Shining the light of God's word into our confused world.

Tag: pets (Page 2 of 2)

A Very Bauhaushold Christmas

[Cross-posted to Daydream Believer]

We had already decided to stay home for Christmas. The original plan was to go to my mom’s house, but I realized that it’s hard enough for us to be around babies and small children right now without having to force Christmas cheer on top of it. I know I have to get over that some time, not the least of which because I love and miss my wee nieces and nephews; but neither of us had any desire to spend Christmas day pretending to be happy when the constant reminder of what we lost meant we were both dying a little inside. And so, we didn’t have to suffer disappointment when we ended up being snowed in on Christmas day, anyway.

It was a lovely, peaceful day. I woke up before Matt and spent the morning in quiet reflection as I read the accounts in Matthew and Luke of Christ’s birth and the events leading up to it. It was nice to be able to take the time out and remember what the day was really about, instead of rushing to get out the door. Then, after a prayer of gratitude, I fired up A Christmas Story and settled in to wait for Matt to get up.

Once he did, it was present time. First we gave the pets their stocking goodies, and much cuteness abounded:

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Goals for the week, and Halloween paper crafts

(Cross-posted from Daydream Believer

It’s Sunday night and, like I said, Monday’s are heck-a busy, so let’s lay out some goals for the coming week. But first, a quick recap of my day, most of which was spent with part of Husband’s side of the family, where meat was smoked and then consumed, rowdy, excited dogs (well, one) were petted and petted and assured that they are very pretty and that yes, I love them even though I just met them, too, Guitar Hero and Scrabble were played, mead (yes, actual mead) was drunk, and a fine time was had by all. All, that is, except our own pets who, judging by how forlorn they acted when we left and how pee-their-pants happy they acted when we got back, were lonely and depressed and miserable the entire time we were gone. Either that, or they’ve got us so fooled that we don’t even suspect them of partying the entire time. I like to think it’s the former. Poor babies.

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If we’re dog people, why do we have all these stinkin’ cats?

Meet Boudica.  Meet, also, the only successful picture I’ve been able to take of her face, so far. All of my other attempts were thwarted by a swift head-butt to the camera. It’s not the best shot, and fails to adequately show off her bright green eyes and completely lops off her big ears, and she’s not all that distinguishable from Niblet; but at least it’s not a blur, and so it gets to be her first impression on the world.

We began to notice this cat lurking in and around our yard early last week. She must have been casing the joint and sizing us up, and apparently she liked what she saw, because come Sunday night, she met us out front while we were taking out the garbage and proceeded to get her flirt on, big time. We of course, being the total suckers that we are, completely fell for her chirpy little meows and big, big green eyes and exotic markings and her considerable charm. Her prominent hip and rib bones sure didn’t hurt her case, either. It took less than ten minutes for us to go from “Aww, cute kitty, where do you live?” to “Maybe we should take her to a shelter” to “Let’s put some kibble out for her” to trapping her in our garage and making plans to take her to the vet.
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Lamentations & Blatherations

If I don’t learn to make better use of the time I’m given, I’ll never amount to anything.

If I don’t learn to do a better job of making time for the people in my life, eventually I won’t have any people in my life.

To say that we’re one missed paycheck away from homelessness is an exaggeration, but not by much. I need to bring back Personal Finance Blogger Jean. She knew how to stay on top of things.

I haven’t written today, and I kinda don’t think I’m going to.

Writing this was supposed to inspire me to get in gear, but instead it has depressed the bujeezus out of me.

It’s not all that bad.

I had a nice weekend. I did great at Thursday night’s write-in, and ended the day with over 2,000 new words and only 7 scenes left to go. No writing happened Friday, but after taking my puppy to the vet and Pet Smart and picking up our co-op food and coming home to clean house before meeting with a life insurance agent and then going back out to buy groceries, I hung curtains in the living room. I did it by myself, and I really should have waited until Husband got home from band practice because I hung them too low and drilled too many unnecessary new holes in the wall in the process; but since they were already up, I figured I might as well go ahead and de-wrinkle them, which took all the rest of the evening just to do most of one panel, because I had to steam them, because I left the iron at my mom’s house. But the end result is that we have curtains to close over our massive patio doors and keep at least some of the cold out, and that’s the main thing.

It was adoption day that day at Pet Smart, which I didn’t know, and it was very dangerous, and I came thisclose to coming home with a wee orange kitteh in my pocket. You guys, he was seriously the cutest, sweetest kitten I have ever seen. His name was Chevy because he hitched a ride on a Chevy truck and rode about 60 miles before anybody noticed. The only thing that kept me from picking him up and calling him mine, and also George, was Sasha, who is just beginning to get over her puppy shock. If he’s there again next weekend, though, we just might cave, and the Delicate Princess will just have to adjust.

Saturday was slightly less busy. I went with BFF to see The Rat Pack, which I enjoyed more than I expected to. Since BFF’s Mom and a friend got season tickets this year to the same time slot we did, we all went out to eat after, and that was a nice time. BFF’s Mom’s Friend seemed pretty fun, and now we’re all planning a movie night together, and I’m excited for a girl’s night out.

There was another write-in planned for that night, but I ended up not going, because I was stuffed too full of Tilapia and angel hair pasta and tiramisu. But I still wrote, and finished another scene before settling in to knit and watch Serenity. 6 more to go.

Then there was Sunday, aka the most relaxing day I’ve had in a while, which involved light housekeeping and cat box cleaning and two loads of laundry, but also involved sitting around and knitting on Christmas presents for much of the day. I also wrote a bit–just a short scene that I realized I needed from the villain’s POV and typed up before I forgot all about it. So there are still 6 more to go.

And now it’s Monday. Day one of a three-day work week, which is something to be thankful for in and of itself. Pete had to go back to the vet this morning to join the ranks of the testosterone-challenged. They just called to tell me he’s out of surgery and doing great (as great as anyone who just had his boys snipped off can be doing, at any rate), and I bet he’ll be starving when his grogginess wears off.

Now I’m going to distract myself from wanting to go get him and take him home right now by working on a plan to address the first half of this post. I hope the rest of you had weekends that were just as pleasant.

Stuff and…uh, more stuff

So apparently getting vomit-my-guts-out sick the first week of NaNoWriMo is becoming a tradition with me. Thankfully, this year wasn’t nearly so severe as last year, with the ambulance ride and all the dysentery. Just a fun round of puking followed by two days of sleeping off a low-grade fever. During my brief awake periods I did manage to find the energy to prop myself up and finally finish reading The Graveyard Book, so that’s a silver lining.

I did manage to drag myself out of bed long enough to go vote. And look how that turned out.

My word count, though, is–well, actually, not as abysmal as it could be. I “should” be at 8,335 words by the end of today, by all official reckonings, but after filling every spare moment with sprints today, I currently stand at 5,304. If I don’t manage to write any more today, I’ll be okay with that.

In other news, Pete was supposed to get his goodies snipped off yesterday, but his pre-op blood work showed an elevated liver count, so now I have to sneak pills into peanut butter for him for two weeks. So Little Pete & Re-Pete got a reprieve. I’m a little dismayed. Husband is a little relieved. Pete is a lot oblivious and I believe would gladly trade his wee balls for a spoonful of peanut butter. Dogs have no pride.

Now I’m gonna go eat a snack and pour some coffee and have another go at that word count.


So we have a dog again, and things feel a little closer to right than they have since Fizzgigg’s passing. There he is, up there, in the only picture I could get him to hold relatively still for during the ride to his new digs (and if you click on the picture to embiggen, it will show him pretty much at his actual size, just like Gachnar). He was pretty trepidatious, shy and reserved, until we got him home and settled, and then his shy, delicate flower act was demonstrated to be lies! All lies!

Actually, Niblet was what prompted him to drop his little ruse. As soon as he saw her, it was exactly like his switch got flipped to ON, and then stuck there. I could practically see his thought process as this introduction happened, which went like this:

“Who are these people? Where have they brought me? These toys look nice and this bed is soft, but I just don’t know about thi–KITTY! OMG KITTY YAY KITTY GET IT GET IT PLAY PLAY PLAY RUN PLAY TOYS KITTY WHEEEEEEEEEE!!!1!” And he pretty much stayed with that line of thinking the rest of the night, as he bounced and zipped and generally wrought chaos upon the house–which I thought was a pretty good argument for naming him Cthulhu–only pausing occasionally to, um, get on more intimate terms with his new bed. Which I thought was an even better argument for naming him Captain Hammer.

But Husband put his foot down and said “No nerd names!” and so he remains nameless, because nerd names are all I’ve got. I think we’ve finally narrowed it down to Mojito and Chewie. I’m leaning toward Chewie. It satisfies my inner nerd as well as the apparent rule that chihuahuas must have Mexican-sounding names.

And what was Niblet thinking while all this was going on? The look on her face said it all. “Hey, a new bed! I shall now make it min–what the?! Oh sh–! WTF?! GET IT AWAY! GET IT AWAY! DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!” I gotta say, I had not a drop of sympathy for her. As I reminded her every time she gave me a look that said, “You will pay for this, hooman. Just you wait,” this was exactly what she did to Fizzgigg when she first joined our family, only with more climbing, so consider it payback from the grave. Although, I think she secretly enjoyed it. She kept coming back for more–making sure to act put upon all the while, of course. She got pretty depressed after Fizzgigg disappeared, so I think deep down she’s happy to have another amenable play & snuggle buddy.

As for Sasha, I think her thoughts went something like, “I swear I’m going to claw that little bugger’s eyes out if it gets near me,” so we tried pretty hard to make sure he didn’t. That… could be a problem. Husband might finally have to consent to allowing his little princess to have her claws clipped.

So, that was pretty much our first night. The Pup With No Name was pretty disappointed when play time turned into bedtime, but I put my Dog Whisperer skills to good use and got him to settle down and go to sleep (with no help from Husband, who totally nabbed the role of Good Cop when I was busy trying to establish some pack order. He really has no idea how pwned he is by that three pounds of Alpha Male).

This morning, though, he was nothing but a sweetheart, and I had a hard time leaving him for work. Husband reports from the homefront, though, that everybody’s getting along swimmingly and behaving themselves, and they’re having a great time hanging out together, and I can’t wait to go home and join them. It’s pretty safe to say that we’re both smitten, and No Name seems pretty happy with this arrangement, too. This was definitely a good decision.

There will be no writing tonight

And this is why:

I’m going to pick him up after work, and then I am going to take him home and feed him and pet him and love him and squeeze him and call him… probably not George. But certainly not Peewee, which is what his current/soon-to-be-previous owners inflicted upon him. It may not be as dramatic a rescue story as Fizzgigg’s, but I’ll take it.

Not!Peewee is 5 months old, and I cannot wait to meet him.

I just need a name. Any suggestions?

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