A quick post before hitting the road

11 08 2009

I have doctor’s appointments all day today.  We start out the fun with an ultrasound then I have a pre-op physical this afternoon.   I’m 9 days from Total Uterine Destruction! Shaun gets his CPAP machine installed today.  Yay for breathing while you sleep!

I know you probably shouldn’t be so excited about getting cut open and having an organ removed, but damn, I’m excited.  I need for NOTHING to go wrong.  The logistics are falling into place very nicely.

The dogs know something is up – Abbie mostly.  Last night, they laid lengthwise across the path from the computer chair to the bedroom door like they were rings of security.  Layers of protection.  I love German Shepherd breeds but they can get really annoying when they team together for the protection of their “package.”  (I’ve been reading military thrillers – can you tell?)  Like any good bodyguard, they don’t pay a whit of attention to what you tell them to do if it’s contrary to their natural instincts.  Right now, Abbie is laying down, but she’s between me and the door – facing the door – and I’m staying in relatively the same spot.  It’s been so lately she won’t let the kids come up to me.  That will be good in 2 weeks when I have stitches, but still, it’s a little excessive.

Cali’s been pulling her Collie tricks lately.  She’ll come up and push her head under my hand so that it catches in her collar and pulls.  She did this the other day when I was on the toilet because she wanted me to go see what the kids were up to.  Of course, when you say “what is it, Lassie?  Did Timmy fall in the well?” she just gives you that “are you retarded?” look.

I better get moving.  I don’t think there’s any gas in the Honda… dammit.  I need gas too!  Is there a Starbucks on the way?

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Big dog

3 08 2009

I just put up a new flickr set, showing step by step how to play with a big dog.  Featuring Nola, the giant twit, our youngest puppy.  She’s a Great Dane/German Shepherd mix and is the most wonderful dog.

She’s got a propensity for escape, hence the Orvis collar.  It’s got Shaun’s cell number on it in REALLY BIG NUMBERS so that which ever neighbor finally catches her can call us.  This isn’t hard because Nola loves people.  Her trademark stunt is to run at you full speed so that you shit your pants, then perform a dive-roll over onto your feet with her legs stuck straight up in the air.  She then makes big dog smiles to get you to rub her tummy.

Our neighbors call saying they “found” our dog but never seem to feel put out that they are now restraining a 70 lb dog.  Nola really is that much of a pleasure and she really is that adorable.  People are like “oh, it’s no problem! She’s such a sweet dog!”   The guy who caught her on Saturday said “you can tell she’s a runner with all those muscles.”  Yeah – there’s seriously no fat on that dog unlike our other two barrel butts.  I worry that people think we don’t feed her because she’s so lean, but the vet is happy with her weight and size, so we’re happy too.  If we fed her any more, we’d be going through a 50 lb bag of dog food every week.

Nola is a pound puppy – she was turned in to the shelter because she was too big.   That makes me wonder what people really expected when they adopt a Great Dane mix… she’s even on the small side for a Dane.  Did they not expect a puppy with paws the size of a dinner plate to, I don’t know, grow?

When Abbie was lost for that awful week and we were scouring the shelters every day, I was walking through the large dog room and saw Nola.  She jumped up on the bars, even though she’d been in the pound for a while, and licked me through the chain-link.  How can you resist that?  I just couldn’t leave her there even though it felt like a betrayal to Abbie.  God works wonders though – it was Nola’s scent in the back yard that brought Abbie back.  I looked out the window over the yard and saw them sitting nose to nose across the fence.   Abbie was covered in tar and ticks and was so dehydrated she could hardly move – but she had to know who was in her back yard.  That’s another story for another day, but I’d really like for you to enjoy the pictures above.

A common phrase in our house is “if you weren’t so damn cute…”





4th of July aka if this neighborhood kid doesn’t stop with that firecracker…

5 07 2009

When I was a little, little kid we lived in Pensacola between the Air Force base and the Navy base.  I’m from a mixed marriage:  Mom was active Navy and Dad was active Air Force.  They met in school while training to be meteorologists for their prospective fields of duty and married over Christmas leave 6 weeks after they met.  So Pensacola is a good a place as any because the bases are only about 70 miles apart and we lived in the middle in a little apartment complex.

Northern Florida is much like southern Georgia: it’s populated by a whole lot of stupid white people.  The whole upper half of GA is metro Atlanta but there’s a line right around the Macon area where you enter the twilight zone of the South.  We’re not just talking gun-toting conservative Christian racists – we’re talking about flatland and swamp folks whose general education level is around the 4th grade.  Around cities or military bases, it’s better, but still – there’s a reason we drive straight through the night when we go to FL (southeastern part.)  That reason is that people from the interstate are only good for two things:  buying pecans and advertising the greased pig festival so that you can sell em more pecans.

I know a lot of people who love south GA and northern FL, but hey, I’m a mountain girl.  I don’t trust flat places and if you’ve got to drive more than 30 minutes to reach the closest Wal-Mart, you’re too far out in the sticks.

Back on topic:  we lived in Pensacola and while base towns are normally more diverse, you still have asshole rednecks with guns and too much liquor.  You get those folks everywhere, they’re just called different things.  At this point, I’m about 3 years old and my brother was a baby and Mom had just sat us all down for dinner on the 4th of July.  Next thing you know, a bullet comes down through the ceiling and lands in the middle of the kitchen table.  Turned out one of our hell-raising neighbors decided to shoot off his .22 pistol in celebration of being free for another year.  This is not a good idea!

I have no idea what happens next.  This is the part of the story where my mom’s voice trails off and you get the idea that my Dad probably returned that bullet to its owner by shoving it straight up his ass.

Every July right about this time of year, we heard this story and as a kid, you start to duck when you hear firecrackers.  This is doubly true when you realize that until 2 years ago, any sort of firework or firecracker was illegal in the state of GA.  People would drive out of state to buy em, but still, it was a precious commodity and you only set em off after dark on the 4th when every one else was too.  Otherwise, setting off a firecracker was about the quickest way to have a handful of cops on your front porch and a whole lot of pissed off neighbors.

Firecrackers still startle me, but now that we live on the edge of some private hunting land, it’s not as bad.  We normally hear a couple of rifle shots a day during hunting season and during the summer, we hear the race cars down at Road Atlanta and Lanier Raceway.  Imports at Road ATL during the day, hot rods at Lanier Raceway at night.  In the spring, you hear the cows making their mating calls from a few properties away.  The mountains have a way of amplifying sounds, so we get it all, and it all becomes background noise.

We moved here exactly 9 years ago over the 4th of July weekend.  It’s a nice little starter-home community where you have an actual piece of land located in between two major interstates but it’s still out in the country enough to not be right on top of people.  It was a quiet little place in the very back of a quiet neighborhood with quiet neighbors who liked quiet things.  Now, there’s a school right across the street and a whole lot of development in every direction.  That means a whole lot of people who moved in around the same time we did either moved out of county or moved into one of the hundred McMansion subdivisions where you could reach out your window and touch your neighbor’s house.   Our direct neighbors are nice enough, but a few houses down some people with teenage boys moved in.

Teenage boys have two paths in life:  they either have something to do or they terrorize the neighborhood.  Apparently, these folks couldn’t find their kids something to do, so we have been terrorized.  Our house and cars have been egged, they’ve thrown stuff at our dogs (after coming onto OUR property where our dogs are fenced in), they ride up and down the streets at all hours on a 4 wheeler, and generally act like little ass-hats.

And now fireworks are legal in GA.

These boys are about to have a Come to Jesus moment if they don’t stop with the firecrackers.  It started about a week ago and they scare the shit out of our oldest dog.  Abbie, our German Shepherd/Lab mix was abused as a puppy with cigarettes so anything that smells like smoke scares the living shit out of her.  Shaun couldn’t even get in the bed last night because she crawled in the bed on his side and glued herself to me and just shook all night, even after she got her puppy chill pills.  Cali and Nola don’t like the firecrackers either, but they’d rather bark at the little shithead than hide behind me.

Last year, they shot off one of those little bottle rocket things and it hit one of our trees during a motherfucking drought!  At least ammo is so scarce these days, none of our local crazies decided to shoot off their guns last night.  The crazies are probably the only ones with ammo since they’re stocking up for the apocalypse, forming a militia, and are ready to defend their homeland from terrorists.

Someone forgot to tell them that their two little teenage twits are the only terrorists I’ve met in our little corner of suburbia.  I ought to just put the dogs on a leash and walk down there to remind them that their good, quiet neighbors would appreciate them not spooking the cattle.

If I get really pissed off, I’ll let the dogs poop in their yard.  What do you think?  It may just be better to invite them over for beer and then throw the cats at em when they least expect it.