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This is Daisy, Kritter and Gizmo's cousin (Alan's brother's new puppy). Daisy came with Kyle and Alan's parents for Thanksgiving. As you can see, if there is a meal involved, she's there.
Daisy is a bit of a "talker." She's also not quite the picture of grace. So, when she came in talking and running all over Kritter and Gizmo to say hi, Gizmo misinterpreted her greeting as an attempt on his life. So he put every bit of his 19 pounds into the most intimidating display of hair-raising barking I have seen. He must have said something like "Get off me you fatty fat fatty," because she was quite offended and tried to make him a snack. Only his ego was damaged, but he had to be either held or in a separate room all weekend. Here he is pouting in his grandmother's lap.
Daisy, although still offended, agreed to stay, provided we shower her with her own big bed and plenty of time to lounge. She waddled her way from one sleeping spot to another between playing with Kritter.
She looked quite comfy.
Don't feel bad for Moe though. He got plenty of attention. I came down with strep throat the day before Thanksgiving, so I had to nap constantly. He kept me company.
One of the many exciting amenities offered by this odd little tourist island we now inhabit is the outrageous cost of living.
I reached for my checkbook today and it waved a white flag.
I talked to the pugs about contributing to the household income, but Gizmo snotted in my face and Kritter rolled over and went back to sleep (see photo), so I'm not seeing any cash flow forthcoming from that direction. Still, we budgeted for the expense and have been chugging right along.
We're even doing ok considering Alan's transmission suddenly quit and we recently found out he has yet another costly medical weirdness. (Between the both of us, our kids have virtually no chance of being normal).
Tomorrow I am interviewing for a different job within my company. It is a job I love doing. I'm passionate about it. It's exactly what I want to do, rather than my current job, which is just related to what I want to do. It has much better hours. I'd actually get to see my husband and meet his friends, many of whom have expressed doubt that I really exist. It would also get me away from the boss with the "&@tch philosophy" previously discussed.
But here's the problem: It pays substantially less than my current job.
So much less, in fact, that we would have to move. Either that, or I would have to find a sugar daddy.
Besides the mind numbing thought of moving AGAIN (this would make six moves in six years: one each year of college, then moving in with Alan, then moving here) moving on the island presents it's own special challenges:
1. We need a yard for the pugs. I know, plenty of pugs are apartment-dwellers. However, mine were trained with a doggy door. Any time we've had to take them out on a leash resulted in a battle of wills, and the humans never won.
2. The place with a yard must allow pets.
3. The place with a yard that allows pets should not abut a crack/whore house or a psychopath. On this island, those two qualifications alone substantially limit eligible areas.
4. The places with a yard that allows pets but does not sit adjacent to a crack house or psychopath must be within our price range.
So, with all those things in mind, I am getting out the phone book to look up sugar daddies. Wonder if that's under "s" for sugar or "r" for rich...
A fluffy orange tabby has sunned, napped and generally chilled on my front porch for days. Therefore, he's mine - don't tell the pugs or Alan!
Our neighbors have always had two cats that like to hang out at our house, so I am assuming they adopted another one and his new siblings showed him the best sunny spots on the street. But the other cats are not as cute and don't let me pet them, so I've never taken much interest in them. This kitty - he's a boy - is very nice and does a funny little hop on his back legs when he wants to be petted. I've dubbed him Tom.
Here he is stretching to come see what I'm up to.
Look at your pug (if you don't have a pug...why not?) and make a little list of his or her prominent features. Ten-to-one "neck" isn't one of them. There's just not much there...usually.
But then it's dinnertime, and your pug's special extend-o-neck feature becomes their greatest asset. With those extra couple of inches, pugs achieve new heights. Kritter uses his to steal from the trash can. Gizmo is still learning to use his, sometimes employing it unnecessarily, as you can see to the right. The little goober plants his feet as far away from the bowl as possible.
...than that of a pug who sees a treat.
Moe stretches knows that stretching before sleeping is imperative for injury prevention.
One second later I was attacked by a licking pug! Kritter is doing "big eyes." This is a special expression reserved for food, fetch and pouncing.
Hurricanes, bills, dumb people at work, laundry, yard work...it never ends. Little 'moe here understands the overwhelming nature of life. He can barely handle the mailman.
Husbands are dirty
How can a man who can rattle on and on about things like the salpingopharyngeas and the levator ani not be able to understand the concept of a trash can? I am dumbfounded when he looks at his desk, sees 3 yogurt cups and spoons, 2 bowls, 1 plate and 3 empty bags of chips along with various wrappers, crumbs and scraps, and then says "what trash?"
The kicker: He is totally serious. It's like he is trash blind. I put up with it as long as I can, because he promises he'll get to it a week from Wednesday after his GAR final or his OSCE. But I can't take it: I gather the trash and the dishes and try to straighten the remaining clutter.
What happens then? I get in TROUBLE! I have moved something so extremely important that it was buried among cheesy poof crumbs and yogurt cups, and now he can't find it.
I may have to move his desk to the guest room to preserve my sanity.
Hurricanes
I added up all the receipts from Rita: $671.65. Coulda been worse, much worse, so I am not complaining. Just sighing. Sending all my money away for bills and sighing.
Laundry
I enjoy doing laundry. I think it is part of my OCD-ness. Our washer and dryer are in the detached garage. That is ANNOYING!
I have to fight my way through mosquitoes (arch enemy) open the SQEEEEEAKY garage, pray that no spiders have made a web near the lightswitch and no mice have left presents on the top of the appliances (I promise we are not gross people - I think the bugs/rodents here are poison resistant). Then I have to actually do the laundry while making sure no article of clothing touches ANYTHING except the inside of each machine.
If something falls on the floor, it is no longer clean and must be rewashed (this is the case anywhere, not just my garage). Alan knows this and purposely drops things and then doesn't rewash. Drives me nuts.
But I've actually lightened up. Now just an "important" item of clothing (like underwear) must be rewashed upon dropping. Ok, moving on. I'm revealing too much weirdness.
Work
I have to think of a way to tell this one without revealing where I work. I'm not in the CIA or anything, but it's just not a good idea to broadcast any work-related gripes when your work is so public. So let's say that a "product" of mine angered some people in the community, which is understandable given that the product dealt with a controversial issue. As a result, I got my very first "go to hell" phone message. The message itself didn't bother me so much as the idea that someone who doesn't know me wants me to suffer for eternity.
This is Daisy, Kritter and Gizmo's cousin (Alan's brother's new puppy). Daisy came with Kyle and Alan's parents for Thanksgiving. As you can see, if there is a meal involved, she's there.
Daisy is a bit of a "talker." She's also not quite the picture of grace. So, when she came in talking and running all over Kritter and Gizmo to say hi, Gizmo misinterpreted her greeting as an attempt on his life. So he put every bit of his 19 pounds into the most intimidating display of hair-raising barking I have seen. He must have said something like "Get off me you fatty fat fatty," because she was quite offended and tried to make him a snack. Only his ego was damaged, but he had to be either held or in a separate room all weekend. Here he is pouting in his grandmother's lap.
Daisy, although still offended, agreed to stay, provided we shower her with her own big bed and plenty of time to lounge. She waddled her way from one sleeping spot to another between playing with Kritter.
She looked quite comfy.
Don't feel bad for Moe though. He got plenty of attention. I came down with strep throat the day before Thanksgiving, so I had to nap constantly. He kept me company.
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