives to read when they're in between doing the dishes and perhaps making the loaves of bread from scratch for the next week. I used to buy them when I was ten, because I thought they were slightly naughty. They weren't. But I didn't know that.

Huck woke me up this morning at four fifty-eight in his standard manner*, and before I could get him outside (like as soon as I woke up), I smelled something foul. Now, Huck is slightly gassy, so that didn't necessarily mean anything, but I thought I'd turn the light on and look just to make sure. Guess what I found in the standard location?

If you guessed a few really stinky turds, you win!

I took him outside anyway, just to make doubly sure he had it all out of his system, and he made only a half-hearted attempt at a squat. Really it was more for my benefit. The point of waking me up was the same reason all those women write into those "True Confessions" magazines at the grocery stores. Sometimes, you've just got to tell someone, that's all. Then you feel better.

*Lightly jump on bed, lick Mama on nose, whine. Repeat with increasing frequency of whine until effective.

Obligations

I'm wearing Bruce's sweat pants right now. Although I don't personally think there is anything wrong with sweatpants, a part of me understands why he doesn't find them sexy, exactly. I think it has to do with the gathering-in at the bottoms. That's the least attractive part, if one were to search for the least attractive part.

Living in Wisconsin 1/2 mile from my family is presenting challenges that I'd never thought about before. Things are getting slightly better, but most of that has to do with the improvement in my own attitude since we've moved - I grew up very unsure of myself and with no friends. Being in the place where I finally became happy with who I am is making a monumental difference in how I feel. I've even been working out. Hot damn!

I can't be the only person who's completely bored by aerobic exercise. I'd rather do weights, just for the immediate gratification.

Poor Huck is either still sick from the chicken shit he ate on Thanksgiving, or he's sick again with an even more unknown illness. He woke us up last night after a long day of being very weary to make us take him out at least three times. It was not fun. Bruce and I had a fight about it. The fight mainly had to do with my insomnia and his general ability to sleep through anything that could possibly happen, and also my complete and utter jealousy of him for being able to sleep with no problems ever. I just want him to feel good again. It's been almost three weeks, is that too much to ask?

Contents Under Pressure

Lately I've noticed that I put a whole lot of pressure on myself that is completely unnecessary. I spend so much time worrying about shit that couldn't possibly matter to anyone but myself, it's ridiculous. And if no one else is going to worry about it, why the hell do I care? So I'm trying to lighten up a bit.

I can remember a few years ago, right around the time that I met Bruce, I concentrated really hard and let myself let go of the things that really don't matter, and I was so incredibly happy and that's when it seemed like everything came together in my life. I lost about forty (doesn't forty always seem like it should have a 'U'?) pounds, I was constantly in a good mood, I was nice to everyone around me, always, and I was totally only seeing the good in people all the time. Plus, everyone loved me. Of course they did, it's so stupid to be surprised by that, but I am. Of course everyone loved me when I was always happy and bubbly and nice to everyone.

For some reason my mind always wants to tell me that it's because I was skinny then that everyone liked me, and for Pete's sake! God, get a grip! People don't like people because they're skinny. They like people because they're nice and fun and happy, that's why they like them. I want to be that nice, fun, happy girl again.

I figure it's only a matter of taking the time to convince myself not to freak out about the tiny things that only matter to me and to just plain act happy and fun and nice, because if I act like I'm all of those things eventually I'll forget that it's all an act and it'll be second nature.

I need to start seeing the everyday humor in the stuff around me, too. Example: Earlier in the evening I had to look on the internet to see if we should take Huck to the vet for his diarrhea, and I came across a really cool website that helped me stop freaking out about it. Here's the website. Anyway, I just came back to the computer to write this entry, and I noticed that the search term I used was "diahhrea dog". Come on, that's pretty funny. Nobody wants to pet that dog. I picture a poor little sickly animal all dripping in poop. Poop is funny. (I was going to lie and claim that I typed in "diarrhea" - correctly spelt - but I figure no one would believe me. I don't believe anyone knows how to spell that word.

I'm also going to start indulging myself in things more often. I'm a hoarder - when I find something I really like, I treasure it and barely use it because I don't want to waste it. I don't know what sense that makes, especially in the case of nice smelling lotions or body wash or something. I love Bath and Body Works' Moonlit Path, but I never ever wear it because I don't want it to go to waste. It's hardly going to waste if I'm smelling nice and I feel better about myself because I know I smell awesome, is it?

My other neurosis about using stuff like that is somehow I think that if I smell great all the time that it'll stop being special, or that if I forget then Bruce will be upset or something. That's so ridiculous I don't even need to dignify it with a response. (Did you notice how I'm totally having a strange sort of agruement with myself here?) I'm so weird about stuff like that, and it's time to stop. I need to just let myself enjoy things. I'm going to try to do that.

Sick

It goes like this:

It all starts with a scratchy throat.

Then you lose your voice a bit.

Then you get a headache.

Then you run to the bathroom and don't come out for a few hours.

Then you throw up.

Or, if you're a dog, it goes like this:

It all starts with a trip to the farm.

You notice a yummy substance on the ground.

Mama yells at you, "STOP EATING THE CHICKEN SHIT!"

You ignore her.

Then your tummy hurts and you want to GO OUTSIDE all of the time.

One time you even GO OUTSIDE in your crate.

That makes you cry.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _

We're all sick around these parts. All of us. Even Linus tossed his kibble on the carpet in the hallway. It's not a good day in our house.

Balls, or Lack Thereof

I just saw on the Blogger Buzz that they're letting people use Blogger Beta to publish to FTP servers. (If that sentance doesn't make any sense, it's because I don't know what it means. All I know is that I can just plop this-here blog down over they-ah and y'all can see what I done wrote.) I'm excited that I don't have to go through the major hell that Bruce went through this past week finding a new publisher to work with his FTP. (Again, if that's technically wrong, forgive me.)

My new knitting project!

I've done two and a half repeats of the ribbed lace pattern. While it's definitely not anything that would be a challenge to someone who's knitted lace before, it's interesting enough that I'm keeping entertained. I'm also happy with the way it's made: you start out by knitting the lower half as one piece, and then work up the sides and back when you get to the armholes. It's called "Eyelet Chemise", which if I finish it means it will be the girliest thing I've ever owned.

I took a few before and after pictures of Huck's special area, so that Jess knows what to expect to find in a few weeks. Wanna see?

I zoomed in on the balls so you could get a better look.

And here's a picture of what they looked like a day after surgery.

Good thing I don't have kids, isn't it? I'm pretty sure this would be frowned upon if he was a human.

I keep expecting the sack to shrink and not be all flat-like-a-pancake, but I guess I'm not giving it enough time. After all, his balls were very large, and it takes a lot of time for skin to shrink back from holding something so big. It's like he gave birth to twins, really.

ETA: I just looked at the post for the first time, and I have to say it looks a little scarier than I intended. I'm going to take a picture of him today, a week and a half later, so you can see that he's not all covered in gross and looks generally a little less under-the-weather in his nether region.

The Surgery

(This post brought to you by my nap, which ran for almost 
three hours, and the crazy way that Daylight Savings Time is affecting my sleeping schedule this year. Also by the freak out I had when I woke up and it was completely dark out.)

Huckleberry is doing fine. We brought him in at eight this morning to get neutered. He was SO EXCITED. We've got a great dog, he just loves everything. He loves new people. He loves new smells. He loves getting shots. (Really, I was holding him and he didn't flinch even a bit at the antibiotic.)

I called the clinic at one to see how the surgery had went, and the receptionist sounded really taken with him. She kept calling him a sweetheart, and said the only thing he's not happy about is that he's all alone in the back. I guess he cries when she leaves him to go to the front of the office.

The good news is he should be twelve pounds lighter. Those balls, they were huge!

Hey Mr. Postman

Does anyone else think it'd be kind of cool to be a mailman? (Is mailperson more proper?) It seems like it would be fun.

Our mailman is very nice. We used to have this jerk of a mailman who would taunt my parents' dog, Augie. He knew that Augie didn't like having people come to the door, and he would start whistling for him two houses down, just to see Augie freak out when he got to the door. It was sort of a game to him, I guess. Of course it meant that Augie never got comfortable with the new mailman after the old one switched routes. He never got used to anyone coming to the door.

A few weeks ago, the mailman had a certified letter for Bruce. We assumed our pizza-man positions - I holding the dog a few feet from the door, Bruce taking care of business at the door - and when the mailman saw Huck, he smiled, "Looks like that one's going to like me a little better than the last one."

I'm glad that someone besides us remembers Augie.

Last Hurrah!

We sent the puppy away to live out his last "free" weekend with my parents. They will probably be gorging him senseless, and bring home a dog we no longer recognize, a dog who more resembles a bowling ball than a Snausage, which is totally the look we've been after.

Actually, we are way more into his physical health than we are into our own, and our beloved pup has grown himself to be quite the fashionably slim teenager, and I'm very proud of that. You could bounce a quarter off his ass, people. You can feel it when he lays his seventy-pound head on your face when you're trying to breathe, and reach around to extract him. I dare you not to say, "Wow, that ass is TIGHT!" while you do it. You might just think it. That's OK.

I know that some of you are curious, and so I inform you: I am doing alright with the non-smoking thing. I have taken up The Patch (or at least the Kmart equivalent to it) and it's going quite well. I feel like it's a loser's way out, sometimes, but I don't let that get to me (too much). The fact of the matter is that I know I need help in quitting, and there is statistical evidence that I quit better with help than without. (See all the years of trying to quit and failing immediately without help vs. the almost successful quitting with the patch.)

I totally miss my little man. I asked my dad to take him with him up north before I went to work this afternoon, and yet I was still shocked and very very sad not to have him greet me at the door when I got home. Still, I hope he enjoys it.

Because after next week he will no longer be consulting his balls in major decisions. This is like his bachelor party.

That Special Feeling

Really, there's nothing like having your own computer and sitting at it every day. I'm sure that you internet buffs realized this, but it has been a minor revelation to me tonight, as I finally retreated to my hole (the basement) and sat down in "my" chair. It's actually my parents' chair. It feels so nice. This is where I write my ideas down to share with you all. This is where I find the time to be inspired by random things on random websites. This is where the magic happens.

Don't worry, I'll make it happen more often. I didn't realize how much I missed it until now.

I quit smoking two days ago. Since then, I've had four cigarettes. It doesn't sound like a huge accomplishment to a lot of people, but for me it is. It's monumental.

In other news, I believe Linus is starting to become a food snob. He was clawing and chewing at the bag before his bowl was empty. Everyone hates a food snob.

Huck slept in bed with us last night, until about 7:30 AM, when it started getting light outside, and he decided that the time had come to fidget and lick my face and generally be very put out that we weren't waking up yet. Then he got put in his kennel until about 11:00, when I woke up.

The end.

Man, I need to do this more often. I can feel my brain emptying. Thanks for reading.

Dental

Is it wrong for me to choose a dentist based only on the fact that their receptionist had a fabulous German accent? Is it?

Seriously, I went through the entire phone book, and the only place that wasn't rude or over-the-top or crazy expensive was the one with Andrea, she of the cool accent. And she understood that I'd probably need medicine before my appointment, and she called it medicine. I love that.

I get to meet her on Monday. It's been so long since I've heard a real live German accent in person. I'm excited.
_______

In other news, the dog got his ass spanked this morning for picking the wrong socks to munch on. Why is it always the things you like the best? Why?

Sob.

As Usual, In No Particular Order:

• I'm thinking about knitting a hooded sweater. I don't know where to find a simple hooded sweater like the one in my head, so I'm half-expecting that my first sweater ever (did I mention it's my first sweater ever?) might be of the sort I make up in my head. I'm not sure if this makes me really creative, or really stupid. Probably both.


• Huckleberry had his first nail-clipping today. Ok, I know he's really old for the first time. Your visions of him as some sort of Freddy Krueger-esque monster are more accurate than you know. We didn't have a nail-clippers, and although we tried using the dremmel on him, he didn't like the noise or the way we had to hold him, and I ended up with lungs full of dog-nail-dust. It wasn't pleasant. I have to say that he took the trimming VERY well. He didn't like standing still, but the clipping didn't bother him in the slightest.


• I'm getting behind on my actual "blogging". My brain hasn't been working in a storytelling manner lately. I suspect it'll come back soon.


• This weekend is Oktoberfest in Appleton. We really want to go - Bruce has been reading about it for weeks. I'm excited to check out the yarn shops in the area. And beer. I hear there might be beer.

Our Boys

They are either growing up super fast or going utterly batshit because there's just too much space in this new house! To put it another way, they're either getting all their grown-up teeth before we even notice or they're just not getting the concept of having that much more area to pee in*, and are therefore just plain a little nuts at the amount of space they have to be in constant control over.

*I'm trying to quietly allude to the fact that while Huck has been rejoicing at the amount of space (three floors!) to pee on, Linus is content to pace back and forth between stories and jump at the slightest noise.

In other words, Huck is becoming a man while Linus becomes a middle-aged cat with an anxiety disorder.

Here's a picture of Huck's teeth that I took early last week:


You see that little bitty baby tooth there? Surrounded by all the grown-up-giant adult teeth there? Do you see his big eye staring you in the face? Say hello to Huck! He's very nice about being manipulated into grimacing for your enjoyment.

Here's a picture of Huck's teeth that I took this evening:



You see? You see how he's growing up ever-so-fast? He's even swallowing all his teeth, much to the chagrin of Bruce who wants to keep them and show them to him on his 5th (35th in dog years) birthday to show him how little he was once upon a time. It's been suggested that if he really wanted to, he could find them again, but Bruce is even more anti-poop than I am. And that's saying something.

Linus is totally freaking out. I thought that having more spaces to hide would make him a more relaxed cat, but instead, he spends his daylight hours avoiding us. When he's not avoiding us, he's actively trying to bite me using whatever means necessary. He will go out of his comfortable laying position to seek me out to bite me more. The only time he tolerates me is in the morning when I'm too sleepy not to hate him for wanting me to interact with him. More space is not good for this cat.

So that's an update on The Beasts. How are yours doing?

PS: Guess what my next project is? It's making sure that this guy, Huck's favorite toy from his absolute favorite Uncle Cam:



Making sure he gets his hoo-hah fixed. Because, although I am in no way ashamed of the female anatomy, I don't believe stuffed blue elephants deserve to have their hoo-hahs hanging out all over the place. Witness: