Miss Me?

Oh Lord! I must be getting old. Time is flying faster than it used to. Could have sworn I updated the blog just a few days ago but apparently, it's been a little longer than that.

We had our annual 4th of July "doggie reunion" party. Over 50 dogs and their owners showed up. Consumed mountains of hot dogs and burgers and many many gallons of ice cream. I was "high" all day hugging all those pooches. They wiggled and wagged and were very generous with their kisses. Even the bi-polar German Shepherd dropped by with his Navy K-9 handler. The dog is still on Prozac.

Daisy, an English Mastiff waddled over to say hello. She was about 60 pounds underweight when I got her; she's topping the upper weight range for her breed now. Such a sweetie. Unfortunately, she still thinks she's a lapdog so I sat as soon as I saw her - 220 pounds is twice my weight. Most of the larger breeds I've fostered - Saint Bernards, Newfoundlands, Russian and Irish Wolfhounds, etc - have all been lapdogs. Mostly, just their heads fit on my lap but that didn't stop any of them from trying to get as close as they could. The best I could do was lie on the grass next to them. Caveat: If they rolled over on top of me, I was squashed to smithereens.

A few Rotts showed up and it was "hail fellow, well met" when my Rotts spotted them. Rotts are very picky about their canine friends, snobs actually. They tolerate other dogs but they really get sappy around their own breed. BullyBoy played with all the dogs; he doesn't have an intolerant bone in his body. The two Dobermans I retrained for a visually impaired/physically challenged lady were there, too. These two are getting on in age but still doing their job leading their person around, taking turns with her every day. So many others - it was really my kind of day.

Other stuff: Time for my semi annual medical checkups. I have an inflamed sciatic nerve. Doc recommended mild painkillers and wanted me to see a physical therapist. People... been there, done that. Not doing it again. Physical therapists are sadistic terrorists. And they have no sense of humor and get bent out of shape when one tries to eat a Twinkie during the torture session. I'm not sure but it's possible they're related to phlebotomists a.k.a. blood suckers a.k.a. vampires. Just my opinion of course.

"These are dedicated medical personnel," Cowboy said. "They're trying to make you feel better."

"By torturing me? No thanks. I'd rather eat a piece of broccoli."

SWAT!

"You're going if I have to drag you there!"

SWAT!

"No more peaches until 2010."

Long pause...

(The physical therapist is currently on hold.)

The doc was new - actually very nice - surprised me. He talked to ME instead of to the giant squid, was gentle, and told me everything he was going to do before he did it. I was really amazed. Cowboy was amazed I didn't hurt him. He felt my forehead to see if I had a fever. Tsk.

Nurses didn't hear the usual commotion that happens when I have an appointment so they came in to see if I was okay. Then one of them YELLED at my husband, demanding to know if he had threatened me in any way so I'd behave. Cowboy, who outranks them (and the doc) was backed up against a wall with his hands up in a defensive move swearing he didn't hurt me. Couldn't help myself; I laughed.

I was sooooo good I demanded a banana split. We went to a café near the base and splurged. After I ate mine, I ate most of Cowboy's portion. It was the least I could do.

Meanwhile, I'm not jogging, running or dancing and this is making me crankier than usual. To get some of that physical energy out, I'm gardening, walking briskly until the leg/thigh pain gets too much and then mumbling a lot. I'm trying calisthenics, stationery bike, upper body stuff and a lot of stretching. I say FUN GOOCH a lot.

Cowboy seems to think this deserves more than the occasional swat. He laughs that I can't run from him without hurting myself. Truly, the man has forgotten how devious I can be. I waxed the banister so I can slide down it faster, parked my car in the garage so I don't have to back out, and keep both dogs close to me whenever he's in a spanking mood. I also keep several peaches in my pocket to throw at him if I'm cornered. (My water gun is also fully loaded.) So far, so good. He says wait till bedtime. However... at bedtime I'm full of ideas on how to keep him occupied with more pleasant activities. I'm also open for suggestions. Feel free to send advice.

Pipsqueak, our newest member of the family is growing back some fur. She looks like she's more calico than anything else but until all her fur is back we won't know. The vet said some of the fur would come in, then fall out and then grow back in stronger. She still talks all day and continues to fascinate the dogs with her fearless attitude toward them. She recently discovered the wonderful taste of Cracker Jack and generously leaves a few for the giant squid... on his desk.

"Did you teach the cat to do that?" Cowboy demands to know as he wipes saliva ridden sticky caramel corn off his squeaky-clean desk.

"Me?"

"No! Santa Claus! Of course, YOU!"

"Santa was here? Ohhhhhhh when? Did you tell him how good I've been?"

"Sar!"

SWAT!

Tsk. Could have been worse. Pipsqueak could have left a caramel corn hairball in his shoes.

~Sar~