What’s going on

1.  Happy Talk Like A Pirate Day, Mateys!

The word of the day is ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

For more emphasis, you can say Great Neptune’s Nutsack!


2.  The roomba broke past its barrier and went into the bathroom yesterday.  It wadded up the throw rug and shoved it behind the door so the door closed and wouldn’t open easily.  It couldn’t get out.  Apparently that made it angry.   It went over to the basket of magazines and grabbed the hanging-down edge of the Rolling Stone (a three-page foldout cover) that had flopped over the side.  It ripped the cover off, took it over by the door and munched it to pieces.  And died.

Only temporary, though.  It chewed until its battery died.  Little fucker.


3.  We have, as you may know,  a big retarded German Shepherd named Gunner.  He sleeps in a gigantic cage at the end of the bed, because we just don’t really trust him to know the right thing to do. He is perfectly nice, and is generally well-behaved, but he has cat fantasies, and garbage fantasies.  It’s just easier to lock him up at night and he likes it, anyway.

Cheetah, Bob’s hideous little diabetic cat, also likes the cage.  She sleeps in it whenever it’s devoid of dogs.

Cheetah pretending she's a caged animal


So, last week, Andrew was here.  He stays up late.  The dogs stay with him because he’s the main reason they live, apparently.

I got up at about 3 a.m.  and saw Goober/Gunnar in the hall, so I took him in the dark and put him in the cage.  He went in willingly, and I locked it up and went to bed.

Cheetah must have gotten hungry about 5:30, she started clawing the end of the bed, making a racket.  Bob finally had to get up and see what it was … and of course it was Goober and Cheetah in the cage together.  Goob was sitting up, pushed to the back and Cheetah walked to the cage door when Bob got up, none the worse for the wear.  She was just hungry, went straight in to the food bowl.  It’s that diabetic thing.   I guess this means Goob passes the kitty safety test, but Cheetah is the toughest cat alive so I’m not sure it’s a fair test.

Bob went to put Goob to bed last night and Goob went in front of Bob and opened the cage and walked in … over Cheetah, who walked out.  Guess they didn’t want to bunk together again.


4.  I think this might be my new avatar, everywhere.

It’s a dog’s life

Andrew came and spent the weekend, mostly so he could roll around with the dogs.  Here’s another crappity Treo pic, showing a good sized pile of dogs and one son.  Andrew was awake by the time I snapped this, hence the forthcoming smile.

gunnar, Andrew, sissy, and lewi in a tired pile

Gunnar, Andrew, Sissy, and Lewi in a tired pile

Sissy is never happier than when Andrew comes to visit.  She sleeps with him in the twin bed, head on pillow, legs sticking out over the edge, same position as this picture.  It’s quite funny.  I’ll snap that next time, possibly with a better camera.  But it probably won’t be a better picture.

Mother’s little helper

And no, I don’t mean tequila.  Or reds or whatever Mick was referring to in that song from my golden youth.  I mean a Roomba.

We have a Roomba automatic vacuum.  It’s a refurb and a tiny bit quirky.  I blogged about it before, when it was trying to run away.  I think it’s gotten used to us because it hasn’t tried to escape lately. I haven’t yet created a little French maid’s outfit for it, but I will.

So, every day it runs around the house every day cleaning up after us.  When we empty the filter every day, it’s crammed with dog hair.  Mostly Goober’s. We could build a new dog every week with the discards.

I think the roomba may be mad at the dogs over this.  I caught it going down the hall, chasing after the hairy perps:

Poor Lewi, he doesn’t even shed, but I guess the Roomba thinks a dog is a dog is a dog.  He leapt over it and went the other way.  Sissy is down the hall a little further [farther? I can measure it …] and she just layed [laid? lie? Fuck, where are the grammar police when I need them?]  there until the Roomba hit her and turned around.  Really.  Apparently they’ve done this before and Sissy doesn’t chicken out.  Goober, the main offender, took off for the other room when it started toward him.  For a big scary dog, he’s an awful pussy when push comes to shove.

The only camera I could find was my old Treo, so the picture sucks, but it’s slightly better than no picture.

Convict shave

Dudes, here’s the “after” haircut.

I know dogs shouldn’t get on the furniture but he’s too short to look out the window. I’m being lenient in regards to this particular piece of furniture.  His stumpy little hind legs get tired if he has to balance on them for too long when he looks out the window.

His head is such a funny shape, and he’s sitting so regally there.  NOT.  The pink areas are his skin where I scalped him. Note the terrible eyebrows and trim job on his feet.  His weiner is pretty bad, too, which you can see on the next to last picture if you’re interested. 🙂

I told him he was very pretty now and he seems to be okay with it.   You can click the pictures to see them a little bigger.

Poor Lewi's haircut

Lewi and Goober Aka Gunnar AKA The Scarecrow (If I Only Had A Brain).

The neighbors came home and rescued Howlio from the back yard and let him out in the front.  All three of my dogs were whining and shrieking out the window  [MOM!!MOM!!MOM!! LOOK OUTSIDE THERES A DOG A DOG A DOG WE’RE LOOKING WE’RE LOOKING MOM! MOM! MOM! LOOK LOOK !!!LOOK!!!. ] I went to get the camera to see if I could capture the intensity of the moment, but now, when I got back Sissy crawled under the table and flipped me off.   The other two stuck around for the photo op, albeit a bit calmer.

Lewi and Goob

The bad haircut in all its glory.

Shih tsu hair should look more like this:


Not in my lifetime.

On a completely unrelated subject

I was out picking apricots this morning and two nauseatingly overripe ones fell on me from above. One onto my head in my hair, and the other on my boob.
It’s interesting how the cots ripen at different times. There are still some fairly green ones on the tree, too. Mostly ripe now, though. Cobbler again tonight.
Can’t wait for the peaches, should be next week.

It was finally a little bit cool this morning and I’ve had the house opened up. I started smelling smoke again about an hour ago so I’ve battened down the hatches.

Off to give Lewi a bath and a shave. I’ve not shaved him myself yet, this may be interesting. Or just hard and unpleasant. As opposed to my earlier “task” which was hard and pleasant.
I’ve got it on the brain, people. Bear with me.

Update: I took a shower and the apricots came right out with scissors.
Nah, just kiddin’. Also, Lewi looks like a convict from the pound did his haircut, only with more bald spots. I’m going to have to rub sunblock on him before he goes outside. My bad.
PS: I’m looking for my camera. It’s somewhere. No before haircut pics, but maybe an after.

Another week down the tubes

Friday night, 9:50, I’m still trying to wrap up a work project. However, I’m so disgusted with it (and the person I’m working with, damn her to hell) that I’m going to give up and tear her a new arsehole on Monday. Long distance, so I won’t choke her and go to jail.

Gawd, I only had one nerve left today and between her and my complete retard of a German shepherd, that nerve has been thoroughly stomped. I can’t really go into it without sounding like more of an asshole than I already am, but FUCK, I expect people to be able to do their jobs after 10 years.
Gah. And the dog didn’t actually do anything, he’s just annoying. And stupid. The other two are angels by comparison.

To illustrate — Goober ate a bee on Sunday. He eats flies regularly, and he decided to try a bee. It immediately stung him on the tongue. He shook his head a bunch, spat it out, stared at it for one second, and snapped it back up and ate it. I was hoping his tongue would swell up and choke him but no such luck. I suppose it’s the Claritan we give him every night for his allergies.

How can one dog be so smart and the other such a peabrain? It’s like two completely different species. Sissy knows the names of the different rooms in the house and will go to the right one if you tell her you’re going there next. Goober knows two words: outside, and cookie. And the shake of the Claritan bottle, because it means a cookie is coming next.

Keerist, I just slopped wine down my bra. Where’s Bob when I need him? Hmm. I just had a good idea for releasing my frustration.
More later.

Can I just say

How gross it is to have a urinal be the first thing I see when my web browser opens up? What was I thinking?

Hence, this uselss less [um, that would be USELESS] post.

Wait, one thing:

We have Sissy, the pit x lab, the new little dog Lewi, and the Giant German Shepherd, Gunnar, aka Goober. (Goober answers to both, and is usually called Goober for obvious reasons if you know him.)

This morning in my pre-coffee stupor I was putting them out and Goober and Lewi were were having an annoying doorway scene at my feet. I fumbled for words and yelled, “Gooey!!! Get Out!”

Goober + Lewi, get it? They got it, and got out.

Okay, I thought it was funny. But it WAS early.

On Dogs From Hell

I love dogs, really, I do. I have three. I even like pit bulls a lot, my experience with them has always been positive. We own a pit/lab cross who is a completely wonderful dog, particularly the pit part.
Except… Down the street there’s a mostly feral pit who has eaten the neighborhood chickens, killed cats and a puppy, and sent another little dog to the vet. It’s always exciting to walk the dogs by him. I have to get big and tough so he’ll back off. My dogs want to rumble with him. I don’t really like blood that much, so we make him back off. He’s been reported numerous times to Animal Control.
He looks like he’s starving to death, poor thing. Paula, Your Neighborhood Librarian, has had experience with this very thing. She said I must Go To City Hall and push the agenda and get Animal Control to do their job. I suspect she’s right when she says it’s only a matter of time until the dog bites a human.

Here’s the update on the Feral Pit From Hell.

I’ve talked to City Hall, the Assistant Director of the Community Services Department who oversees Planning, Building, Environmental Health, and Animal Control for the county, to be precise. I accidentally got his cell number, which will soon be on a neighborhood flier depending on how fast things move. He said, “No, please don’t give that out!” and I said, “But what if we see the dog before 8 or after 5?” He said to please call the police or sheriff and they can find out who’s on call for Animal Control and they’ll take it from there. Hah. The gears grind exceedingly slowly, we’ll see…

They are definitely aware of the dog and the problems. I made a bit of a stink, I guess, and the shit has started to flow. Animal Control has tried to catch him before. They had him cornered in somebody’s yard and he leaped over the 6 foot fence and got away. Right before their eyes. Take that, beyotches!

I talked to the Queen of the Dogcatcher Department, too (in person), and her heinous wanna-be cop hardass sidekick with amazingly dense, curly girlie eyelashes. He hates them. And me for looking at them. And everyone else, as far as I can tell. Anyway … They aren’t too happy with me for bringing down the pain from above. And they won’t let me dart him. The dog, I mean. They’d probably let me dart the sidekick.

They were driving up and down the neighborhood when they stopped to talk to me. They were gathering information or possibly eating donuts, trying to establish the dog’s roaming patterns and habits.

The plan now is to dart the dog, which is quite a procedure and takes a lot of people. Community Services has signed off on it. Animal control has to have police/sheriff support during the procedure, and a vet has to be with them (by law) because the darted dog must be surrounded after he’s darted so he can’t escape and hide until he’s normal again. Sounds like a giant Community Clusterfuck and not much fun. See why I wanted the cell number? Also, once they actually catch him he has to be transported immediately (by law) to the vet. Maybe that will put an end to it. Paula, Your Neighborhood Librarian, ended up going to court to testify to get the dog put down.

Maybe they’ll just call Cesar.

Happy Saturday and Sears Kenmore LG Review

Hi there, Happy Saturday. It’s a really nice day here. To celebrate, I’m going to go blast the grease off the barbeque. Wish me luck.

Had the Sears refrigerator repair guy here today. We thought we bought a nice fridge a year ago. Wrong. It was an uber-expensive piece of shit. Kenmore Elite branded LG. Model number 795-77572600. French doors, freezer on the bottom, water and ice in the left door. Sounds really nice, eh? Not so much. I mean, it would be except …. Uneven cooling. The bottom shelf cracked – not the glass, the plastic that holds it in. The deli drawer has crappy stress cracks all over it. The icemaker quit working last week. The doors won’t shut unless you hold your mouth right. You need a crowbar to get them open again. The alarm to tell you the door’s still open works about 50 % of the time, so it’s almost but not quite better than not having an alarm at all. Feh. Made in Korea, assembled in Mexico. What does LG stand for? Loser Goods. Lovely Goddess, Liquid Gold, Leftover Garbage. Last Gasp. Luckily, this is the one appliance we bought an extended warranty on. Must have had a premonition.
I’ve heard their phones are quite nice. Maybe they should stick to that Line of Goods.

In other news, Lewi bit me and made me bleed like a stuck pig last night. Little fucker. It was over a squeak toy. We’re going to have to get over that little hump or he’s going to walk with a limp. The dog dissing isn’t working for us. I need to go back and watch how Cesar does it. I’ve seen him fix this exact same problem. Just can’t remember how he did it.
Here’s Lewi and Goob wrestling at my feet, only watch it if you’re bored stiff. It’s just dogs chewing on each other. I think it’s amusing, but I’m easily amused. It gets a little funnier at the end.

One more thing. I wish I was THERE instead of here. This is a good time, we went one year. Nice people, great beer. Beautiful place.

We’re going to the coast next weekend, Son has agreed to come babysit the fur kids for the duration. Party Hardy! Sissy is always so happy when we leave, because she then gets lots of face time with her favorite person in the world. And it’s also the only time she can get on the bed and the couch. I love that she’s smart enough not to do that when we’re here. Only if Son is babysitting.