Cowboy here. Writing this while the imp sleeps; hope to post it before she wakes. We're in San Diego for a few days. Flew down to attend Memorial Day ceremonies - always a moving event - especially on a military base. Plan to stick around a day or 2 afterwards so I can take Sar out to Balboa Park where there is a "large animal" zoo.
We went to the regular San Diego zoo yesterday - Sar was in 7th heaven - animals and junk food and a lot to see. A must-see stop is the area set aside for children so my wife can pet anything and everything. Her eyes go all wide the minute she sees the animals she'd like to take home. Because nothing is beyond her-- I accompany her so she's not arrested for theft or comes home with a creature nobody in their right mind would have as a pet. At one point I was forced to hold a corn dog and a soft drink while the imp consumed an ice cream bar followed by a giant cookie. Yeah, I know. I paid for all that crap but nevertheless--
Taking Sar to the zoo is similar to leading a class of grade school kids around. The imp is everywhere at once, ignores my admonitions, wants to eat from all the concessions and makes sounds of pure joy when she sees the various exhibits. Frankly, those sounds are best left to the privacy of our bedroom. Pure joy is what it's all about so when it comes to my wife's joy, I like to indulge her. Exception is bringing home another animal-- in particular, a wild one.
Last night we attended a formal military affair. Dress whites for me, a ball gown for mia amore. She was the most beautiful woman there. The minute we hit the dance floor, others cut in. No respect for rank either. Naturally I cut back in and only conceded to let a few close friends have that honor. She danced almost every dance. The evening event was enjoyable for both of us.
When we leave, we're headed home for a day to regroup, check on the house and animals. A couple is house sitting, feeding the menagerie. A bit of last minute packing, then it's off to New Orleans. Sar's "family" is flying in from Chicago. Her oldest closest friend and family are also joining us. As much as she wants to be with them I'm betting the imp is more excited about chicory coffee, beignets and all that rich "Nawlins" food. Trust me. I know my wife. Food is a high priority.
She also wants to ride the trolley, take a paddleboat ride, get her picture drawn at one of those artist stands on Jackson Square and ride in a horse drawn carriage. You'd think she was a tourist but she spent a month or more there every year as a kid living with Max and his ladies. Sar and Alli are bound to get into mischief-- Again, I need to accompany them to make sure they don't get arrested.
One of us will keep you posted. "Days of our lives" with the imp are never boring. If she complains about a swat or 2, you can be sure it was well deserved.
Cowboy
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Hello!
Did you think I'd forgotten you? Been busy and probably doing too much but sometimes, life is like a drug. I can't stop doing! The freezer is full again, everything is spick and span and the yard is shaping up beautifully. Friends have been over for dinner, the dogs and cats are well and even the new pup, Hadrian, the Neapolitan Mastiff, is starting to behave like a dog that's had a little training.
The caveman I married, however...
"What are you doing imp?"
"Reading a book," I reply sweetly.
"That better be a novel," he yells from downstairs, "and not a 'how-to' by Harry Houdini."
I like to have an escape route planned in advance just in case I need to get out of Dodge in a hurry.
"We're going over to the Simmons' place for drinks later. I want you to be polite to Maddie Simmons."
"Uh huh."
"I mean it, babe," he says, his voice getting closer. (He must be coming up the stairs.)
Maddie Simmons is a repressed suffragette. When she lived in the "deep South," she was president of the local chapter of "Daughters of the American Revolution" and she named her own daughter Susan B in honor of Susan B. Anthony. I don't know the correlation between Susan B and the American Revolution, but no matter. She's a kook. She once asked if I wanted to join the temperance union... I think the lady has been sniffing too much aerosol spray.
"And wear a dress," Mr. Manners orders as he comes up behind me.
"Of course," I agree. I've got tight leather tap pants. I'll put a raincoat over them and Cowboy won't notice. Then, when I take the raincoat off, Maddie Simmons might faint and I won't have to endure her for very long. Her husband, an uptight deacon in his church, might have cardiac arrest. Oh goody! Two birds with one stone.
"And don't do anything funny!" Cowboy adds, picks me up by the waist and gives me a swat and then drops me back in my chair.
I hasten to cover up my Houdini book.
Moving right along...
I was away for a few days - in St. Louis - at a textile show. Asked a close friend from Chicago to meet me and come along for company. She can't sew and would kill herself if she picked up a needle but she's great fun to be with i.e., loves to eat, doesn't worry about calories and is a better kick boxer than I am. Cowboy called after we were there only 2 days to mention that the credit card company informed him that his credit card was smoking. Tsk. I switched to his other card.
When I got back I noticed that Hadrian, the Neo beastie seemed to have gained a LOT of weight while I was gone. I counted all the dogs and cats and checked to make sure all the neighborhood kids were still alive and kicking. That dog has an enormous appetite! He was so happy to see me he slobbered all over my shoes. I was happy to see him, too but the shoes are a total washout. I have to teach him to keep his head down while eating and drinking... that should reduce the slobber.
Met up with friends I have coffee with twice a week. We take turns hosting it at our homes. The last one was at the home of Patrick's girl friends house. Her mother is my friend; her daughter is Missy, the 7-year old hussy who has her eyes on my 9-year old Patrick. (Patrick has his own mother but I consider him mine.) I brought Key Lime pie - 6 of them. All four of us ate all six pies. 'Twas truly wonderful and I was too full to eat the takeout Cowboy brought home for dinner... eggplant parmesian...
SWAT!
"You filled up on junk food, didn't you?" the Neanderthal muttered when I concentrated on garlic bread and wine instead of that purple stuff.
Key Lime pie is not junk food but I chose not to mention that.
SWAT!
Tsk.
There are new folks in our neighborhood. I'm guessing that the cat that is serenading us on our fence at night belongs to them. My female cat has been neutered; the male cat is desperate to get out there and beat the beejeesus out of that feline interloper. And Tank and Panda, the outside Rotts keep standing on their hind paws trying to reach the noisy critter; they're always interested in a snack.
I think the cat is not long for this world - it's spring and the coyotes are out and hungry.
"You should tell those neighbors about their cat," Cowboy suggests while we listened to its song.
"Why? It's singing off key," I remarked.
SWAT!
My husband has lost his sense of humor.
David has deployed again. He says it will be a short trip, just a few weeks. Crossing my fingers on that one. I packed some snacks for him and he had the gall to say "behave" while I'm gone. Sure.
Okey dokey, have to go try on those tap pants for the visit to the Simmons'. Good thing I read that Houdini book. When Cowboy sees them I'm going to need that escape route.
~Sar~
The caveman I married, however...
"What are you doing imp?"
"Reading a book," I reply sweetly.
"That better be a novel," he yells from downstairs, "and not a 'how-to' by Harry Houdini."
I like to have an escape route planned in advance just in case I need to get out of Dodge in a hurry.
"We're going over to the Simmons' place for drinks later. I want you to be polite to Maddie Simmons."
"Uh huh."
"I mean it, babe," he says, his voice getting closer. (He must be coming up the stairs.)
Maddie Simmons is a repressed suffragette. When she lived in the "deep South," she was president of the local chapter of "Daughters of the American Revolution" and she named her own daughter Susan B in honor of Susan B. Anthony. I don't know the correlation between Susan B and the American Revolution, but no matter. She's a kook. She once asked if I wanted to join the temperance union... I think the lady has been sniffing too much aerosol spray.
"And wear a dress," Mr. Manners orders as he comes up behind me.
"Of course," I agree. I've got tight leather tap pants. I'll put a raincoat over them and Cowboy won't notice. Then, when I take the raincoat off, Maddie Simmons might faint and I won't have to endure her for very long. Her husband, an uptight deacon in his church, might have cardiac arrest. Oh goody! Two birds with one stone.
"And don't do anything funny!" Cowboy adds, picks me up by the waist and gives me a swat and then drops me back in my chair.
I hasten to cover up my Houdini book.
Moving right along...
I was away for a few days - in St. Louis - at a textile show. Asked a close friend from Chicago to meet me and come along for company. She can't sew and would kill herself if she picked up a needle but she's great fun to be with i.e., loves to eat, doesn't worry about calories and is a better kick boxer than I am. Cowboy called after we were there only 2 days to mention that the credit card company informed him that his credit card was smoking. Tsk. I switched to his other card.
When I got back I noticed that Hadrian, the Neo beastie seemed to have gained a LOT of weight while I was gone. I counted all the dogs and cats and checked to make sure all the neighborhood kids were still alive and kicking. That dog has an enormous appetite! He was so happy to see me he slobbered all over my shoes. I was happy to see him, too but the shoes are a total washout. I have to teach him to keep his head down while eating and drinking... that should reduce the slobber.
Met up with friends I have coffee with twice a week. We take turns hosting it at our homes. The last one was at the home of Patrick's girl friends house. Her mother is my friend; her daughter is Missy, the 7-year old hussy who has her eyes on my 9-year old Patrick. (Patrick has his own mother but I consider him mine.) I brought Key Lime pie - 6 of them. All four of us ate all six pies. 'Twas truly wonderful and I was too full to eat the takeout Cowboy brought home for dinner... eggplant parmesian...
SWAT!
"You filled up on junk food, didn't you?" the Neanderthal muttered when I concentrated on garlic bread and wine instead of that purple stuff.
Key Lime pie is not junk food but I chose not to mention that.
SWAT!
Tsk.
There are new folks in our neighborhood. I'm guessing that the cat that is serenading us on our fence at night belongs to them. My female cat has been neutered; the male cat is desperate to get out there and beat the beejeesus out of that feline interloper. And Tank and Panda, the outside Rotts keep standing on their hind paws trying to reach the noisy critter; they're always interested in a snack.
I think the cat is not long for this world - it's spring and the coyotes are out and hungry.
"You should tell those neighbors about their cat," Cowboy suggests while we listened to its song.
"Why? It's singing off key," I remarked.
SWAT!
My husband has lost his sense of humor.
David has deployed again. He says it will be a short trip, just a few weeks. Crossing my fingers on that one. I packed some snacks for him and he had the gall to say "behave" while I'm gone. Sure.
Okey dokey, have to go try on those tap pants for the visit to the Simmons'. Good thing I read that Houdini book. When Cowboy sees them I'm going to need that escape route.
~Sar~
Friday, May 11, 2007
Monsters
Had a really bad dream the other night - nightmare level. It was a dream I had over and over when I was a kid - monsters under the bed kinda dream. The thing about monsters under the bed is that you don't know what they look like but they have long hairy arms and big hairy paw-like hands that can grab your ankles if you get up in the middle of the night and sit on the side of the bed. They get a hold of your ankles and pull you under the bed and nobody ever sees you again.
Soooo I wake up thinking bathroom break and a middle of the night snack are in order. I sit up and slide over to the side of the bed opposite from where the giant squid is sleeping. I put my feet on the floor and suddenly remember the monsters and leap back into bed before they grab me. Multiple monsters = multiple hairy paw-like hands grabbing at my ankles.
The Neanderthal I share a bed with wants to know what the problem is. I tell him and he laughs. He laughs! I'm about to wet my pants and he's laughing.
I tell him he has to pick me up and set me down several feet from the bed.
He's still laughing.
"This is not funny. If you don't pick me up I'm going to have to jump out of bed far enough so that the monsters don't get me. I could break a leg."
"What do you do if you have that nightmare when I'm out of town?"
"The dogs sleep in the bedroom. Dogs = no monsters."
"You aren't worried the monsters will grab *my* ankles?" Mr. Smarty Pants asks.
"Oh puleeze! Monsters don't want to eat giant squids. Everybody knows they want tasty females."
"What do I get for doing this?"
"You get a wet bed if you don't!"
Tsk. I got a swat and then he picked me up and set me down in front of the bathroom door. I thought about leaping onto the bed after I had my snack but the giant squid did one of those over-the-shoulder holds and took me downstairs so he could have a snack too. Unfortunately, he was out of couth and he swatted me the whole way down the stairs.
The dogs woke up and went on immediate "food alert" so I gave them snacks, too.
SWAT!
"Don't feed the dogs in the middle of the night, bambina."
Tsk
When we went back upstairs, SweetPea blustered his way into the bedroom and immediately stuck his nose under the bed!
I knew it! Something was under my bed!
Cowboy deposited me in the middle of the bed and got down on his hands and knees and looked under it with a flashlight. I told him how brave he was but then I remembered he was a Seal and a fearsome warrior.
He snorted when I said that and he was on his hands and knees and his butt was accessible... I couldn't let that opportunity go by... so I goosed him.
SWAT!
Miss Emmy, the cat, came out from under the bed and hissed and spit at Cowboy. He picked her up by the scruff of her neck and put her on the other side of the bedroom door.
I've thought about hissing and spitting at him myself a time or two. I have a feeling it wouldn't be my neck that would be in jeopardy.
"See! No monsters," he said when he got back in bed.
Miss Emmy isn't a monster but she *is* an ankle grabber.
"You saved me," I told him and hugged him tight. "But just in case... the monsters' arms come sneaking out from under the bed and poke around looking for me, I'm going to sleep on top of you tonight."
"Bambina, you only sleep on top of me when your tush is too sore for you to sleep on your back."
"I'm making an exception," I told him sweetly.
"I veto the exception," the Neanderthal said much too calmly and gave me a couple of really hard swats.
Tsk
"Okay, not sleeping on top of you, you big lug. But if the monsters get me, there's no sex for you ever again! No peach cobbler, either," I added.
He pulled me on top of him and I slept there all night.
~Sar~
Soooo I wake up thinking bathroom break and a middle of the night snack are in order. I sit up and slide over to the side of the bed opposite from where the giant squid is sleeping. I put my feet on the floor and suddenly remember the monsters and leap back into bed before they grab me. Multiple monsters = multiple hairy paw-like hands grabbing at my ankles.
The Neanderthal I share a bed with wants to know what the problem is. I tell him and he laughs. He laughs! I'm about to wet my pants and he's laughing.
I tell him he has to pick me up and set me down several feet from the bed.
He's still laughing.
"This is not funny. If you don't pick me up I'm going to have to jump out of bed far enough so that the monsters don't get me. I could break a leg."
"What do you do if you have that nightmare when I'm out of town?"
"The dogs sleep in the bedroom. Dogs = no monsters."
"You aren't worried the monsters will grab *my* ankles?" Mr. Smarty Pants asks.
"Oh puleeze! Monsters don't want to eat giant squids. Everybody knows they want tasty females."
"What do I get for doing this?"
"You get a wet bed if you don't!"
Tsk. I got a swat and then he picked me up and set me down in front of the bathroom door. I thought about leaping onto the bed after I had my snack but the giant squid did one of those over-the-shoulder holds and took me downstairs so he could have a snack too. Unfortunately, he was out of couth and he swatted me the whole way down the stairs.
The dogs woke up and went on immediate "food alert" so I gave them snacks, too.
SWAT!
"Don't feed the dogs in the middle of the night, bambina."
Tsk
When we went back upstairs, SweetPea blustered his way into the bedroom and immediately stuck his nose under the bed!
I knew it! Something was under my bed!
Cowboy deposited me in the middle of the bed and got down on his hands and knees and looked under it with a flashlight. I told him how brave he was but then I remembered he was a Seal and a fearsome warrior.
He snorted when I said that and he was on his hands and knees and his butt was accessible... I couldn't let that opportunity go by... so I goosed him.
SWAT!
Miss Emmy, the cat, came out from under the bed and hissed and spit at Cowboy. He picked her up by the scruff of her neck and put her on the other side of the bedroom door.
I've thought about hissing and spitting at him myself a time or two. I have a feeling it wouldn't be my neck that would be in jeopardy.
"See! No monsters," he said when he got back in bed.
Miss Emmy isn't a monster but she *is* an ankle grabber.
"You saved me," I told him and hugged him tight. "But just in case... the monsters' arms come sneaking out from under the bed and poke around looking for me, I'm going to sleep on top of you tonight."
"Bambina, you only sleep on top of me when your tush is too sore for you to sleep on your back."
"I'm making an exception," I told him sweetly.
"I veto the exception," the Neanderthal said much too calmly and gave me a couple of really hard swats.
Tsk
"Okay, not sleeping on top of you, you big lug. But if the monsters get me, there's no sex for you ever again! No peach cobbler, either," I added.
He pulled me on top of him and I slept there all night.
~Sar~
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Spring Stuff
Cowboy here. Sar's living in the fast lane again, something she tends to do on a regular basis unless I have a hold of her. I don't know what it is about spring but my wife is energized and all of us are affected.
She's cleaning. Folks-- we have animals in the house - 2 dogs, 2 cats - the other dogs are rarely in the house. Sar cleans some part of the house every day. I bought a robot vacuum for the upstairs. I hired a service to wash the windows and screens. The rugs are professionally cleaned several times a year; she still cleans something every day. Spring cleaning is not necessary.
When I threatened to warm that cute little butt if she didn't slow down, she went from cleaning to cleaning out. All the closets and bureaus have had their inventories cut, reorganized and some sweet smelling thing was added to most of them. I double checked to make sure she didn't put that thing in my things.
I have lost old and favorite shirts, sweats, socks as well as a few belts. I have lost favorite running shoes, ties and sweaters. I have put a double lock - electronic dead bolts - on my office door in case she gets some crazy idea about the old pistols and shotguns in my collection. I have posted *don't touch* signs on my tool chests.
My wife has brass. You knew that. After all was packed for the giveaway - her things included - she told me to drop everything off at a family shelter. I didn't want to lose those things; now I have to deliver them too. I sorted through the boxes, pulled a few things out that I don't plan to donate at this time. When Sar saw what I did, she stood on a chair - to be taller than me - and lectured. Did a decent impression of one of my old drill instructors too.
Yeah, I laughed. Applied a few swats. Hugged the stuffin out of her. Then put those things back where they belonged - in my closet etc.
Cleaning the house gave way to cooking and baking again. There's various soups, her famous apple cakes, a variety of cookies, brownies, tarts, several Italian dishes - braciole, lasagna, osa buca, pastas. Unfortunately peach cobbler isn't on the menu yet.
The dogs are getting nervous. The yard and kennels are next.
She's had long days at the university, teaching seminars on the textile arts. I know she enjoys these but a lot of energy is expended doing this and they wear her out. I won't let her drive there any more - I chauffeur her back and forth because Sar is generally asleep on the way home.
Today she is reorganizing her studio; there are vast quantities of materials - fabrics, fibers, threads - in the upstairs hallway, on the landing, and in the guestroom. The cats are happy about this, inspecting everything and napping in various places. The dogs have sniffed, sneezed and claimed several piles as their own. At one point I couldn't find Sar, then spotted her asleep in the middle of the chaos. Was tempted to lay down beside her and let nature take its course but knew I couldn't get rid of the curious dogs if I did that.
For those who have emailed to ask about new stories, Sar is writing a bit. She writes when she can. When she reads it over a lot of it is deleted or edited down to a few sentences. It will probably be another month or so - when the world has been Lysol-ed, polished, and reorganized before she can concentrate on new characters and plots. I may have to tie her to the bed to make her slow down. (Bed tying is another subject I won't get into at this time.)
Cinco de Mayo (5th of May) is coming up. When we lived in Miami it was a city-wide celebration - festivals, parades and good eating. Sar loves holidays and holiday food and invited a bunch of folks for Spanish bean soup, aroz con pollo (chicken & yellow rice,) paella (yellow rice, chicken, shrimp, clams,) media noche (Cuban sandwiches,) moros (black beans & rice) and platinos (fried plaintains.) All delicious foods that will be spread over a 3-day weekend. Spanish style desserts are also on the menu. I forgot to mention May 1 is *dance around the May pole day* which is also "blini day" in our house - blintzes + strawberries and cream. Dancing + eating = a very excited imp.
The downside to the preparations is that Sar is a little more tired than usual. But, in addition to the good food and holiday company, the upside is that Sar sleeps better. For someone who has chronic insomnia, this is good. I'm known as Mr. Worry Wart which is part of my job. I take that job seriously. So against her wishes, I'll take my wife in for a thorough checkup in a few weeks. Having been there, done that on several occasions, I plan to stay in the exam room to make sure Sar gets the necessary tests and that the medics don't get too many cuts and bruises. It's a duck shoot no matter how you look at it.
We're fostering a Neapolitan Mastiff pup. The animal's about the size of a Shetland pony and gaining weight every day. It eats anything and everything. It's starting to obey Sar, ignores everyone else. Does that remind you of someone? It drools on the cats so it's not all bad.
Cowboy
She's cleaning. Folks-- we have animals in the house - 2 dogs, 2 cats - the other dogs are rarely in the house. Sar cleans some part of the house every day. I bought a robot vacuum for the upstairs. I hired a service to wash the windows and screens. The rugs are professionally cleaned several times a year; she still cleans something every day. Spring cleaning is not necessary.
When I threatened to warm that cute little butt if she didn't slow down, she went from cleaning to cleaning out. All the closets and bureaus have had their inventories cut, reorganized and some sweet smelling thing was added to most of them. I double checked to make sure she didn't put that thing in my things.
I have lost old and favorite shirts, sweats, socks as well as a few belts. I have lost favorite running shoes, ties and sweaters. I have put a double lock - electronic dead bolts - on my office door in case she gets some crazy idea about the old pistols and shotguns in my collection. I have posted *don't touch* signs on my tool chests.
My wife has brass. You knew that. After all was packed for the giveaway - her things included - she told me to drop everything off at a family shelter. I didn't want to lose those things; now I have to deliver them too. I sorted through the boxes, pulled a few things out that I don't plan to donate at this time. When Sar saw what I did, she stood on a chair - to be taller than me - and lectured. Did a decent impression of one of my old drill instructors too.
Yeah, I laughed. Applied a few swats. Hugged the stuffin out of her. Then put those things back where they belonged - in my closet etc.
Cleaning the house gave way to cooking and baking again. There's various soups, her famous apple cakes, a variety of cookies, brownies, tarts, several Italian dishes - braciole, lasagna, osa buca, pastas. Unfortunately peach cobbler isn't on the menu yet.
The dogs are getting nervous. The yard and kennels are next.
She's had long days at the university, teaching seminars on the textile arts. I know she enjoys these but a lot of energy is expended doing this and they wear her out. I won't let her drive there any more - I chauffeur her back and forth because Sar is generally asleep on the way home.
Today she is reorganizing her studio; there are vast quantities of materials - fabrics, fibers, threads - in the upstairs hallway, on the landing, and in the guestroom. The cats are happy about this, inspecting everything and napping in various places. The dogs have sniffed, sneezed and claimed several piles as their own. At one point I couldn't find Sar, then spotted her asleep in the middle of the chaos. Was tempted to lay down beside her and let nature take its course but knew I couldn't get rid of the curious dogs if I did that.
For those who have emailed to ask about new stories, Sar is writing a bit. She writes when she can. When she reads it over a lot of it is deleted or edited down to a few sentences. It will probably be another month or so - when the world has been Lysol-ed, polished, and reorganized before she can concentrate on new characters and plots. I may have to tie her to the bed to make her slow down. (Bed tying is another subject I won't get into at this time.)
Cinco de Mayo (5th of May) is coming up. When we lived in Miami it was a city-wide celebration - festivals, parades and good eating. Sar loves holidays and holiday food and invited a bunch of folks for Spanish bean soup, aroz con pollo (chicken & yellow rice,) paella (yellow rice, chicken, shrimp, clams,) media noche (Cuban sandwiches,) moros (black beans & rice) and platinos (fried plaintains.) All delicious foods that will be spread over a 3-day weekend. Spanish style desserts are also on the menu. I forgot to mention May 1 is *dance around the May pole day* which is also "blini day" in our house - blintzes + strawberries and cream. Dancing + eating = a very excited imp.
The downside to the preparations is that Sar is a little more tired than usual. But, in addition to the good food and holiday company, the upside is that Sar sleeps better. For someone who has chronic insomnia, this is good. I'm known as Mr. Worry Wart which is part of my job. I take that job seriously. So against her wishes, I'll take my wife in for a thorough checkup in a few weeks. Having been there, done that on several occasions, I plan to stay in the exam room to make sure Sar gets the necessary tests and that the medics don't get too many cuts and bruises. It's a duck shoot no matter how you look at it.
We're fostering a Neapolitan Mastiff pup. The animal's about the size of a Shetland pony and gaining weight every day. It eats anything and everything. It's starting to obey Sar, ignores everyone else. Does that remind you of someone? It drools on the cats so it's not all bad.
Cowboy
Friday, April 13, 2007
Triskadeckaphobia!
It's Friday the 13th! One of my very favorite days. I don't really understand the fear of the 13th day of the month when it falls on a Friday. Fridays are Fridays and 13ths are 13ths. If some ill wind is blowing, it's blowing. Wing it if you can and if not, don't walk under ladders, cuddle with black cats but do throw salt over your shoulder if it makes you feel better.
I like to dance naked under the moon - full or otherwise - on the 13th. Scares the beejeebees out of nosy neighbors. "There's that witch, dancing again!"
Actually, only one neighbor can see me - our property is fenced - and he's trying to get a peek through binoculars from his 2nd story bedroom window. He's also pushing 98 so if this makes him happy, so be it.
"You're gonna give that man a heart attack!" the giant squid says when he tries to catch me dancing naked in the backyard.
"But he'll die happy," I laugh.
"You're not gonna be happy when I catch you and toast your tush!"
"You gotta catch me first, squid!"
We go back and forth like this while he stalks me and I dance away. Sometimes he tackles me early on and a serious tickling session ensues but he doesn't want me lying on the wet grass so usually we go in the house right away. If I can elude him for a while, he gets "sealy" and makes unpleasant threats.
Unfortunately, those threats usually spur my vocabulary... I cast doubts about his ability to hold his own with Army grunts, Air Force flyboys and those muscle boy Marines. He ignores the remarks about grunts and flyboys - that just makes him roll his eyes. But Marines... that's a challenge and he's ready to take any of them on. His pride is at stake.
And let's face it... the giant squid's pride is healthier than his ego and his ego is bigger than Detroit... Minneapolis/St. Paul, Chicago and...
"When I get my hands on you..."
Uh huh. As if I'm a marine. Tsk.
Moving right along...
We had a joyous spring holiday. Passover was wunderbar! And Easter was great fun. You understand that the religious significance is not as important to me as the FOOD and enjoying the company at my table. To each their own.
Contrary to what the squid posted in his ramblings about our celebrations, I did NOT steal any chocolate bunny ears. I simply said thank you when several... okay, a couple dozen or more... were offered. As for the jellybeans, I plead the 5th.
"Did you steal jellybeans from the kids' baskets?"
"Moi?"
SWAT!
Tsk.
"You're not supposed to take candy from children, Sar."
"But... it's so easy!"
SWAT!
Tsk.
"She took mine, too!" David, the marine complains. (Most of his lady bimbo friends gave him an Easter basket.
"Another easy mark," I smirk.
SWAT!
Tsk.
"Wouldn't you be disappointed if I didn't take them? You wouldn't have an excuse to swat me."
"Don't need an excuse, bambina."
SWAT!
Double tsk.
So... for a Friday the 13th breakfast for me and the pups, I made a glorious meal of pancakes, bacon, and strawberry milkshakes. Both Cowboy and David knew better than to expect me to make their breakfast.
We're headed home tomorrow. It's been about nine weeks since we left and I'm anxious to see friends and spend time in my garden. I fully intend to dance naked in the moonlight as soon as possible. My elderly neighbor isn't getting any younger and it's my sworn duty to make sure he's a happy peeper.
Did I tell you I got a new foster pup? Just one - he's a giant of a pup and still hasn't figured out how to place his big clumsy paws in the right place. He's a Neapolitan Mastiff - a real beauty, about 9 months old. His people gave him to the animal rescue society because they claim they didn't know he would grow to be the size of a pony. He's pushing 160 lbs. and has a ways to go. I'm giving serious thought to buying a saddle for him. His name was "Dawg." Tsk. I've renamed him Hadrian - an ancient Roman name - and the birthplace of his breed. His favorite activities are eating and sleeping - ergo! The cats adore him.
A group of friends sent one of those email surveys. It was a fun survey and one of the questions was: Did you ever milk a cow?
Yes, I did but as I told my friends, the cow wasn't very happy about it. It kept turning its head and muttering ugly words in my direction. I told Cowboy I must have pinched something wrong. On the other hand, it might have been one of those boy cows and this city girl shouldn't have been pinching anything. A similar thing happened when I tried to milk a goat. Needless to say the Neanderthal I live with continues to tease me about this.
Just for that... I'm stripping and going out to the backyard to dance!
~Sar~
I like to dance naked under the moon - full or otherwise - on the 13th. Scares the beejeebees out of nosy neighbors. "There's that witch, dancing again!"
Actually, only one neighbor can see me - our property is fenced - and he's trying to get a peek through binoculars from his 2nd story bedroom window. He's also pushing 98 so if this makes him happy, so be it.
"You're gonna give that man a heart attack!" the giant squid says when he tries to catch me dancing naked in the backyard.
"But he'll die happy," I laugh.
"You're not gonna be happy when I catch you and toast your tush!"
"You gotta catch me first, squid!"
We go back and forth like this while he stalks me and I dance away. Sometimes he tackles me early on and a serious tickling session ensues but he doesn't want me lying on the wet grass so usually we go in the house right away. If I can elude him for a while, he gets "sealy" and makes unpleasant threats.
Unfortunately, those threats usually spur my vocabulary... I cast doubts about his ability to hold his own with Army grunts, Air Force flyboys and those muscle boy Marines. He ignores the remarks about grunts and flyboys - that just makes him roll his eyes. But Marines... that's a challenge and he's ready to take any of them on. His pride is at stake.
And let's face it... the giant squid's pride is healthier than his ego and his ego is bigger than Detroit... Minneapolis/St. Paul, Chicago and...
"When I get my hands on you..."
Uh huh. As if I'm a marine. Tsk.
Moving right along...
We had a joyous spring holiday. Passover was wunderbar! And Easter was great fun. You understand that the religious significance is not as important to me as the FOOD and enjoying the company at my table. To each their own.
Contrary to what the squid posted in his ramblings about our celebrations, I did NOT steal any chocolate bunny ears. I simply said thank you when several... okay, a couple dozen or more... were offered. As for the jellybeans, I plead the 5th.
"Did you steal jellybeans from the kids' baskets?"
"Moi?"
SWAT!
Tsk.
"You're not supposed to take candy from children, Sar."
"But... it's so easy!"
SWAT!
Tsk.
"She took mine, too!" David, the marine complains. (Most of his lady bimbo friends gave him an Easter basket.
"Another easy mark," I smirk.
SWAT!
Tsk.
"Wouldn't you be disappointed if I didn't take them? You wouldn't have an excuse to swat me."
"Don't need an excuse, bambina."
SWAT!
Double tsk.
So... for a Friday the 13th breakfast for me and the pups, I made a glorious meal of pancakes, bacon, and strawberry milkshakes. Both Cowboy and David knew better than to expect me to make their breakfast.
We're headed home tomorrow. It's been about nine weeks since we left and I'm anxious to see friends and spend time in my garden. I fully intend to dance naked in the moonlight as soon as possible. My elderly neighbor isn't getting any younger and it's my sworn duty to make sure he's a happy peeper.
Did I tell you I got a new foster pup? Just one - he's a giant of a pup and still hasn't figured out how to place his big clumsy paws in the right place. He's a Neapolitan Mastiff - a real beauty, about 9 months old. His people gave him to the animal rescue society because they claim they didn't know he would grow to be the size of a pony. He's pushing 160 lbs. and has a ways to go. I'm giving serious thought to buying a saddle for him. His name was "Dawg." Tsk. I've renamed him Hadrian - an ancient Roman name - and the birthplace of his breed. His favorite activities are eating and sleeping - ergo! The cats adore him.
A group of friends sent one of those email surveys. It was a fun survey and one of the questions was: Did you ever milk a cow?
Yes, I did but as I told my friends, the cow wasn't very happy about it. It kept turning its head and muttering ugly words in my direction. I told Cowboy I must have pinched something wrong. On the other hand, it might have been one of those boy cows and this city girl shouldn't have been pinching anything. A similar thing happened when I tried to milk a goat. Needless to say the Neanderthal I live with continues to tease me about this.
Just for that... I'm stripping and going out to the backyard to dance!
~Sar~
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Just in case... mea culpa!
The giant squid left me alone! For a whole week! Seven days and nights all by myself. It was just plain awful! When he was at sea for months on end, I missed him like crazy but did my own thing without the worry of getting caught. Sure, there were a few sailors and marines always dropping by to make sure I hadn't been arrested for anything... and if they hovered too much, I always sent them home with my special brownies...
But just seven days to do whatever I wanted to do and still clean up the evidence before you-know-who got home? No telling if he'd finish his business early - catch an early flight home - I was almost a wreck!
So... just to give myself a little insurance I cooked and baked like Martha Stewart was coming to visit and made all his favorites. This way, if he says.... "Sar......" which generally means something has made him suspicious of behavior he attributes to me... Oh yeah, sure, why not! Just blame everything on me! Tsk. So misunderstood. You'd think after being married for a gazillion years he'd know better than to lay blame at my door. Guilty or not, he should know better.
Double tsk.
While he was away I made an extraordinary attempt to eat a veggie and fruit breakfast EVERY day! I'm so good I can't stand myself.
The pups and I had CARROT cake and STRAWBERRY milkshakes every morning. I'm telling ya... filled us right up and we didn't have to eat again until mid morning! We ran/walked briskly/ran every day after breakfast, collected a few interesting pieces of driftwood and seaweed which I am using to decorate David's deck. I put air plants in the driftwood but the turtle decided they were a tasty treat and she ate them. I didn't want her to be nutrition deprived so I threw in some green uglies from the fridge. Now I can honestly tell the giant squid that I didn't toss them in the garbage.
"Make sure those veggies are consumed before I get home, imp."
"You betcha!"
SWAT!
Tsk.
A neighbor came over to cry on my shoulder yesterday. Nice lady, attractive, mid-40's, s-p-o-i-l-e-d. She complained all afternoon that her husband doesn't pay enough attention to her. According to her, he spends most of his time at the office or playing golf and begrudges her constant spending...
"Does he abuse you?"
"No," she said.
"Does he put you down in front of others? Embarrass you?"
"No."
"Does he spend his paycheck on other women? Items you can't afford? Drink it at the local bar? Take unexplainable trips?"
"No, no, no, and no."
"Do you give him plenty of attention when he's home?"
"No! Whatever for?"
Beats me...
I have a hard time listening to folks who put their lovers/husbands/boyfriends down. I'm not saying that there aren't bumps in the road in any relationship; I'm just saying I have a hard time listening to someone who wants me to think less of the most important person in their lives.
"You chose this man, right?" I asked the woman who had been married since the wheel was invented.
"Yes, I did," she agreed. "Whatever was I thinking?"
Indeed...
Before Cowboy left he reminded me that he didn't want any surprises when he got home.
"What kind of surprises?"
"No more pets, imp. That damn turtle is bad enough."
"The turtle is staying here with David when we go home," I assured him. I was thinking more along the lines of a giraffe or an alpaca," I told him. "You know how I love those creatures."
"You will NOT adopt a giraffe or an alpaca," he growled.
"Okay, how about a Maine Coon cat? I saw one at the local shelter and they have these unbelievably beautiful tails and..."
"You bring that cat home and let me tell you how unbelievably beautiful your tail's gonna look when I turn it a brilliant shade of red, bambina."
SWAT!
Tsk.
I waited a day... then I returned the call from the local animal rescue organization. They had a Neapolitan mastiff they needed to foster. Sweet boy grew too big and somebody dropped him off at the animal shelter. Cowboy said no giraffes, no alpacas and no Maine Coon cats. He didn't say anything about a Neo...
Did I mention how good I've been? I'll try to keep the 150-lb. Neo under wraps until the giant squid has eaten his favorite braciole and consumed several big helpings of peach cobbler.
And... just in case... it couldn't hurt if you lit a candle for me.
~Sar~
But just seven days to do whatever I wanted to do and still clean up the evidence before you-know-who got home? No telling if he'd finish his business early - catch an early flight home - I was almost a wreck!
So... just to give myself a little insurance I cooked and baked like Martha Stewart was coming to visit and made all his favorites. This way, if he says.... "Sar......" which generally means something has made him suspicious of behavior he attributes to me... Oh yeah, sure, why not! Just blame everything on me! Tsk. So misunderstood. You'd think after being married for a gazillion years he'd know better than to lay blame at my door. Guilty or not, he should know better.
Double tsk.
While he was away I made an extraordinary attempt to eat a veggie and fruit breakfast EVERY day! I'm so good I can't stand myself.
The pups and I had CARROT cake and STRAWBERRY milkshakes every morning. I'm telling ya... filled us right up and we didn't have to eat again until mid morning! We ran/walked briskly/ran every day after breakfast, collected a few interesting pieces of driftwood and seaweed which I am using to decorate David's deck. I put air plants in the driftwood but the turtle decided they were a tasty treat and she ate them. I didn't want her to be nutrition deprived so I threw in some green uglies from the fridge. Now I can honestly tell the giant squid that I didn't toss them in the garbage.
"Make sure those veggies are consumed before I get home, imp."
"You betcha!"
SWAT!
Tsk.
A neighbor came over to cry on my shoulder yesterday. Nice lady, attractive, mid-40's, s-p-o-i-l-e-d. She complained all afternoon that her husband doesn't pay enough attention to her. According to her, he spends most of his time at the office or playing golf and begrudges her constant spending...
"Does he abuse you?"
"No," she said.
"Does he put you down in front of others? Embarrass you?"
"No."
"Does he spend his paycheck on other women? Items you can't afford? Drink it at the local bar? Take unexplainable trips?"
"No, no, no, and no."
"Do you give him plenty of attention when he's home?"
"No! Whatever for?"
Beats me...
I have a hard time listening to folks who put their lovers/husbands/boyfriends down. I'm not saying that there aren't bumps in the road in any relationship; I'm just saying I have a hard time listening to someone who wants me to think less of the most important person in their lives.
"You chose this man, right?" I asked the woman who had been married since the wheel was invented.
"Yes, I did," she agreed. "Whatever was I thinking?"
Indeed...
Before Cowboy left he reminded me that he didn't want any surprises when he got home.
"What kind of surprises?"
"No more pets, imp. That damn turtle is bad enough."
"The turtle is staying here with David when we go home," I assured him. I was thinking more along the lines of a giraffe or an alpaca," I told him. "You know how I love those creatures."
"You will NOT adopt a giraffe or an alpaca," he growled.
"Okay, how about a Maine Coon cat? I saw one at the local shelter and they have these unbelievably beautiful tails and..."
"You bring that cat home and let me tell you how unbelievably beautiful your tail's gonna look when I turn it a brilliant shade of red, bambina."
SWAT!
Tsk.
I waited a day... then I returned the call from the local animal rescue organization. They had a Neapolitan mastiff they needed to foster. Sweet boy grew too big and somebody dropped him off at the animal shelter. Cowboy said no giraffes, no alpacas and no Maine Coon cats. He didn't say anything about a Neo...
Did I mention how good I've been? I'll try to keep the 150-lb. Neo under wraps until the giant squid has eaten his favorite braciole and consumed several big helpings of peach cobbler.
And... just in case... it couldn't hurt if you lit a candle for me.
~Sar~
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Mata Hari, Jerks R Us and Turtles
Before I give my version of the sordid affair... let me just say that I truly am a lady. It just about killed me but I didn't murder or maim someone who really truly deserved maiming and then DEATH!
"You're overreacting, bambina." Guess who said that.
Cast of Characters:
The Giant Squid - Innocent Sar - Interloper, female, Mati Hari reincarnated.
Scene: We're still at David's house. He's still away. I'm sitting on the deck with the pups, brushing Archie the ancient bloodhound who is making kinky noises through his nose because he knows there's a Twinkie in my pocket with his name on it. I look up when all three Rotts get to their feet and give the "someone's coming and I don't know who" stare. BullyBoy snores through it because he's still feeling sorry for himself that he's on the wagon.
"Hi!" Miss Perky yells as she approaches the deck from the ocean side... (which means she walked alll around the house. Hmmm. A peeping Thomasina?)
"I'm Lt. SassyPants." (I gave her that name. Her mama probably named her Athena or some other gawd awful Mt. Olympus moniker.) "You must be the little woman."
Excuse me while I gag.
"Is the Admiral home?" she asks, batting her eyelashes which is a move that is completely lost on me as well as the Rotts who realize she has NO food in her pockets.
"No," I say in all honesty because Cowboy and I are not at home. We're at David's house.
"Oh," Miss Little Disappointment pouts. "And I came all this way to see him."
"I'll tell him you were here."
"Hello, what are you doing here, Lieutenant?" the Neanderthal asks as he comes to the door and steps all over my lines.
"Oh Admiral!" Mati Hari gushes as she bats her eyelashes so rapidly it makes me think this is a commercial for eye drops.
"I was in the area and thought I'd just drop in and say hi," Miss No-Sense-of-Geography-or-Protocol improvises. "You... um... look so different in mufti." (mufti = civilian dress) Gushing smiles and more eyelash batting follows.
She was just in the area? She knows where David lives? Hmmm... very interesting. I could have sworn he was attracted to bimbos and floozies, not lieutenants in the Navy. Will keep this scuttlebutt to myself in case I need it for ammunition at a later date.
Lt. SassyPants cannot take her eyes off the giant squid who just finished a 90-minute workout and is attired in a sleeveless cut-off T-shirt and running shorts...
I'm thinking I should offer our unexpected guest some libation and a snack. How does fresh squeezed grass root sound? Maybe a side of Brussels Sprouts and fiddleheads to fill her up?
"You were in the area, Lieutenant?" Cowboy's voice of command - which means this visit has him irritated - makes the pups get closer to me in case I need protection, but his words are directed at the idiot who has invaded his personal life without justification. So I just smiled.
The woman stammers a response and because I'm such a supportive spouse, I assured her that her visit was just fine. "You're the third or fourth lady to visit us this week," I tell her. "My husband's female subordinates just can't get enough of him."
"Sar..." This is said sotto voce but I heard it. Oh well, living dangerously isn't exactly news around here.
Unfortunately, she left before I could inflict any real damage. I thought about sic-ing Tank on her but the big pup had already eaten his main meal.
***
On a story site I frequent, someone posted a story about a gal who snowboards dangerously. The "hero" doesn't know her but on their first date he spanks her, then applies his belt numerous times. Obviously he passed a graduate course in I'm A Disgusting Jerk and is an honorary member of Creatures that Need a Tune-up on Courtship Behavior.
There should be warnings posted on stories like that. I need Twinkies to fortify me before I'm subjected to sheer stupidity. It was well written but gimme a break. As soon as I read the romantic story - NOT - I yelled FUNGOOCH! Cut off his balls!
As usual my timing was impeccable. Just as soon as I mentioned castration, Cowboy walked into the room. Not the most perfect statement I ever made in his presence...
"Lunch?" I asked, figuring lack of food was a good explanation for my outburst. Don't want to give him ideas about paddles, belts etc. He doesn't really need any incentive...
We had a HUGE lunch which really wore me out so when everything was put away, I had a snack to recuperate. I was so energized... how energized were you? VERY. I attacked the giant squid and it was a lovely afternoon.
***
Tank, my inquisitive Rott, likes to scout the beach just ahead of the rest of us while we're jogging. Cowboy had paperwork to attend to so all 5 dogs and I went for a run. I look up and realize Tank is running in the sand dunes instead of on the beach and I call him to me. He looks up, stays where he is and barks a "Look what I found!"
We meander over and see a fairly large turtle at his feet. Large, of course, is a relative term but in this case, we're not talking turtle tank size. This behemoth - on the bathroom scale - weighed in at 11 lbs.
Oh my, I thought. What a great present for David...
Tank pushes and drags turtle home. I help it up the steps to the deck. It is hiding in its shell house of course but that doesn't deter me or Tank.
I immediately named it Ashley. Cowboy sees it and immediately renames it "Get Rid Of It!"
I wanted to call it Ashley Yertle Myrtle Turtle the Third but was informed by a 9-year old friend that Myrtle is very ordinary and Yertle is "soooo yesterday..." so it's just Ashley.
Cowboy, the spoilsport emails David that there's a giant turtle living on his deck. David emails back "GOOD GOD!"
I informed Ashley that GOOD GOD was a much nicer name than GET RID OF IT!
So far, the ancient creature has eaten allll the green uglies in the fridge as well as two Twinkies. The cats are taking turns sleeping on top of her shell house and BullyBoy, who is the official greeter, licked her face to welcome her to our nuthouse. Ashley retreated into her shell and hasn't been seen since. Probably his beer breath...
Cowboy had to fly east for a few days. The downside is that I miss him like crazy but the upside is that the pups and I get to eat real food while he's away and stay up all night to play on the computer.
"I expect you to eat right and get plenty of rest while I'm gone, bambina."
"Uh huh."
"I mean it, Sar. And no 10-mile runs while I'm away."
"Uh huh."
SWAT!
Tsk.
The pups and I waved bye-bye and went for a run... Then we had a mac & cheese orgy... Then we took a nap. Okay - I got the nap part right.
~Sar~
"You're overreacting, bambina." Guess who said that.
Cast of Characters:
The Giant Squid - Innocent Sar - Interloper, female, Mati Hari reincarnated.
Scene: We're still at David's house. He's still away. I'm sitting on the deck with the pups, brushing Archie the ancient bloodhound who is making kinky noises through his nose because he knows there's a Twinkie in my pocket with his name on it. I look up when all three Rotts get to their feet and give the "someone's coming and I don't know who" stare. BullyBoy snores through it because he's still feeling sorry for himself that he's on the wagon.
"Hi!" Miss Perky yells as she approaches the deck from the ocean side... (which means she walked alll around the house. Hmmm. A peeping Thomasina?)
"I'm Lt. SassyPants." (I gave her that name. Her mama probably named her Athena or some other gawd awful Mt. Olympus moniker.) "You must be the little woman."
Excuse me while I gag.
"Is the Admiral home?" she asks, batting her eyelashes which is a move that is completely lost on me as well as the Rotts who realize she has NO food in her pockets.
"No," I say in all honesty because Cowboy and I are not at home. We're at David's house.
"Oh," Miss Little Disappointment pouts. "And I came all this way to see him."
"I'll tell him you were here."
"Hello, what are you doing here, Lieutenant?" the Neanderthal asks as he comes to the door and steps all over my lines.
"Oh Admiral!" Mati Hari gushes as she bats her eyelashes so rapidly it makes me think this is a commercial for eye drops.
"I was in the area and thought I'd just drop in and say hi," Miss No-Sense-of-Geography-or-Protocol improvises. "You... um... look so different in mufti." (mufti = civilian dress) Gushing smiles and more eyelash batting follows.
She was just in the area? She knows where David lives? Hmmm... very interesting. I could have sworn he was attracted to bimbos and floozies, not lieutenants in the Navy. Will keep this scuttlebutt to myself in case I need it for ammunition at a later date.
Lt. SassyPants cannot take her eyes off the giant squid who just finished a 90-minute workout and is attired in a sleeveless cut-off T-shirt and running shorts...
I'm thinking I should offer our unexpected guest some libation and a snack. How does fresh squeezed grass root sound? Maybe a side of Brussels Sprouts and fiddleheads to fill her up?
"You were in the area, Lieutenant?" Cowboy's voice of command - which means this visit has him irritated - makes the pups get closer to me in case I need protection, but his words are directed at the idiot who has invaded his personal life without justification. So I just smiled.
The woman stammers a response and because I'm such a supportive spouse, I assured her that her visit was just fine. "You're the third or fourth lady to visit us this week," I tell her. "My husband's female subordinates just can't get enough of him."
"Sar..." This is said sotto voce but I heard it. Oh well, living dangerously isn't exactly news around here.
Unfortunately, she left before I could inflict any real damage. I thought about sic-ing Tank on her but the big pup had already eaten his main meal.
***
On a story site I frequent, someone posted a story about a gal who snowboards dangerously. The "hero" doesn't know her but on their first date he spanks her, then applies his belt numerous times. Obviously he passed a graduate course in I'm A Disgusting Jerk and is an honorary member of Creatures that Need a Tune-up on Courtship Behavior.
There should be warnings posted on stories like that. I need Twinkies to fortify me before I'm subjected to sheer stupidity. It was well written but gimme a break. As soon as I read the romantic story - NOT - I yelled FUNGOOCH! Cut off his balls!
As usual my timing was impeccable. Just as soon as I mentioned castration, Cowboy walked into the room. Not the most perfect statement I ever made in his presence...
"Lunch?" I asked, figuring lack of food was a good explanation for my outburst. Don't want to give him ideas about paddles, belts etc. He doesn't really need any incentive...
We had a HUGE lunch which really wore me out so when everything was put away, I had a snack to recuperate. I was so energized... how energized were you? VERY. I attacked the giant squid and it was a lovely afternoon.
***
Tank, my inquisitive Rott, likes to scout the beach just ahead of the rest of us while we're jogging. Cowboy had paperwork to attend to so all 5 dogs and I went for a run. I look up and realize Tank is running in the sand dunes instead of on the beach and I call him to me. He looks up, stays where he is and barks a "Look what I found!"
We meander over and see a fairly large turtle at his feet. Large, of course, is a relative term but in this case, we're not talking turtle tank size. This behemoth - on the bathroom scale - weighed in at 11 lbs.
Oh my, I thought. What a great present for David...
Tank pushes and drags turtle home. I help it up the steps to the deck. It is hiding in its shell house of course but that doesn't deter me or Tank.
I immediately named it Ashley. Cowboy sees it and immediately renames it "Get Rid Of It!"
I wanted to call it Ashley Yertle Myrtle Turtle the Third but was informed by a 9-year old friend that Myrtle is very ordinary and Yertle is "soooo yesterday..." so it's just Ashley.
Cowboy, the spoilsport emails David that there's a giant turtle living on his deck. David emails back "GOOD GOD!"
I informed Ashley that GOOD GOD was a much nicer name than GET RID OF IT!
So far, the ancient creature has eaten allll the green uglies in the fridge as well as two Twinkies. The cats are taking turns sleeping on top of her shell house and BullyBoy, who is the official greeter, licked her face to welcome her to our nuthouse. Ashley retreated into her shell and hasn't been seen since. Probably his beer breath...
Cowboy had to fly east for a few days. The downside is that I miss him like crazy but the upside is that the pups and I get to eat real food while he's away and stay up all night to play on the computer.
"I expect you to eat right and get plenty of rest while I'm gone, bambina."
"Uh huh."
"I mean it, Sar. And no 10-mile runs while I'm away."
"Uh huh."
SWAT!
Tsk.
The pups and I waved bye-bye and went for a run... Then we had a mac & cheese orgy... Then we took a nap. Okay - I got the nap part right.
~Sar~
Sunday, March 11, 2007
DST & Chocolate Bunny Ears
The pits! I am not at all fond of daylight savings time. I don't have to be anywhere at 0-dark-thirty but it sets all the schedules off. No one in the house - except the dogs - are ready to eat early. The cats hide under the bed because when food is put out earlier than usual they get suspicious that we're leaving them. On the other end, in the Fall, when we change back, the animals are grumbling and hissing that dinner is LATE! I wish they'd fix the time one way or the other and just leave it.
We may have to move to Arizona where they don't observe this nonsense.
I'm fit as a fiddle! I'm even jogging with the giant squid. He runs 10 miles every day and I've always done 5 miles with him. Right now, he's pacing me... rolling m'eyes... as if I were training for a marathon. TSK! He wants me to stop at 3 miles.
Uh huh. Sure.
So... he had to go to the base unexpectedly the other day and said not to overdo it. Right!
The pups and I took off like demons were chasing us... another polite term for marines. And we ran to the 5 mile post. Then it occurred to me that we were 5 miles from home... I walked briskly back... then got a second wind and took off like a surface-to-air missile. The pups were panting but I was exhilarated from the run.
Jumped in a hot shower and then we had a food orgy. I grilled a huge stack of Monte Cristo sandwiches - brie and cheddar on homemade tomato/cheese bread with a thick slice of ham in the middle and smoked bacon on top. Two for me, 2 for each of the pups, 1/2 each for the cats. Strawberry praline milkshakes for me and the pups and cream for the cats. 'Twas absolutely fabulous!
The giant squid came home in the middle of our orgy and I quickly made 3 more sandwiches for him. The uncouth squid drank beer.
SWAT!
Tsk.
The sandwiches were so good he didn't even ask how far I ran... Later that night I told him how good I was feeling.
"Good news, bambina but if you run that distance again, I'll make sure sitting becomes uncomfortable for you until Christmas."
OKAY! Which one of YOU squealed?
Someone was telling me how amazing my pups are. Naturally I'm proud of their skills but all dogs respond to consistent training. The animals love to please the people they love and love the attention they get; it's the owners that really need to learn what to do and to be diligent. And a little attention to any living creature goes a long way.
Okay, jumping off my soapbox.
The squid was thinking of throwing a St. Paddy's Day party but I put the kibosh on that idea. He wanted me to serve GREEN things! Errr... green icing on cake - that's okay. Green icing on cookies - that's okay. Green M&Ms and green jelly beans - all okay. Green beer - sure, what do I care? I don't drink beer but...
A GREEN buffet before the get-together? Green veggies? The only real edibles would be olives and pickles and maybe, avocados.
"You could stuff some good cheese spread onto celery stalks."
Celery? Egads! Celery is only good for ONE thing - decorating a Bloody Mary.
SWAT!
Tsk.
"How about raw vegetables with a great dip. I like that cream cheese spinach dip you make."
SHOOT ME NOW!
SWAT!
Tsk.
"And that green chowder you make with clams. That'd be good, too."
Waste my scrumptious chowder on a bunch of louts drunk on green beer? I don't think so.
SWAT!
Tsk.
"Let's have a Spring-like Easter party instead," I suggested. "Chocolate bunnies and an egg hunt and birthday cake icing in individual servings so everyone can lick the stuff out of their own bowl. And jelly beans everywhere!"
"Only if you swear not to eat the ears off all the bunnies."
"I don't swear."
SWAT!
Tsk.
But I'm good at eating chocolate bunny ears. It's what I do.
"I'll get the baskets next time I go shopping. Easter baskets for everyone. That'll be fun! How many do you think we should invite?"
"No more than 20."
FORTY chocolate bunny ears! YESSSS!
"I can't wait."
SWAT!
"What's that for?"
"For whatever you're thinking."
Tsk.
~Sar~
We may have to move to Arizona where they don't observe this nonsense.
I'm fit as a fiddle! I'm even jogging with the giant squid. He runs 10 miles every day and I've always done 5 miles with him. Right now, he's pacing me... rolling m'eyes... as if I were training for a marathon. TSK! He wants me to stop at 3 miles.
Uh huh. Sure.
So... he had to go to the base unexpectedly the other day and said not to overdo it. Right!
The pups and I took off like demons were chasing us... another polite term for marines. And we ran to the 5 mile post. Then it occurred to me that we were 5 miles from home... I walked briskly back... then got a second wind and took off like a surface-to-air missile. The pups were panting but I was exhilarated from the run.
Jumped in a hot shower and then we had a food orgy. I grilled a huge stack of Monte Cristo sandwiches - brie and cheddar on homemade tomato/cheese bread with a thick slice of ham in the middle and smoked bacon on top. Two for me, 2 for each of the pups, 1/2 each for the cats. Strawberry praline milkshakes for me and the pups and cream for the cats. 'Twas absolutely fabulous!
The giant squid came home in the middle of our orgy and I quickly made 3 more sandwiches for him. The uncouth squid drank beer.
SWAT!
Tsk.
The sandwiches were so good he didn't even ask how far I ran... Later that night I told him how good I was feeling.
"Good news, bambina but if you run that distance again, I'll make sure sitting becomes uncomfortable for you until Christmas."
OKAY! Which one of YOU squealed?
Someone was telling me how amazing my pups are. Naturally I'm proud of their skills but all dogs respond to consistent training. The animals love to please the people they love and love the attention they get; it's the owners that really need to learn what to do and to be diligent. And a little attention to any living creature goes a long way.
Okay, jumping off my soapbox.
The squid was thinking of throwing a St. Paddy's Day party but I put the kibosh on that idea. He wanted me to serve GREEN things! Errr... green icing on cake - that's okay. Green icing on cookies - that's okay. Green M&Ms and green jelly beans - all okay. Green beer - sure, what do I care? I don't drink beer but...
A GREEN buffet before the get-together? Green veggies? The only real edibles would be olives and pickles and maybe, avocados.
"You could stuff some good cheese spread onto celery stalks."
Celery? Egads! Celery is only good for ONE thing - decorating a Bloody Mary.
SWAT!
Tsk.
"How about raw vegetables with a great dip. I like that cream cheese spinach dip you make."
SHOOT ME NOW!
SWAT!
Tsk.
"And that green chowder you make with clams. That'd be good, too."
Waste my scrumptious chowder on a bunch of louts drunk on green beer? I don't think so.
SWAT!
Tsk.
"Let's have a Spring-like Easter party instead," I suggested. "Chocolate bunnies and an egg hunt and birthday cake icing in individual servings so everyone can lick the stuff out of their own bowl. And jelly beans everywhere!"
"Only if you swear not to eat the ears off all the bunnies."
"I don't swear."
SWAT!
Tsk.
But I'm good at eating chocolate bunny ears. It's what I do.
"I'll get the baskets next time I go shopping. Easter baskets for everyone. That'll be fun! How many do you think we should invite?"
"No more than 20."
FORTY chocolate bunny ears! YESSSS!
"I can't wait."
SWAT!
"What's that for?"
"For whatever you're thinking."
Tsk.
~Sar~
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Gotta be ME!
Just gotta be ME! I'm not sure where that song came from, might have been "The Unsinkable Molly Brown." On second thought, I think Sammy Davis Jr. sang it.
Thanks for all the prayers, positive thoughts, emails and electronic cards. They really boosted my spirits! (Didn't do anything for the medics but did wonders for me.) *SMILES*
Regardless of Cowboy's tattle tales... my stay at the base hospital was completely uneventful. I only did what comes natural and I'm positive no one expected this stay to be different from any in the past. I did hear from one of the nurses that the chief medical officer at Bethesda Naval Hospital emailed a note of appreciation that they didn't send me East for the surgery. I'm sure she made that up.
We're staying at a friend's home - David, the jarhead - in the San Juans. He's overseas at the moment and might not be back before the end of March. He knows we're here and emails regularly to see if we're taking care of his fresh water aquarium and whether or not I've found his stash of chocolate. I found it the very first day we were here. Of course I ate it.
Ohhhhh GOOD NEWS! The doc said no roughage for a while. Cowboy interprets that to mean a couple of weeks. I interpret it to mean a couple of years.
There was a news blurb on TV about the biggest squid ever caught... Honestly people. I caught the biggest squid when I was young and foolish and attracted to a guy willing to buy me cheesecake and steak. Little did I know that when he spanks, it's as if allllll those tentacles were smacking at the same time.
"Would you have thrown me back in the ocean if you knew then what you know now, bambina?"
"Hmmm... let me think."
SWAT!
I told Cowboy I want to go to Thailand in April. That's when they celebrate their New Year and to do that... they wander the streets with water pails, water guns and bowls and drench each other. MY KIND OF HOLIDAY! My water guns are filled with red paint but I'm sure it's the thought that counts. And Thai food is glorious! Cowboy wasn't as enthusiastic about the idea. He mumbled things about international amnesty, elephants in the street and Bali dancers. (I think he's a little antsy during my recovery and hitting the Merlot too often.)
SWAT!
Tsk.
An update on the foster pups: We brought all of them out to the island with us. Just before I went into the hospital, each military vet who adopted one of the dogs came out and we had a couple of really good training sessions. All the dogs went to great homes and all will come back to visit when we return home. All the vets have families with children, which is wonderful for the pups. They'll get plenty of attention in addition to being service dogs. I got them past their obedience trials and each earned a "companion dog" license. A few days ago I heard that a specialist that trains service dogs is already working with them. I couldn't be more pleased.
I love the beach. Winter here is so different from summer. Today we had a brief hailstorm and some thick snowflakes came down unexpectedly. Watching that along with the incoming tide really drew me to the window. I opened it just a crack and could feel the dampness in the wind. It was chilly but I knew if I bundled up I could sit out on the deck for a few minutes and enjoy it.
"The hell you are!"
Tsk.
"An officer and a gentleman does not use rude language no matter the provocation," I reminded him.
SWAT!
Tsk.
"I don't think an officer and a gentleman swats the woman he loves either just because she's craving a little fresh air."
SWAT!
"You don't love me!"
Cowboy often looks toward the ceiling when I accuse him of not loving me. I look too in case the words he's looking for are printed there... Nope - no words there but after a few seconds, he makes ugly sounds and he clenches his fists. Then I get grabbed, hugged, swatted, and sometimes I grab his yummy stuff and he jumps... grabs me again, hugs, swats, and if I rub just the right way... the band warms up and plays on!
I'm almost back to fighting form. David has a birthday in May. Am thinking I should surprise him for his birthday... I have a few ideas as to how to do that but I'm open to suggestions...
~Sar~
Thanks for all the prayers, positive thoughts, emails and electronic cards. They really boosted my spirits! (Didn't do anything for the medics but did wonders for me.) *SMILES*
Regardless of Cowboy's tattle tales... my stay at the base hospital was completely uneventful. I only did what comes natural and I'm positive no one expected this stay to be different from any in the past. I did hear from one of the nurses that the chief medical officer at Bethesda Naval Hospital emailed a note of appreciation that they didn't send me East for the surgery. I'm sure she made that up.
We're staying at a friend's home - David, the jarhead - in the San Juans. He's overseas at the moment and might not be back before the end of March. He knows we're here and emails regularly to see if we're taking care of his fresh water aquarium and whether or not I've found his stash of chocolate. I found it the very first day we were here. Of course I ate it.
Ohhhhh GOOD NEWS! The doc said no roughage for a while. Cowboy interprets that to mean a couple of weeks. I interpret it to mean a couple of years.
There was a news blurb on TV about the biggest squid ever caught... Honestly people. I caught the biggest squid when I was young and foolish and attracted to a guy willing to buy me cheesecake and steak. Little did I know that when he spanks, it's as if allllll those tentacles were smacking at the same time.
"Would you have thrown me back in the ocean if you knew then what you know now, bambina?"
"Hmmm... let me think."
SWAT!
I told Cowboy I want to go to Thailand in April. That's when they celebrate their New Year and to do that... they wander the streets with water pails, water guns and bowls and drench each other. MY KIND OF HOLIDAY! My water guns are filled with red paint but I'm sure it's the thought that counts. And Thai food is glorious! Cowboy wasn't as enthusiastic about the idea. He mumbled things about international amnesty, elephants in the street and Bali dancers. (I think he's a little antsy during my recovery and hitting the Merlot too often.)
SWAT!
Tsk.
An update on the foster pups: We brought all of them out to the island with us. Just before I went into the hospital, each military vet who adopted one of the dogs came out and we had a couple of really good training sessions. All the dogs went to great homes and all will come back to visit when we return home. All the vets have families with children, which is wonderful for the pups. They'll get plenty of attention in addition to being service dogs. I got them past their obedience trials and each earned a "companion dog" license. A few days ago I heard that a specialist that trains service dogs is already working with them. I couldn't be more pleased.
I love the beach. Winter here is so different from summer. Today we had a brief hailstorm and some thick snowflakes came down unexpectedly. Watching that along with the incoming tide really drew me to the window. I opened it just a crack and could feel the dampness in the wind. It was chilly but I knew if I bundled up I could sit out on the deck for a few minutes and enjoy it.
"The hell you are!"
Tsk.
"An officer and a gentleman does not use rude language no matter the provocation," I reminded him.
SWAT!
Tsk.
"I don't think an officer and a gentleman swats the woman he loves either just because she's craving a little fresh air."
SWAT!
"You don't love me!"
Cowboy often looks toward the ceiling when I accuse him of not loving me. I look too in case the words he's looking for are printed there... Nope - no words there but after a few seconds, he makes ugly sounds and he clenches his fists. Then I get grabbed, hugged, swatted, and sometimes I grab his yummy stuff and he jumps... grabs me again, hugs, swats, and if I rub just the right way... the band warms up and plays on!
I'm almost back to fighting form. David has a birthday in May. Am thinking I should surprise him for his birthday... I have a few ideas as to how to do that but I'm open to suggestions...
~Sar~
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Mea Culpa
Cowboy here. Don't know what I'm atoning for but I'm sure the imp will fill me in any time now. I'm craving her of course but some peach cobbler as well. I'll atone just about any way she wants if I can have both. :)
Surgery was Monday. It went well. Didn't take them long to do what needed doing. Anesthesia pretty much wiped her out the way it has in the past. She went into ICU right after surgery and stayed until early Tuesday evening. Once she woke up she wanted out of there. I went in - told her we had to wait until the doc gave the ok and he wasn't due in till the next morning.
20+ years! But when it comes to my wife I'm still about as naive as a newborn babe! Sar didn't rant or yell about staying in the ICU. She was calm, spoke softly, smiled at me. I should have realized this was out of character but the smile sent me reeling - lost my common sense, kissed her and merrily went on my way saying I'd be back in a couple of hours.
Long story short: I'm guessing here. Knowing she was fully awake, the nurses probably didn't check her every 15 minutes. The great great grandchild of Houdini disconnected all the medical lines/tubes etc from her body, tied knots in the lines so nothing leaked on the floor, climbed over the bed railing and walked out of the ICU. No one saw her? That's my girl!
They found my escape artist leaning on a wall outside her hospital room trying to catch a breath. Am I the only one that's out of the loop here? The nurse helped her into pj's and into bed. I arrived to find her drinking a milkshake. Got to wonder what she promised the nurse-- probably forge my name to get the woman posted to some island paradise.
I didn't bother to yell. She wanted to know why I didn't bring the pups around. I said a few mea culpas for what I was thinking about doing but then she grabbed my hand and offered to share her milkshake. I figured she's well enough to get out of ICU by herself, she's well enough for a few hugs. I held her on my lap. Couldn't help mentioning how idiotic that was to leave the ICU, how I'm going to toast that little tush as soon as she's completely well again and how I'm going to love her the minute those stitches dissolve.
She said you're not gonna be overbearing are you?
Hell yes!
I take her home tonight or sometime tomorrow. She's fine. I'm grateful and I thank you for all the emails and cards.
Cowboy
Surgery was Monday. It went well. Didn't take them long to do what needed doing. Anesthesia pretty much wiped her out the way it has in the past. She went into ICU right after surgery and stayed until early Tuesday evening. Once she woke up she wanted out of there. I went in - told her we had to wait until the doc gave the ok and he wasn't due in till the next morning.
20+ years! But when it comes to my wife I'm still about as naive as a newborn babe! Sar didn't rant or yell about staying in the ICU. She was calm, spoke softly, smiled at me. I should have realized this was out of character but the smile sent me reeling - lost my common sense, kissed her and merrily went on my way saying I'd be back in a couple of hours.
Long story short: I'm guessing here. Knowing she was fully awake, the nurses probably didn't check her every 15 minutes. The great great grandchild of Houdini disconnected all the medical lines/tubes etc from her body, tied knots in the lines so nothing leaked on the floor, climbed over the bed railing and walked out of the ICU. No one saw her? That's my girl!
They found my escape artist leaning on a wall outside her hospital room trying to catch a breath. Am I the only one that's out of the loop here? The nurse helped her into pj's and into bed. I arrived to find her drinking a milkshake. Got to wonder what she promised the nurse-- probably forge my name to get the woman posted to some island paradise.
I didn't bother to yell. She wanted to know why I didn't bring the pups around. I said a few mea culpas for what I was thinking about doing but then she grabbed my hand and offered to share her milkshake. I figured she's well enough to get out of ICU by herself, she's well enough for a few hugs. I held her on my lap. Couldn't help mentioning how idiotic that was to leave the ICU, how I'm going to toast that little tush as soon as she's completely well again and how I'm going to love her the minute those stitches dissolve.
She said you're not gonna be overbearing are you?
Hell yes!
I take her home tonight or sometime tomorrow. She's fine. I'm grateful and I thank you for all the emails and cards.
Cowboy
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Update on the Imp
Cowboy here. Things turned a bit complicated. Sar's having surgery in the morning. I'll explain. The "flu" cough, chest, wheezing thing turned into something akin to pneumonia - a very mild case - but still pneumonia. A couple rounds of antibiotics pretty much cleared it up. Left her on the weak side but no lasting side effects.
The stomach flu - after a few tests - wasn't flu at all but a slight obstruction in the intestinal tract. Not a complete obstruction - a slight one - which is why she's having surgery. Better to take care of it now before it gets worse. Sar's had surgery in that area in the past - told the doc to "slice me open in the same place. No more scars!" That's my bambina. In fact, the incision is a very small one. The scar will fade.
The only concern we have is the anesthesia. Sar is highly sensitive to it and generally goes into ICU for a couple days to make sure there's no lasting side effects from it before they discharge her. The last time this happened, the imp gave them a run for their money. They were bit flabbergasted when a pizza was delivered to the ICU. Have yet to figure out how she got hold of a phone.
Damage report to date:
- She "escaped" TWICE! A marine MP caught her the first time and picked her up in a fireman's hold. Mistake. Sar pushed the pressure point behind his ear and simultaneously pushed the one in his collarbone. He dropped. She took off but the medics caught her when she ran out of steam. I caught her outside the ER showing up expectedly. A firm swat, those busy hands caught between us and she was back in bed.
- The oral antibiotics wouldn't stay down. I had to hold her down so the doc could administer a shot. She managed to land a few solid kicks on the guy. He limped out of there. There were a few choice words for me but nothing I haven't heard before. I'm kinda fond of having been "spawned from an armpit."
- The mastiff was visiting during lunch time. According to Sar, the offering consisted of apple juice, mystery meat, jello and some other mysterious thing. She gave it to the dog to sniff. The animal sneezed on it. This assured the imp it wasn't edible. Sar doesn't drink juice but food was a necessity so I commissioned the commissary cook to make hot cereal for her. That was acceptable. She's been subsisting on cereal, milkshakes, soft boiled eggs and God help me - chocolate and Twinkies.
Final notes: The nurses and orderlies adore my wife. She remembers their names and personal details. In return for favors, promises to bake pies for them. They generally do what she asks. Docs: they have to keep their distance unless absolutely necessary. She says listening is just as easy from across the room - rolling m'eyes - get too close and she threatens ugly consequences. They tend to believe her.
I expect the imp to be home by the end of the week and maybe online before then.
Cowboy
The stomach flu - after a few tests - wasn't flu at all but a slight obstruction in the intestinal tract. Not a complete obstruction - a slight one - which is why she's having surgery. Better to take care of it now before it gets worse. Sar's had surgery in that area in the past - told the doc to "slice me open in the same place. No more scars!" That's my bambina. In fact, the incision is a very small one. The scar will fade.
The only concern we have is the anesthesia. Sar is highly sensitive to it and generally goes into ICU for a couple days to make sure there's no lasting side effects from it before they discharge her. The last time this happened, the imp gave them a run for their money. They were bit flabbergasted when a pizza was delivered to the ICU. Have yet to figure out how she got hold of a phone.
Damage report to date:
- She "escaped" TWICE! A marine MP caught her the first time and picked her up in a fireman's hold. Mistake. Sar pushed the pressure point behind his ear and simultaneously pushed the one in his collarbone. He dropped. She took off but the medics caught her when she ran out of steam. I caught her outside the ER showing up expectedly. A firm swat, those busy hands caught between us and she was back in bed.
- The oral antibiotics wouldn't stay down. I had to hold her down so the doc could administer a shot. She managed to land a few solid kicks on the guy. He limped out of there. There were a few choice words for me but nothing I haven't heard before. I'm kinda fond of having been "spawned from an armpit."
- The mastiff was visiting during lunch time. According to Sar, the offering consisted of apple juice, mystery meat, jello and some other mysterious thing. She gave it to the dog to sniff. The animal sneezed on it. This assured the imp it wasn't edible. Sar doesn't drink juice but food was a necessity so I commissioned the commissary cook to make hot cereal for her. That was acceptable. She's been subsisting on cereal, milkshakes, soft boiled eggs and God help me - chocolate and Twinkies.
Final notes: The nurses and orderlies adore my wife. She remembers their names and personal details. In return for favors, promises to bake pies for them. They generally do what she asks. Docs: they have to keep their distance unless absolutely necessary. She says listening is just as easy from across the room - rolling m'eyes - get too close and she threatens ugly consequences. They tend to believe her.
I expect the imp to be home by the end of the week and maybe online before then.
Cowboy
Thursday, February 15, 2007
More Flu
Cowboy here. Sorry to tell you the imp is in the hospital. She's had a bit of a fever - it came down with some aspirin - back up - but spiked in the early morning hours. I bundled her up and took her to the base hospital. The doc said he had a private room off the ER in case she made a fuss. The imp didn't fight me on this but that's only because she's feeling less than perfect. Once she's up and about the chances are the medics will start dropping like flies.
My personal opinion is that she never fully recuperated from the flu bugs. The upside is that they stabilized her temp, she's resting ok and is on a round of antibiotics. The downside is that the room is near an exit which means somebody has to be brave enough to make sure my little escape artist doesn't leave unexpectedly.
This is February. We have celebrated it in style but I don't want Sar to feel cheated because of this hospital stay so I think I will extend the celebration into March. I brought her 2 companion dogs over. The rott visited while the mastiff waited in the car for his turn. The rott gets a little crazy when Sar is sick. He whines his displeasure and remains agitated until he can rub his head against her cheek. The nurses aren't crazy about this maneuver - large dog on hospital bed - but it makes the imp happy. In my book that's all that matters. When the mastiff has a turn visiting, he stretches out next to her and makes comforting sounds. I could be jealous here but the fact is that both animals are bonded to my wife. For that I am grateful.
Most of the medics know my wife's reputation as the patient least likely to be called Miss Congeniality. I've reminded them not to touch her unless absolutely necessary. Sar is a stealth fighter. You'll never see a fist headed in your direction until you feel it. Add to that, she's a skilled kick boxer. Think about sedating her just to keep things calm or think about using restraints and you can kiss your butt as well as your career goodbye. The saying - Payback is a bitch - was coined just for Sar.
I expect to bring her home by the weekend. I've stocked up on chocolate, her favorite snacks and I'll make sure she takes it easy. Look for her back online in a few days.
Cowboy
My personal opinion is that she never fully recuperated from the flu bugs. The upside is that they stabilized her temp, she's resting ok and is on a round of antibiotics. The downside is that the room is near an exit which means somebody has to be brave enough to make sure my little escape artist doesn't leave unexpectedly.
This is February. We have celebrated it in style but I don't want Sar to feel cheated because of this hospital stay so I think I will extend the celebration into March. I brought her 2 companion dogs over. The rott visited while the mastiff waited in the car for his turn. The rott gets a little crazy when Sar is sick. He whines his displeasure and remains agitated until he can rub his head against her cheek. The nurses aren't crazy about this maneuver - large dog on hospital bed - but it makes the imp happy. In my book that's all that matters. When the mastiff has a turn visiting, he stretches out next to her and makes comforting sounds. I could be jealous here but the fact is that both animals are bonded to my wife. For that I am grateful.
Most of the medics know my wife's reputation as the patient least likely to be called Miss Congeniality. I've reminded them not to touch her unless absolutely necessary. Sar is a stealth fighter. You'll never see a fist headed in your direction until you feel it. Add to that, she's a skilled kick boxer. Think about sedating her just to keep things calm or think about using restraints and you can kiss your butt as well as your career goodbye. The saying - Payback is a bitch - was coined just for Sar.
I expect to bring her home by the weekend. I've stocked up on chocolate, her favorite snacks and I'll make sure she takes it easy. Look for her back online in a few days.
Cowboy
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
In and Out...
Of the Doghouse!
Of course, my doghouses - kennels - are better living spaces than a lot of folks have in third world countries... but I digress.
It seems that those flu bugs love me. The stomach thing and the upper respiratory thing got together and attacked me at the same time - AGAIN! I was doing just fine and then WHAM! Naturally, the giant squid morphed into medic mode and became overbearing...
After a day of (slightly) high fever, he dragged me to the base clinic ER to see a doctor who was totally clueless why other medics, upon seeing me dragged in the door, immediately signed transfer papers for outer Mongolia and/or were violently ill and had to leave.
There is an outer Mongolia, right?
I could tell he was ready to write an Rx for antibiotics, give the "take 2 aspirin, drink lots of fluids and call me in the morning" speech. Then he spotted Cowboy's stripes. Senior ranked Neanderthals make lesser ranked Cro-Magnum males a little nervous. He decided he needed to do a series of tests "just to be sure" and said he was admitting me to the hospital for an overnight - and possibly longer - stay.
My giant Neanderthal nodded agreement.
I was the epitome of sainthood! I said nothing but noted the medic's name, rank and asked his blood type.
"Sar..."
Tsk
"Why do you want to know my blood type?" Dr. Clueless wanted to know while nurses snickered behind his back.
"In case you need a donor," I smiled.
"Sar..."
Tsk
They weren't doing anything to me that night so when Cowboy went home to take care of the animals, I watched TV in the nurses' lounge and then played on their computer. The nurses love me; I always send snacks whenever I've been in their domain.
The next morning Cowboy called to say he had to go out of town. He had this trip planned but he got a phone call telling him he needed to be there earlier than expected.
Oh JOY!
I immediately dressed, walked out of the hospital, waved goodbye to the nurses who were laughing and caught a ride back to my neck of the woods. Got dropped off a few miles from home and because it was raining, I decided not to jog the rest of the way and called a neighbor who was happy to pick me up because she knew I'd take her out for brunch.
See how healthy I was! I didn't jog in the rain. Believe me, the temptation was great.
Cowboy called my cell phone and asked how I was.
"Just ducky."
"You okay, bambina?"
For now.
"Yep."
"You didn't hurt the doc, did you?"
"Nope, didn't lay a hand on him."
"Ahhhhh, now I know you really aren't feeling well," he said so solemnly.
Double tsk
The pups and I had a mac and cheese orgy and extra thick milkshakes for supper. It rained all day and I dragged a sleeping bag downstairs and made a fire and my pups and I snuggled in front of it.
It was a quiet and cozy evening until...
"Where the hell are you?" were the first words Cowboy said when I answered the phone.
Tsk
I don't talk to people who are rude or loud on the phone so I hung up.
He called back and in a much softer tone, said "Where the hell are you?"
Tsk - still rude so I hung up and turned my cell phone off.
He called back on the house phone.
"Don't you dare hang up on me!"
I dare.
We played telephone until he called, spoke softly, apologized for his rudeness and then quietly informed me that he called the doctor to learn the results of the tests, discovered I wasn't there etc. He continued in that soft tone and promised a very warm greeting when he returned...
I figured I had 4 days to play or 2 days to plan my escape. Belgium or Switzerland? Both have great sources of chocolate. I knew that wasn't going to work so I stayed home and made great meals. The pups and I ate LARGE - lots of steak and cheesecake and cracker jacks and Twinkies - my cure for whatever ails me. BullyBoy discovered Sam Adams beer and now he doesn't want to drink Budweiser. SweetPea concentrated on Cowboy's port. I have raised spoiled canines.
Giant squid showed up in the wee hours on Super Bowl day. Got a swat, a big hug and smooch, another swat and was informed a bunch of guys were coming over to watch the game.
Dogs and cats stole snacks from the various platters every time the guys jumped up to cheer or boo at a football thingmajig happening on the screen. I simply cannot get excited about grown men playing with footballs when there are so many other things they could be doing...
It's February! I'm feeling 100% perfect. Cowboy has not forgotten how important February is in our house and has delivered the goods - chocolate, lovin, more chocolate, more lovin and the occasional swat. If he keeps this routine going, I might break down and make something peachy.
~Sar~
Of course, my doghouses - kennels - are better living spaces than a lot of folks have in third world countries... but I digress.
It seems that those flu bugs love me. The stomach thing and the upper respiratory thing got together and attacked me at the same time - AGAIN! I was doing just fine and then WHAM! Naturally, the giant squid morphed into medic mode and became overbearing...
After a day of (slightly) high fever, he dragged me to the base clinic ER to see a doctor who was totally clueless why other medics, upon seeing me dragged in the door, immediately signed transfer papers for outer Mongolia and/or were violently ill and had to leave.
There is an outer Mongolia, right?
I could tell he was ready to write an Rx for antibiotics, give the "take 2 aspirin, drink lots of fluids and call me in the morning" speech. Then he spotted Cowboy's stripes. Senior ranked Neanderthals make lesser ranked Cro-Magnum males a little nervous. He decided he needed to do a series of tests "just to be sure" and said he was admitting me to the hospital for an overnight - and possibly longer - stay.
My giant Neanderthal nodded agreement.
I was the epitome of sainthood! I said nothing but noted the medic's name, rank and asked his blood type.
"Sar..."
Tsk
"Why do you want to know my blood type?" Dr. Clueless wanted to know while nurses snickered behind his back.
"In case you need a donor," I smiled.
"Sar..."
Tsk
They weren't doing anything to me that night so when Cowboy went home to take care of the animals, I watched TV in the nurses' lounge and then played on their computer. The nurses love me; I always send snacks whenever I've been in their domain.
The next morning Cowboy called to say he had to go out of town. He had this trip planned but he got a phone call telling him he needed to be there earlier than expected.
Oh JOY!
I immediately dressed, walked out of the hospital, waved goodbye to the nurses who were laughing and caught a ride back to my neck of the woods. Got dropped off a few miles from home and because it was raining, I decided not to jog the rest of the way and called a neighbor who was happy to pick me up because she knew I'd take her out for brunch.
See how healthy I was! I didn't jog in the rain. Believe me, the temptation was great.
Cowboy called my cell phone and asked how I was.
"Just ducky."
"You okay, bambina?"
For now.
"Yep."
"You didn't hurt the doc, did you?"
"Nope, didn't lay a hand on him."
"Ahhhhh, now I know you really aren't feeling well," he said so solemnly.
Double tsk
The pups and I had a mac and cheese orgy and extra thick milkshakes for supper. It rained all day and I dragged a sleeping bag downstairs and made a fire and my pups and I snuggled in front of it.
It was a quiet and cozy evening until...
"Where the hell are you?" were the first words Cowboy said when I answered the phone.
Tsk
I don't talk to people who are rude or loud on the phone so I hung up.
He called back and in a much softer tone, said "Where the hell are you?"
Tsk - still rude so I hung up and turned my cell phone off.
He called back on the house phone.
"Don't you dare hang up on me!"
I dare.
We played telephone until he called, spoke softly, apologized for his rudeness and then quietly informed me that he called the doctor to learn the results of the tests, discovered I wasn't there etc. He continued in that soft tone and promised a very warm greeting when he returned...
I figured I had 4 days to play or 2 days to plan my escape. Belgium or Switzerland? Both have great sources of chocolate. I knew that wasn't going to work so I stayed home and made great meals. The pups and I ate LARGE - lots of steak and cheesecake and cracker jacks and Twinkies - my cure for whatever ails me. BullyBoy discovered Sam Adams beer and now he doesn't want to drink Budweiser. SweetPea concentrated on Cowboy's port. I have raised spoiled canines.
Giant squid showed up in the wee hours on Super Bowl day. Got a swat, a big hug and smooch, another swat and was informed a bunch of guys were coming over to watch the game.
Dogs and cats stole snacks from the various platters every time the guys jumped up to cheer or boo at a football thingmajig happening on the screen. I simply cannot get excited about grown men playing with footballs when there are so many other things they could be doing...
It's February! I'm feeling 100% perfect. Cowboy has not forgotten how important February is in our house and has delivered the goods - chocolate, lovin, more chocolate, more lovin and the occasional swat. If he keeps this routine going, I might break down and make something peachy.
~Sar~
Saturday, January 27, 2007
The Time Has Come...
... the walrus said... to speak of other things.
Jeez Louise! On the one hand I love having the giant squid home. He cooks, orders take-out, cuddles and when he has work to do, settles me on the futon in my studio so my babies can get close enough for kissing. SweetPea and BullyBoy and I fit perfectly on the futon although BullyBoy's tail occasionally whacks the beejeebees out of SweetPea's hip which, in turn, makes the Rott mutter ugly words in his direction. This makes the giant Mastiff whimper which is just an act to get more attention. The old bloodhound sleeps on the rug and snores through the whole thing.
On the other hand, the giant squid is a bossy sort and more so when I'm not 100%. He still barks orders which I continue to ignore which tries his patience. Ha! You didn't know he had any! If he gets loud, BullyBoy stands on his hind legs and breathes lethal fumes in his face. Beer breath + doggie breath = near death. Even Navy Seals shudder at that combination. I use a lot of Binaca on that dog. Hmmm... maybe I should change the brand of beer he drinks.
So... the dominant cat in our house jumps on the futon and swats the Rott in the puss so the dog will make room for hefty 20-lb. cat. Rott says ugly word - cat hisses and spits - BullyBoy shoves both of them off the futon and I decide I'm feeling terrific and get dressed to go outside.
"Where do you think you're going, imp?" the direct descendant of Genghis Khan wants to know.
Egads! He's got eyes in the back of his head.
"I need some fresh air."
"You're gonna get some on your tush if you're not back in bed in the next five minutes, babe."
A moment of silence here as I try to come up with a witty retort.
"I've been house bound since forever," I announce, "and I'm about to climb the walls."
This is definitely not my wittiest retort.
"Three days is not forever," the anal retentive Neanderthal states. "Another day or two and you'll be much better and then you can go out."
This is supposed to make me feel better?
"Okey-dokey," I say agreeably and make a beeline for the back deck where my two outside Rotts are waiting. From there it's only a short run to the kennels where the foster pups can be released. I can play with them in the yard and the stodgy wanna-be medic in my house can simmer for a while. I know this because the phone rang - the line in his office - and that could take a while.
Oh JOY!
All the dogs get hugs and kisses and we play hide & seek and "catch me" in and around all the evergreens. Great fun and lots of tail wagging!
Until...
My tail... is suddenly way higher than it should be... over the giant squid's shoulder.
"Gotcha!"
Tsk!
Okay - short lived fun but worth it.
I know my face is a little flushed and my nose is cold but I have a feeling I'm gonna get warmed up soon. Not sure if I should be happy about this.
"What did I tell you?" he says as he meanders back to the house with ten dogs trailing us.
"You said something?" I ask in all innocence.
SWAT!
Tsk!
"You're going back to bed, imp."
Hooooo Boy! This is news!
SWAT!
Tsk!
"You going with me?" I'm ever hopeful.
"Looks like I'm gonna have to," he says so sternly I have to laugh.
SWAT!
Tsk!
"Gonna warm you up all over," he promises.
"I can live with that but I hope chocolate Twinkies are also on the menu."
SWAT!
Double Tsk!
And let's not forget... I'm an absolute saint!
~Sar~
Jeez Louise! On the one hand I love having the giant squid home. He cooks, orders take-out, cuddles and when he has work to do, settles me on the futon in my studio so my babies can get close enough for kissing. SweetPea and BullyBoy and I fit perfectly on the futon although BullyBoy's tail occasionally whacks the beejeebees out of SweetPea's hip which, in turn, makes the Rott mutter ugly words in his direction. This makes the giant Mastiff whimper which is just an act to get more attention. The old bloodhound sleeps on the rug and snores through the whole thing.
On the other hand, the giant squid is a bossy sort and more so when I'm not 100%. He still barks orders which I continue to ignore which tries his patience. Ha! You didn't know he had any! If he gets loud, BullyBoy stands on his hind legs and breathes lethal fumes in his face. Beer breath + doggie breath = near death. Even Navy Seals shudder at that combination. I use a lot of Binaca on that dog. Hmmm... maybe I should change the brand of beer he drinks.
So... the dominant cat in our house jumps on the futon and swats the Rott in the puss so the dog will make room for hefty 20-lb. cat. Rott says ugly word - cat hisses and spits - BullyBoy shoves both of them off the futon and I decide I'm feeling terrific and get dressed to go outside.
"Where do you think you're going, imp?" the direct descendant of Genghis Khan wants to know.
Egads! He's got eyes in the back of his head.
"I need some fresh air."
"You're gonna get some on your tush if you're not back in bed in the next five minutes, babe."
A moment of silence here as I try to come up with a witty retort.
"I've been house bound since forever," I announce, "and I'm about to climb the walls."
This is definitely not my wittiest retort.
"Three days is not forever," the anal retentive Neanderthal states. "Another day or two and you'll be much better and then you can go out."
This is supposed to make me feel better?
"Okey-dokey," I say agreeably and make a beeline for the back deck where my two outside Rotts are waiting. From there it's only a short run to the kennels where the foster pups can be released. I can play with them in the yard and the stodgy wanna-be medic in my house can simmer for a while. I know this because the phone rang - the line in his office - and that could take a while.
Oh JOY!
All the dogs get hugs and kisses and we play hide & seek and "catch me" in and around all the evergreens. Great fun and lots of tail wagging!
Until...
My tail... is suddenly way higher than it should be... over the giant squid's shoulder.
"Gotcha!"
Tsk!
Okay - short lived fun but worth it.
I know my face is a little flushed and my nose is cold but I have a feeling I'm gonna get warmed up soon. Not sure if I should be happy about this.
"What did I tell you?" he says as he meanders back to the house with ten dogs trailing us.
"You said something?" I ask in all innocence.
SWAT!
Tsk!
"You're going back to bed, imp."
Hooooo Boy! This is news!
SWAT!
Tsk!
"You going with me?" I'm ever hopeful.
"Looks like I'm gonna have to," he says so sternly I have to laugh.
SWAT!
Tsk!
"Gonna warm you up all over," he promises.
"I can live with that but I hope chocolate Twinkies are also on the menu."
SWAT!
Double Tsk!
And let's not forget... I'm an absolute saint!
~Sar~
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Imp Strikes Again!
Cowboy here again. The imp traded one flu bug for a different one and finally admitted she was feeling poorly. Right now she's in her studio surrounded by pets and sketching something for a lady that wants one of her art pieces.
She got rid of that intestinal bug, lived life in double time for a few days, then got snagged by respiratory congestion. It's her own fault. We had more snow than we're supposed to get out this way. Our neighborhood was deep in the stuff. Sar can't resist snow. Don't know why but that's how it is. As soon as the imp got out of the house she started making snowmen. Not 1 or 2 but a whole damned village!
The most respectable one was leaning against a tree holding a book in its hands - twigs actually. One female snow person - slim - well endowed - on its hands and knees - a damn snow dog sniffing its hind end. I kicked that one down the minute I saw it. Nosy neighbor across the road probably had a stroke. Two small snowmen were "peeing" on each other. Sar stuck hose nozzles in their crotches. Kicked that one down too. Maybe it's the meds I made her take - don't know how she comes by these ideas. She built a snow fort - a "cowboy" snowman bent over the top - a snow arrow in its back and a flag that read "remember the Alamo." I do not know this woman.
The neighborhood kids love my wife. Their parents are as happy as I am when the snow melts. I'm waiting to get a letter from the neighborhood homeowners association reminding us about some code that includes lewd snow people displays.
She taught 9-year old Patrick how to zap a snowball using a slingshot. They both bombarded me when I got home from work. I went after the imp when a snowball hit me in the face but before I could reach her, Patrick's snowball hit my chest. It could have been worse. Once she had the dogs jump me in the snow. As soon as I was down with 300 pounds of fur on my chest, she stuffed snow down my pants.
I waited till Patrick went home, then I got her warmed up the old fashioned way - shower, swats, some genuine lovin.
Up early the next morning. Heard the imp sneezing, grabbed the cough syrup I keep hidden so it doesn't get dumped down the sink, sneaked up behind her while she was recovering from a sneezing session and got some meds down her throat. Between the sneezing and the meds she got sleepy right away. Made her some breakfast and put her back in bed.
Sar's threatened to write a story about my ill-spent youth and post it for all to see. As long as she doesn't post pictures I can handle it.
Cowboy
She got rid of that intestinal bug, lived life in double time for a few days, then got snagged by respiratory congestion. It's her own fault. We had more snow than we're supposed to get out this way. Our neighborhood was deep in the stuff. Sar can't resist snow. Don't know why but that's how it is. As soon as the imp got out of the house she started making snowmen. Not 1 or 2 but a whole damned village!
The most respectable one was leaning against a tree holding a book in its hands - twigs actually. One female snow person - slim - well endowed - on its hands and knees - a damn snow dog sniffing its hind end. I kicked that one down the minute I saw it. Nosy neighbor across the road probably had a stroke. Two small snowmen were "peeing" on each other. Sar stuck hose nozzles in their crotches. Kicked that one down too. Maybe it's the meds I made her take - don't know how she comes by these ideas. She built a snow fort - a "cowboy" snowman bent over the top - a snow arrow in its back and a flag that read "remember the Alamo." I do not know this woman.
The neighborhood kids love my wife. Their parents are as happy as I am when the snow melts. I'm waiting to get a letter from the neighborhood homeowners association reminding us about some code that includes lewd snow people displays.
She taught 9-year old Patrick how to zap a snowball using a slingshot. They both bombarded me when I got home from work. I went after the imp when a snowball hit me in the face but before I could reach her, Patrick's snowball hit my chest. It could have been worse. Once she had the dogs jump me in the snow. As soon as I was down with 300 pounds of fur on my chest, she stuffed snow down my pants.
I waited till Patrick went home, then I got her warmed up the old fashioned way - shower, swats, some genuine lovin.
Up early the next morning. Heard the imp sneezing, grabbed the cough syrup I keep hidden so it doesn't get dumped down the sink, sneaked up behind her while she was recovering from a sneezing session and got some meds down her throat. Between the sneezing and the meds she got sleepy right away. Made her some breakfast and put her back in bed.
Sar's threatened to write a story about my ill-spent youth and post it for all to see. As long as she doesn't post pictures I can handle it.
Cowboy
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Combat Pay
Cowboy here. Sar is sleeping off the meds I shoved down her throat. I know what you're thinking - Neanderthal.
Had to be out of town for a few days. During that time the imp got one of those flu bugs that drain your energy - upset stomach, a bit of coughing and sneezing and a bit of fever. She was just getting the flu when I had to leave. Called our friend David to come over to check up on her and he decided to stay a few days. I think it was the freezer filled with food he likes that clinched the deal.
I might be a Neanderthal but David is a marine and doesn't take any gruff - except from Sar. Let me explain it like this:
Sar feeling 100% = a sweet loving woman with a high energy level and one that embraces the world.
Sar feeling slightly under the weather = a few sniffles, a little less energy, takeout for supper, and an ingestion of a lot of hot cocoa.
Sar feeling ill and knows it = super sensitive about her health, cuddles with her pups, ignores me, avoids me, and threatens dire consequences if touched, babied, pampered, or God forbid, medicated. (This does not deter me but that's another story.)
Sar ill and not honing up to it = a loaded AK47 in one hand and a live grenade in the other. She doesn't talk - she snarls. If her wishes are defied-- she sets the dogs on you and walks out of the room. Her dogs are big. Her dogs bite.
I figure the marine has seen combat. He can handle her.
I call every day to get the damage report. So far the marine has all his limbs but a growing number of bruises. He's cussing a lot. I tell him he's a brave man. He tells me Sar would behave if I'd let him spank her. I tell him I know my wife and having a death wish is not a good thing. If Sar doesn't do him in I will.
He's feeding her chicken noodle soup and Boston cream pie. I don't know if this will make her better but she's not complaining about it. She's making him bring the foster dogs into the house 1 at a time so she can spend time with them. He suspects they are eating the soup when he isn't looking.
I get home and can tell the imp has a fever. I don't ask. I don't argue. I tackle her, lock her arms between us, hook a leg around both of hers and shove coated aspirin down her throat along with an Rx she has for intestinal discomfort. She spits, hisses, and yells every ugly word she knows-- most of which are variations of camel dung and armpit spawn. Then she falls asleep.
Asleep, she looks like an angel.
I'll make linguini for her tonight - a little butter and cheese and some personal attention and she'll be back to mischief in no time. David says I should take her to task for beating him up when he was trying to nurse her. I tell the marine he deserves combat pay and is damned lucky to be alive with all his parts attached.
Cowboy
Had to be out of town for a few days. During that time the imp got one of those flu bugs that drain your energy - upset stomach, a bit of coughing and sneezing and a bit of fever. She was just getting the flu when I had to leave. Called our friend David to come over to check up on her and he decided to stay a few days. I think it was the freezer filled with food he likes that clinched the deal.
I might be a Neanderthal but David is a marine and doesn't take any gruff - except from Sar. Let me explain it like this:
Sar feeling 100% = a sweet loving woman with a high energy level and one that embraces the world.
Sar feeling slightly under the weather = a few sniffles, a little less energy, takeout for supper, and an ingestion of a lot of hot cocoa.
Sar feeling ill and knows it = super sensitive about her health, cuddles with her pups, ignores me, avoids me, and threatens dire consequences if touched, babied, pampered, or God forbid, medicated. (This does not deter me but that's another story.)
Sar ill and not honing up to it = a loaded AK47 in one hand and a live grenade in the other. She doesn't talk - she snarls. If her wishes are defied-- she sets the dogs on you and walks out of the room. Her dogs are big. Her dogs bite.
I figure the marine has seen combat. He can handle her.
I call every day to get the damage report. So far the marine has all his limbs but a growing number of bruises. He's cussing a lot. I tell him he's a brave man. He tells me Sar would behave if I'd let him spank her. I tell him I know my wife and having a death wish is not a good thing. If Sar doesn't do him in I will.
He's feeding her chicken noodle soup and Boston cream pie. I don't know if this will make her better but she's not complaining about it. She's making him bring the foster dogs into the house 1 at a time so she can spend time with them. He suspects they are eating the soup when he isn't looking.
I get home and can tell the imp has a fever. I don't ask. I don't argue. I tackle her, lock her arms between us, hook a leg around both of hers and shove coated aspirin down her throat along with an Rx she has for intestinal discomfort. She spits, hisses, and yells every ugly word she knows-- most of which are variations of camel dung and armpit spawn. Then she falls asleep.
Asleep, she looks like an angel.
I'll make linguini for her tonight - a little butter and cheese and some personal attention and she'll be back to mischief in no time. David says I should take her to task for beating him up when he was trying to nurse her. I tell the marine he deserves combat pay and is damned lucky to be alive with all his parts attached.
Cowboy
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Brand New Year!
Happy happy and sincere wishes for good things in the coming year! I have resolved to eat more chocolate, finish writing my upteen unfinished stories and get into new and more creative mischief.
However... I ended 2006 with a fabulous RUN AMOK week!
Cowboy banned water guns from the house a few years back when I had an unfortunate incident with the base commandant... Briefly... I was aiming for the giant squid but he happened to move just as I fired my gun. Tragically... the base commandant was standing behind Cowboy and I hit him instead. 'Twas a very sad but hilarious scene and I still haven't lived it down.
Santa brought me a super duper sized water gun. I suspect it was really David, who couldn't care less about a NAVY base commandant - since he's a marine - but this way, he denies all guilt.
Oh JOY!
Naturally I couldn't wait to try it out. I filled it with ICE water and... red finger paint... and shook it till it had the texture of loose jello and was gooey and then I aimed.
I shot Mr. Snowman... aimed for his belly but hit him a little lower... that was not pretty. The neighborhood kids ran around saying I had killed the snow people. Desperate to live up to my new reputation, I jogged around the neighborhood and shot a LOT of snow people.
Someone called the police... They came out and surveyed my handiwork and when they stopped laughing long enough to pick themselves up off the ground, asked if I had ever used a Taser gun...
"YOU ARE NOT GETTING A TASER!" you-know-who roared.
Crumb.
Later, the outside Rotts and I played war photojournalists... The large dogs stalked anyone who came into the backyard and when the "enemy" was pinned to the ground, I came in and shot them - first with my water gun, then with my camera. Wonderful ammunition to have on hand if an occasion for bribery arises. In my life, that's often. We had a lot of snow so the ground was bleeding red. It was quite wonderful.
"I didn't know you had such a cruel streak, bambina," the giant squid grumbled as he tried to wipe red jello goop off his sweats.
"Ha! You didn't know me when I was a kid."
"Terror of the neighborhood, huh?"
"Tsk. I was one of the shorter ones in my crowd. No one ever suspected me."
"Give me that water gun before you do serious damage," he said in such a calm voice...
"Oh sure, right away." I was prepared for this encounter. I grabbed my gallon container of red goop and ice water and got up a tree while my big Rotts kept the giant squid preoccupied. They loved this game, tackling the "alpha" male in the house and tumbling on the ground with him. I continued using him for target practice and the pups kept drowning him in slobber as they licked the jello off his v-a-r-i-o-u-s body parts. I took GREAT pics!
Cowboy made some very ugly noises... tsk. Such language out of an officer and a gentleman. I told him so, too and when he got free of the pups, he ZIPPED up the tree. Never would have thought such an o-l-d man could still do that.
SWAT!
Tsk.
We ended up in the snow with water gun residue and dog slobber all over us and I was laughing and hiccuping and the squid was rubbing goop all over my face. I stuffed snow down his pants and he yelled and the Rotts jumped him and we rolled and I laughed again and threw the water gun away from me and Tank, my big Rott, grabbed it and took it into his kennel and Cowboy wasn't able to confiscate it - yet.
Great fun! But Cowboy plays dirty... so... lady that I am...
"Any chance of cobbler this week, imp?"
"Sure," I agreed and made apple cobbler, blueberry cobbler, pear cobbler, apricot cobbler, and plum cobbler.
"Very tasty," he said and gave me a swat.
Tsk.
"Dare I ask for peach pie?"
"Sure, ask away." And I baked apple pie, cherry pie, blueberry pie, pecan pie, and a Boston Cream pie for David.
Two swats!
Tsk.
"Peaches aren't in season," I told him.
"Pink butts are!"
Jeez. I ran up the stairs... he followed me... etc.
Went to the mall New Year's Eve day - took Cowboy's credit card - found LOTS of things on sale. I only bought the very basic necessities: Chocolate, new shoes, chocolate, new sexy undies, chocolate, new ceramic pie pans from Holland - gorgeous - and I picked up some chocolate.
Some of the Neanderthal's o-l-d buddies dropped in during RUN AMOK week... They wanted to see his gun/rifle collection. When I heard...
"SAR!!" at an extremely loud volume, I knew they had discovered the tiny water pistol I had put in his gun cabinet for safe keeping, also the slingshot... my prize marble shooter, and the yo-yo...
Tsk. Now I may never get that stash of Lindt chocolates I hid behind that big long pistol he got in an auction somewhere on the other side of the world a hundred years ago and one that he thinks is some kind of prize weapon. Tsk. Men and their toys.
Which is more important? Guns or chocolate? Don't bother to answer. I know you know the pecking order.
I gave Ms.HairUpHerAss a big basket of brownies - the good kind. She was so suspicious she refused to eat any and insisted the marines and sailors visiting my house should have them. They ate them with gusto and Ms.HairUpHerAss has a new respect for these fighting men. "They are so brave," she gushed, thinking they could eat my "special" brownies and not feel any ill effects.
Tsk.
"Don't worry," Cowboy grumbled. "If she wants to take them down, they're toast."
Double tsk.
I taught Patrick how to use my water gun. Strike one.
I showed Peeper Patterson how to get a porn site on his computer. Strike two.
I made a tunnel-of-fudge cake and ate the whole thing by myself. Strike three.
I gave Patrick a teeny tiny frog (from the pet store) to take to school for show 'n tell. His teacher is one of those hair-in-a-bun-'n-orthopedic-shoes squeamish types. Strike four.
I sent the base commandant good wishes for the holiday season. He called Cowboy to ask him not to leave me "unattended" on his base. Tsk. Strike five.
I sent the base medical staff homemade bread dough to be baked at their leisure. Apparently, I used a little too much yeast... oops - the dough ROSE and ROSE and ROSE... Strike Six. Tsk. Did they think it was a new age weapon? Scared the beejeebees out of them. Put a HUGE smile on my face, though.
I pinched Cowboy's butt every time I got close enough to do so... in the middle of all the holiday festivities we attended. He can really jump HIGH. ~ sigh ~ Another strike.
"My butt is practically black and blue," he grumbled in the shower one night.
"Well mine gets pink far too often," I grumbled right back.
"We could make it red," he threatened.
"You could eat out for the rest of your life," I intoned.
"As long as you sleep with me," he groaned when I pinched him again.
And yeah... the band played on.
~Sar~
However... I ended 2006 with a fabulous RUN AMOK week!
Cowboy banned water guns from the house a few years back when I had an unfortunate incident with the base commandant... Briefly... I was aiming for the giant squid but he happened to move just as I fired my gun. Tragically... the base commandant was standing behind Cowboy and I hit him instead. 'Twas a very sad but hilarious scene and I still haven't lived it down.
Santa brought me a super duper sized water gun. I suspect it was really David, who couldn't care less about a NAVY base commandant - since he's a marine - but this way, he denies all guilt.
Oh JOY!
Naturally I couldn't wait to try it out. I filled it with ICE water and... red finger paint... and shook it till it had the texture of loose jello and was gooey and then I aimed.
I shot Mr. Snowman... aimed for his belly but hit him a little lower... that was not pretty. The neighborhood kids ran around saying I had killed the snow people. Desperate to live up to my new reputation, I jogged around the neighborhood and shot a LOT of snow people.
Someone called the police... They came out and surveyed my handiwork and when they stopped laughing long enough to pick themselves up off the ground, asked if I had ever used a Taser gun...
"YOU ARE NOT GETTING A TASER!" you-know-who roared.
Crumb.
Later, the outside Rotts and I played war photojournalists... The large dogs stalked anyone who came into the backyard and when the "enemy" was pinned to the ground, I came in and shot them - first with my water gun, then with my camera. Wonderful ammunition to have on hand if an occasion for bribery arises. In my life, that's often. We had a lot of snow so the ground was bleeding red. It was quite wonderful.
"I didn't know you had such a cruel streak, bambina," the giant squid grumbled as he tried to wipe red jello goop off his sweats.
"Ha! You didn't know me when I was a kid."
"Terror of the neighborhood, huh?"
"Tsk. I was one of the shorter ones in my crowd. No one ever suspected me."
"Give me that water gun before you do serious damage," he said in such a calm voice...
"Oh sure, right away." I was prepared for this encounter. I grabbed my gallon container of red goop and ice water and got up a tree while my big Rotts kept the giant squid preoccupied. They loved this game, tackling the "alpha" male in the house and tumbling on the ground with him. I continued using him for target practice and the pups kept drowning him in slobber as they licked the jello off his v-a-r-i-o-u-s body parts. I took GREAT pics!
Cowboy made some very ugly noises... tsk. Such language out of an officer and a gentleman. I told him so, too and when he got free of the pups, he ZIPPED up the tree. Never would have thought such an o-l-d man could still do that.
SWAT!
Tsk.
We ended up in the snow with water gun residue and dog slobber all over us and I was laughing and hiccuping and the squid was rubbing goop all over my face. I stuffed snow down his pants and he yelled and the Rotts jumped him and we rolled and I laughed again and threw the water gun away from me and Tank, my big Rott, grabbed it and took it into his kennel and Cowboy wasn't able to confiscate it - yet.
Great fun! But Cowboy plays dirty... so... lady that I am...
"Any chance of cobbler this week, imp?"
"Sure," I agreed and made apple cobbler, blueberry cobbler, pear cobbler, apricot cobbler, and plum cobbler.
"Very tasty," he said and gave me a swat.
Tsk.
"Dare I ask for peach pie?"
"Sure, ask away." And I baked apple pie, cherry pie, blueberry pie, pecan pie, and a Boston Cream pie for David.
Two swats!
Tsk.
"Peaches aren't in season," I told him.
"Pink butts are!"
Jeez. I ran up the stairs... he followed me... etc.
Went to the mall New Year's Eve day - took Cowboy's credit card - found LOTS of things on sale. I only bought the very basic necessities: Chocolate, new shoes, chocolate, new sexy undies, chocolate, new ceramic pie pans from Holland - gorgeous - and I picked up some chocolate.
Some of the Neanderthal's o-l-d buddies dropped in during RUN AMOK week... They wanted to see his gun/rifle collection. When I heard...
"SAR!!" at an extremely loud volume, I knew they had discovered the tiny water pistol I had put in his gun cabinet for safe keeping, also the slingshot... my prize marble shooter, and the yo-yo...
Tsk. Now I may never get that stash of Lindt chocolates I hid behind that big long pistol he got in an auction somewhere on the other side of the world a hundred years ago and one that he thinks is some kind of prize weapon. Tsk. Men and their toys.
Which is more important? Guns or chocolate? Don't bother to answer. I know you know the pecking order.
I gave Ms.HairUpHerAss a big basket of brownies - the good kind. She was so suspicious she refused to eat any and insisted the marines and sailors visiting my house should have them. They ate them with gusto and Ms.HairUpHerAss has a new respect for these fighting men. "They are so brave," she gushed, thinking they could eat my "special" brownies and not feel any ill effects.
Tsk.
"Don't worry," Cowboy grumbled. "If she wants to take them down, they're toast."
Double tsk.
I taught Patrick how to use my water gun. Strike one.
I showed Peeper Patterson how to get a porn site on his computer. Strike two.
I made a tunnel-of-fudge cake and ate the whole thing by myself. Strike three.
I gave Patrick a teeny tiny frog (from the pet store) to take to school for show 'n tell. His teacher is one of those hair-in-a-bun-'n-orthopedic-shoes squeamish types. Strike four.
I sent the base commandant good wishes for the holiday season. He called Cowboy to ask him not to leave me "unattended" on his base. Tsk. Strike five.
I sent the base medical staff homemade bread dough to be baked at their leisure. Apparently, I used a little too much yeast... oops - the dough ROSE and ROSE and ROSE... Strike Six. Tsk. Did they think it was a new age weapon? Scared the beejeebees out of them. Put a HUGE smile on my face, though.
I pinched Cowboy's butt every time I got close enough to do so... in the middle of all the holiday festivities we attended. He can really jump HIGH. ~ sigh ~ Another strike.
"My butt is practically black and blue," he grumbled in the shower one night.
"Well mine gets pink far too often," I grumbled right back.
"We could make it red," he threatened.
"You could eat out for the rest of your life," I intoned.
"As long as you sleep with me," he groaned when I pinched him again.
And yeah... the band played on.
~Sar~
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Happy! Happy! Joy! Joy!
It's RUN AMOK Week!
First - to catch up on a few things. We were without electricity for 10 days - got it back the morning of Christmas Eve. Our guests all went home and Cowboy and I had a chance to enjoy that evening by ourselves.
Nine-year old Patrick made a HUGE sign for Cowboy to put on the roof for Santa. It said "Use the front door! There's a fire burning." Patrick told the giant squid that the jolly fellow would burn his ass if he went down the chimney.
"You been talking to Sar about this?" Cowboy asked.
"Yep."
"SAR!"
Jeez! Blame me! Tsk.
We kept the generator running for the day in spite of having the power back. It had been keeping the refrigerator/freezer going and maintained the heat for the dog kennels through the power outage. Since the foster pups will eventually live indoors in their new homes, I rotated them through the house - each one spending a night in our family room with us. We were all huddled in sleeping bags in front of the fire. Dogs go a little nutso when you sleep at ground level. They like to cuddle around you and the giant squid wasn't exactly thrilled when my pups lay down on either side of me leaving no room for him.
"Can't they go sleep by Patrick?" he growled.
"Try and move them," I suggested.
"Out!" he yelled.
The pups were suddenly deaf and didn't budge. I couldn't help myself. I laughed.
The sneaky Neanderthal took a large chunk of roasted chicken out of the fridge and started nibbling on it in front of them. The pups still didn't move but started whining. Dirty pool! I told them to kiss the squid... They did and stole the chicken. As soon as they moved away from me, Cowboy jumped into the sleeping bag beside me. Now I have to get that chicken smell out of my carpets. Tsk.
The Labs need a lot of work to live in a house - their tails wag constantly and knock things over. The Briard is a snoop and has figured out how to open kitchen cabinets. Putting baby locks on them this week. The Schnauzer thinks the fireplace is his and objects strenuously when told to move. The Bouvie has a crush on the refrigerator and cat-like, he rubs up against it. As long as he doesn't lift his leg...
The morning of the 26th I hopped out of bed and at the top of the stairs I yelled "It's RUN AMOK Week!" Then I slid down the banister... right into the giant squid's arms. Where did he come from? Tsk.
SWAT!
Double tsk.
"It's a free zone," I reminded him.
"In your dreams, imp."
"You're not playing by the rules," I huffed.
"My house, my rules," the Neanderthal grumbled.
"Oh yeah?" I grabbed his yummy stick and changed the rules.
"Okay," he groaned, changing his mind. "Time for you to run amok on top of me."
... and the band played on...
~Sar~
P.S. Woke up this morning to three inches of snow! S-N-O-W! And more on the way. Time to make more snow people. I'm thinking Mr. Snowman should be macho - v-e-r-y macho. Ms Snow Woman needs panties and a demi-bra. ... And I need a snow fort with lots of ammunition for when the giant squid sees the new front yard decorations.
First - to catch up on a few things. We were without electricity for 10 days - got it back the morning of Christmas Eve. Our guests all went home and Cowboy and I had a chance to enjoy that evening by ourselves.
Nine-year old Patrick made a HUGE sign for Cowboy to put on the roof for Santa. It said "Use the front door! There's a fire burning." Patrick told the giant squid that the jolly fellow would burn his ass if he went down the chimney.
"You been talking to Sar about this?" Cowboy asked.
"Yep."
"SAR!"
Jeez! Blame me! Tsk.
We kept the generator running for the day in spite of having the power back. It had been keeping the refrigerator/freezer going and maintained the heat for the dog kennels through the power outage. Since the foster pups will eventually live indoors in their new homes, I rotated them through the house - each one spending a night in our family room with us. We were all huddled in sleeping bags in front of the fire. Dogs go a little nutso when you sleep at ground level. They like to cuddle around you and the giant squid wasn't exactly thrilled when my pups lay down on either side of me leaving no room for him.
"Can't they go sleep by Patrick?" he growled.
"Try and move them," I suggested.
"Out!" he yelled.
The pups were suddenly deaf and didn't budge. I couldn't help myself. I laughed.
The sneaky Neanderthal took a large chunk of roasted chicken out of the fridge and started nibbling on it in front of them. The pups still didn't move but started whining. Dirty pool! I told them to kiss the squid... They did and stole the chicken. As soon as they moved away from me, Cowboy jumped into the sleeping bag beside me. Now I have to get that chicken smell out of my carpets. Tsk.
The Labs need a lot of work to live in a house - their tails wag constantly and knock things over. The Briard is a snoop and has figured out how to open kitchen cabinets. Putting baby locks on them this week. The Schnauzer thinks the fireplace is his and objects strenuously when told to move. The Bouvie has a crush on the refrigerator and cat-like, he rubs up against it. As long as he doesn't lift his leg...
The morning of the 26th I hopped out of bed and at the top of the stairs I yelled "It's RUN AMOK Week!" Then I slid down the banister... right into the giant squid's arms. Where did he come from? Tsk.
SWAT!
Double tsk.
"It's a free zone," I reminded him.
"In your dreams, imp."
"You're not playing by the rules," I huffed.
"My house, my rules," the Neanderthal grumbled.
"Oh yeah?" I grabbed his yummy stick and changed the rules.
"Okay," he groaned, changing his mind. "Time for you to run amok on top of me."
... and the band played on...
~Sar~
P.S. Woke up this morning to three inches of snow! S-N-O-W! And more on the way. Time to make more snow people. I'm thinking Mr. Snowman should be macho - v-e-r-y macho. Ms Snow Woman needs panties and a demi-bra. ... And I need a snow fort with lots of ammunition for when the giant squid sees the new front yard decorations.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Naughty or Nice?
Guess which category Sar fits into.
Cowboy here. Had a wild windstorm hit the area and we lost electricity over a week ago. Expecting it back around Christmas day. I'm posting this from my office at the base so no one thinks Sar is ignoring your emails, etc.
We have a gas stovetop so Sar has made stews and chowders and chili and other warm foods to keep us comfortable. Our young friend Patrick is staying with us along with his mother. They're more comfortable in our home where we have a fireplace blazing than in their house that is currently without heat. Most of the western part of our state has been without power. David just returned from England and is also with us. He lives in the San Juans where power is not expected back till after Christmas.
Sar *ordered* him to order a marine unit to check on our neighbors to make sure all had adequate heat and food. She also has them delivering stew and chili to those caught without food. Grocery stores are just now reopening so that won't be a problem for long.
Our neighbor, Mr. Patterson - who watches Sar dance-- is also with us. He just celebrated his 98th birthday and is quite fragile. Sar dotes on him and the old guy really loves all that attention.
The imp is too busy for her normal mischief but she assures me she'll make up for it after Christmas. I believe her. In the meantime, she's not eating much, not sleeping enough and in general, making me crazy. The occasional swat barely slows her momentum. I may have to live up to my reputation as a barbaric Neanderthal and get to the seat of the problem.
Both of us wish you a happy holiday season and a New Year filled with the promise of peace.
Cowboy
Cowboy here. Had a wild windstorm hit the area and we lost electricity over a week ago. Expecting it back around Christmas day. I'm posting this from my office at the base so no one thinks Sar is ignoring your emails, etc.
We have a gas stovetop so Sar has made stews and chowders and chili and other warm foods to keep us comfortable. Our young friend Patrick is staying with us along with his mother. They're more comfortable in our home where we have a fireplace blazing than in their house that is currently without heat. Most of the western part of our state has been without power. David just returned from England and is also with us. He lives in the San Juans where power is not expected back till after Christmas.
Sar *ordered* him to order a marine unit to check on our neighbors to make sure all had adequate heat and food. She also has them delivering stew and chili to those caught without food. Grocery stores are just now reopening so that won't be a problem for long.
Our neighbor, Mr. Patterson - who watches Sar dance-- is also with us. He just celebrated his 98th birthday and is quite fragile. Sar dotes on him and the old guy really loves all that attention.
The imp is too busy for her normal mischief but she assures me she'll make up for it after Christmas. I believe her. In the meantime, she's not eating much, not sleeping enough and in general, making me crazy. The occasional swat barely slows her momentum. I may have to live up to my reputation as a barbaric Neanderthal and get to the seat of the problem.
Both of us wish you a happy holiday season and a New Year filled with the promise of peace.
Cowboy
Monday, December 11, 2006
Not My Fault!
December is a particularly hard month for some of us. I don't mean the holiday stress - planning, shopping, baking, entertaining, et al. I mean the "being good" stuff. Just how much of this "good" stuff are we supposed to endure?
Between you and me I have totally outgooded myself. I'm not sure I can remain civil if one more hostess offers me a "green" tidbit to sample.
"Ohhhhhh Sar, these are delicious and so good for you!"
If they're *that* good, I'll share. She can have mine.
"Cowboy would love for you to sample these," another hostess smiled as she waved a tray of unidentified green uglies under my nose. Her smile was evil.
"Cowboy is a big boy; he can tell me himself."
"SAR!"
Jeez!
"You're serving a veggie platter with dip at our cocktail party, aren't you imp?" the Neanderthal wanted to know.
"Of course I am, dear."
How in blazes would I get rid of all those veggies otherwise?
On a "goodness" streak, I donated a lot of old clothes to various agencies - mostly Cowboy's. I mean... how many belts does one man need?
"Where the hell is my navy belt?"
"I bought you some suspenders, dear."
SWAT!
Tsk.
I cleaned out the produce drawer and generously donated the green goodies to the food bank.
"How about broccoli with dinner tonight?" Guess who said that.
"The grocery store was alllll out of broccoli, dear."
SWAT!
Tsk.
A couple of weeks ago we had a rare snowstorm - got about 10 inches of the white stuff piled up. Naturally I made anatomically correct snow people in the front yard so the neighbors would be entertained as they drove by. I placed one of Cowboy's Navy covers (hat) on Mr. Snow Man along with one of his ties. Mrs. Snow Woman got one of my scarves and my pink leg warmers. Truly, a very lovely couple, very modern, too. "She" had implants and a Brazilian cut.
"Why the hell did you use one of my covers on that naked snow man?"
Tsk. He sounded irate.
"Snow men are supposed to wear a hat and a scarf and mittens," he continued. "They are not supposed to be nudists. And if you made her boobs any bigger, she'd fall over."
"I should have used a thicker longer carrot for the yummy stick?"
SWAT!
Tsk.
I took photos of course and wanted to use them for our Christmas cards. The giant squid vetoed that idea. I don't know why; the dangling bits were all lovingly formed. Hmmm... maybe I should have used a celery stalk instead of a carrot? Nooooo... celery has all that wavy stuff on the sides and at the end. An erect celery stalk wouldn't have worked. Of course... an orange yummy stick makes you think Mr. Snow Man is coming down with jaundice.
The squid was really relieved that the snow people melted so quickly but I have a sneaky feeling he used my hair dryer to help it along.
And I was on such a "good" streak, too. Double tsk.
All the stress of being good finally got to me. I know. I know. You thought I was an angel alllll the time. I confess. Sometimes, I'm just slightly less angelic.
What happened was...
Ms. HairUpHerAss came over with her inedible fruitcake. She brings one every year. Every year the pups sniff it and go hide so I don't force them to take a bite. This year... DomTom the cat... was encouraged to help himself to the giant squid's glass of Baileys... and then was encouraged to eat the leftover sushi sitting on the kitchen counter. A little Baileys, a little sushi, a little Baileys...
When Ms. HairUpHerAss unwrapped the fruitcake so we could all admire the perfectly formed and inedible don't-drop-it-on-your-foot door stopper, DomTom leaped to the table (which he never does) and hurled a GIANT hair ball right on TOP of the fruitcake.
"SAR!"
Jeez! I didn't hurl the hair ball.
Ms. HairUpHerAss was a bit miffed but I consoled her with one of my chocolate lime pies. I must reward that cat with fresh catnip.
As she waddled back to her house, Cowboy said, "Well at least you didn't call her Ms. HairUpHerAss to her face."
Honestly... she way she walks... she looks more and more like Ms. CornCobUpHerButt.
~Sar~
Between you and me I have totally outgooded myself. I'm not sure I can remain civil if one more hostess offers me a "green" tidbit to sample.
"Ohhhhhh Sar, these are delicious and so good for you!"
If they're *that* good, I'll share. She can have mine.
"Cowboy would love for you to sample these," another hostess smiled as she waved a tray of unidentified green uglies under my nose. Her smile was evil.
"Cowboy is a big boy; he can tell me himself."
"SAR!"
Jeez!
"You're serving a veggie platter with dip at our cocktail party, aren't you imp?" the Neanderthal wanted to know.
"Of course I am, dear."
How in blazes would I get rid of all those veggies otherwise?
On a "goodness" streak, I donated a lot of old clothes to various agencies - mostly Cowboy's. I mean... how many belts does one man need?
"Where the hell is my navy belt?"
"I bought you some suspenders, dear."
SWAT!
Tsk.
I cleaned out the produce drawer and generously donated the green goodies to the food bank.
"How about broccoli with dinner tonight?" Guess who said that.
"The grocery store was alllll out of broccoli, dear."
SWAT!
Tsk.
A couple of weeks ago we had a rare snowstorm - got about 10 inches of the white stuff piled up. Naturally I made anatomically correct snow people in the front yard so the neighbors would be entertained as they drove by. I placed one of Cowboy's Navy covers (hat) on Mr. Snow Man along with one of his ties. Mrs. Snow Woman got one of my scarves and my pink leg warmers. Truly, a very lovely couple, very modern, too. "She" had implants and a Brazilian cut.
"Why the hell did you use one of my covers on that naked snow man?"
Tsk. He sounded irate.
"Snow men are supposed to wear a hat and a scarf and mittens," he continued. "They are not supposed to be nudists. And if you made her boobs any bigger, she'd fall over."
"I should have used a thicker longer carrot for the yummy stick?"
SWAT!
Tsk.
I took photos of course and wanted to use them for our Christmas cards. The giant squid vetoed that idea. I don't know why; the dangling bits were all lovingly formed. Hmmm... maybe I should have used a celery stalk instead of a carrot? Nooooo... celery has all that wavy stuff on the sides and at the end. An erect celery stalk wouldn't have worked. Of course... an orange yummy stick makes you think Mr. Snow Man is coming down with jaundice.
The squid was really relieved that the snow people melted so quickly but I have a sneaky feeling he used my hair dryer to help it along.
And I was on such a "good" streak, too. Double tsk.
All the stress of being good finally got to me. I know. I know. You thought I was an angel alllll the time. I confess. Sometimes, I'm just slightly less angelic.
What happened was...
Ms. HairUpHerAss came over with her inedible fruitcake. She brings one every year. Every year the pups sniff it and go hide so I don't force them to take a bite. This year... DomTom the cat... was encouraged to help himself to the giant squid's glass of Baileys... and then was encouraged to eat the leftover sushi sitting on the kitchen counter. A little Baileys, a little sushi, a little Baileys...
When Ms. HairUpHerAss unwrapped the fruitcake so we could all admire the perfectly formed and inedible don't-drop-it-on-your-foot door stopper, DomTom leaped to the table (which he never does) and hurled a GIANT hair ball right on TOP of the fruitcake.
"SAR!"
Jeez! I didn't hurl the hair ball.
Ms. HairUpHerAss was a bit miffed but I consoled her with one of my chocolate lime pies. I must reward that cat with fresh catnip.
As she waddled back to her house, Cowboy said, "Well at least you didn't call her Ms. HairUpHerAss to her face."
Honestly... she way she walks... she looks more and more like Ms. CornCobUpHerButt.
~Sar~
Monday, December 04, 2006
Advance Notice!
With all the preparations for Christmas and sugar plums dancing in our heads, it's so easy to forget that December 26th isn't just Boxing Day! It's the beginning of RUN AMOK week!
~ sigh ~
My favorite week of the year.
Just a reminder: As soon as Santa gets back to the North Pole and sits down with a glass of eggnog, Mrs. Claus SHREDS the "naughty & nice" lists.
SHREDS!
Oh JOY!
The new list doesn't start until January 1st!
December 25 is the day you bask in whatever it is you bask in. For me, it's usually coffee with chicory and a big chunk of something wonderful... other than the giant squid although I like to get a big chunk of that, too.
That leaves December 26 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30 - 31 to RUN AMOK! Is that the most fabulous thing ever!
Quick! Mark your calendars in RED! A free zone!
Now some of you Scroogie types are going to say that RUN AMOK week isn't printed on any calendar you ever bought. Pish and posh! Calendar makers are male. Need I say more? You have a computer and a printer. Make your own. So when the Scrooge in your life says "show me where this week is on the calendar," you can show him yours.
I used to keep RUN AMOK week a secret from the giant squid until I actually did something that made his eyebrows arch into the stratosphere. Then I would calmly remind him that it's the time of year when I'm entitled to get a free pass at anything I want to do. Needless to say, being a Neanderthal, he has his own opinions about that. But... when it's RUN AMOK week I ignore his ramblings and do what I want to do anyway. (Just a helpful hint: It's best to keep running shoes on when one is running amok. Having a very large dog with big teeth also helps; two dogs are better.)
Now I remind the giant squid that RUN AMOK week is coming so when I actually do something that raises his blood pressure - and not in a good way - I tell him that it should not have been a surprise because I did warn him in advance.
His arm still tenses and I'm sure his palms itch because he tends to rub his hands together and... that's when I'm happy I remembered to have my running shoes on.
I like to plan a few happy events for RUN AMOK week. This year I'm thinking...
I'll send an artificial tree to our friend David. It's small and will fit on his office desk or credenza. Such a lovely and unique tree, too. I know the WHOLE staff will enjoy it. It has a naked lady at the top that spins around... the nipples light up... one at a time... on, off, on, off. He's currently in England. I know he's going to be so surprised when he gets back. Maybe I better include extra batteries.
"You better not be sending any surprise gifts, imp," the giant Neanderthal warned me.
"Not me," Sar the innocent replied. I can wait until RUN AMOK week to do that. I will, however, let some other folks send things for me. That doesn't count, right?
We have a LOT of stockings hanging on the mantle. There's one for each of us, the pets have their own and a few for others - David has one, Patrick has one, so does Bull and there's two with no names for unexpected guests. I have finished and mailed Christmas cards and the presents are wrapped. Cake's in the oven and a couple of lumps of coal... are hidden in case I need to add that to someone's stocking - just to weigh it down, of course. Dozens and dozens of "spank me sweetly" cards are done and stuffed into the squid's stocking in a velvet box. Do you think that's too many? He's getting o-l-d. He may not have the strength for all that...
My friend Alli sent FOUR buckets of "death by chocolate" body paint. One bucket has raspberries mixed in with the chocolate. I'm saving these for RUN AMOK week. I better make sure the giant squid gets plenty of rest on Christmas day so he can do giant squid things with that chocolate paint.
New subject: Pups
The new pups are really a sweet bunch. The Labs are on the goofy side, trying to sway me with kisses when I tell them "NO!" The Briard actually rolls his eyes when I give him my look of disappointment. I have a feeling he's plotting his next move. The Schnauzer yawns a lot - that is not a good sign. The Bouvie thinks he's a Rott. He leans against my hip and throws his head back to look up at me. He's also a flirt and is very interested in my female Rott, Panda. She is currently ignoring him but her mate, Tank, is not at all amused.
One of the Labs got in the house when I left the back door slightly ajar. He spied DomTom, the 20-lb. cat, and went after him with teeth bared. Poor misguided 100-lb. pup. DomTom beat the beejeebees out of him. Lab scooted out of the house with the cat chasing him and spent the morning hiding in his kennel. Have I ever mentioned that DomTom rules our house?
"Why is that sorry excuse for a cat chasing that dog?" asked the tall fellow in uniform as he gazed out the kitchen window.
DomTom and Cowboy do not care for each other. The cat does not recognize the giant squid as the alpha male in our home and the giant squid does not understand how I can love a creature he generally refers to as "a waste of fur." Tsk.
Meanwhile, all the pups "heel" fairly well now though they need a lot more practice. All "sit" most of the time. Only the Labs "stay" but all "come" when called. Good progress for just a little over a week. I plan to write updates on each of them eventually. Look for those updates in "Dog Tales" on the right side of the blog.
Also on the right side are "Recipes." Formatting the recipes is a little time consuming; I'm trying to add a few each week. You "peach cobbler" and "cream cheese waffle" lovers will get yours, too. I'm wading through dozens of variations so I choose the best ones.
"You're posting peach cobbler instructions?" Mr. Peach wanted to know.
"Uh huh."
"You know... you should test each one of them before doing that," he smiled. He rubbed his tummy at the same time.
See Sar. See Sar roll her eyes.
SWAT!
Hear Sar laugh.
See Sar run.
See giant squid give chase.
See giant squid grab Sar and close bedroom door.
~Sar~
~ sigh ~
My favorite week of the year.
Just a reminder: As soon as Santa gets back to the North Pole and sits down with a glass of eggnog, Mrs. Claus SHREDS the "naughty & nice" lists.
SHREDS!
Oh JOY!
The new list doesn't start until January 1st!
December 25 is the day you bask in whatever it is you bask in. For me, it's usually coffee with chicory and a big chunk of something wonderful... other than the giant squid although I like to get a big chunk of that, too.
That leaves December 26 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30 - 31 to RUN AMOK! Is that the most fabulous thing ever!
Quick! Mark your calendars in RED! A free zone!
Now some of you Scroogie types are going to say that RUN AMOK week isn't printed on any calendar you ever bought. Pish and posh! Calendar makers are male. Need I say more? You have a computer and a printer. Make your own. So when the Scrooge in your life says "show me where this week is on the calendar," you can show him yours.
I used to keep RUN AMOK week a secret from the giant squid until I actually did something that made his eyebrows arch into the stratosphere. Then I would calmly remind him that it's the time of year when I'm entitled to get a free pass at anything I want to do. Needless to say, being a Neanderthal, he has his own opinions about that. But... when it's RUN AMOK week I ignore his ramblings and do what I want to do anyway. (Just a helpful hint: It's best to keep running shoes on when one is running amok. Having a very large dog with big teeth also helps; two dogs are better.)
Now I remind the giant squid that RUN AMOK week is coming so when I actually do something that raises his blood pressure - and not in a good way - I tell him that it should not have been a surprise because I did warn him in advance.
His arm still tenses and I'm sure his palms itch because he tends to rub his hands together and... that's when I'm happy I remembered to have my running shoes on.
I like to plan a few happy events for RUN AMOK week. This year I'm thinking...
I'll send an artificial tree to our friend David. It's small and will fit on his office desk or credenza. Such a lovely and unique tree, too. I know the WHOLE staff will enjoy it. It has a naked lady at the top that spins around... the nipples light up... one at a time... on, off, on, off. He's currently in England. I know he's going to be so surprised when he gets back. Maybe I better include extra batteries.
"You better not be sending any surprise gifts, imp," the giant Neanderthal warned me.
"Not me," Sar the innocent replied. I can wait until RUN AMOK week to do that. I will, however, let some other folks send things for me. That doesn't count, right?
We have a LOT of stockings hanging on the mantle. There's one for each of us, the pets have their own and a few for others - David has one, Patrick has one, so does Bull and there's two with no names for unexpected guests. I have finished and mailed Christmas cards and the presents are wrapped. Cake's in the oven and a couple of lumps of coal... are hidden in case I need to add that to someone's stocking - just to weigh it down, of course. Dozens and dozens of "spank me sweetly" cards are done and stuffed into the squid's stocking in a velvet box. Do you think that's too many? He's getting o-l-d. He may not have the strength for all that...
My friend Alli sent FOUR buckets of "death by chocolate" body paint. One bucket has raspberries mixed in with the chocolate. I'm saving these for RUN AMOK week. I better make sure the giant squid gets plenty of rest on Christmas day so he can do giant squid things with that chocolate paint.
New subject: Pups
The new pups are really a sweet bunch. The Labs are on the goofy side, trying to sway me with kisses when I tell them "NO!" The Briard actually rolls his eyes when I give him my look of disappointment. I have a feeling he's plotting his next move. The Schnauzer yawns a lot - that is not a good sign. The Bouvie thinks he's a Rott. He leans against my hip and throws his head back to look up at me. He's also a flirt and is very interested in my female Rott, Panda. She is currently ignoring him but her mate, Tank, is not at all amused.
One of the Labs got in the house when I left the back door slightly ajar. He spied DomTom, the 20-lb. cat, and went after him with teeth bared. Poor misguided 100-lb. pup. DomTom beat the beejeebees out of him. Lab scooted out of the house with the cat chasing him and spent the morning hiding in his kennel. Have I ever mentioned that DomTom rules our house?
"Why is that sorry excuse for a cat chasing that dog?" asked the tall fellow in uniform as he gazed out the kitchen window.
DomTom and Cowboy do not care for each other. The cat does not recognize the giant squid as the alpha male in our home and the giant squid does not understand how I can love a creature he generally refers to as "a waste of fur." Tsk.
Meanwhile, all the pups "heel" fairly well now though they need a lot more practice. All "sit" most of the time. Only the Labs "stay" but all "come" when called. Good progress for just a little over a week. I plan to write updates on each of them eventually. Look for those updates in "Dog Tales" on the right side of the blog.
Also on the right side are "Recipes." Formatting the recipes is a little time consuming; I'm trying to add a few each week. You "peach cobbler" and "cream cheese waffle" lovers will get yours, too. I'm wading through dozens of variations so I choose the best ones.
"You're posting peach cobbler instructions?" Mr. Peach wanted to know.
"Uh huh."
"You know... you should test each one of them before doing that," he smiled. He rubbed his tummy at the same time.
See Sar. See Sar roll her eyes.
SWAT!
Hear Sar laugh.
See Sar run.
See giant squid give chase.
See giant squid grab Sar and close bedroom door.
~Sar~
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Stuffed!
Cooked and baked for days and nights on end! At least, that's what it felt like. We had about forty folks over for Thanksgiving - four 20-pound turkeys, one 20-pound ham, all the trimmings and a *huge* dessert buffet. Naturally, after everyone was seated and Cowboy said grace, I started with dessert.
Everything was buffet style. There was a table for hot and cold appetizers and another for soups and salads.
While everyone headed there, I fiddled around at the dessert bar.
"SAR!!"
Jeez Louise! I cooked and baked everything. The least he could do is let me enjoy what I like most.
I quickly gobbled down a hunk of tiramisu and then joined the folks at the appetizer table. I "worked" the room, was the bestest hostess and said polite things. I even outgooded myself by thanking MsHairUpHerAss for bringing over her green bean casserole. I put a heaping helping on Cowboy's plate... I'm so good sometimes I can't believe it either. I hope Santa is taking notes.
~ sigh ~
The sight of all that "green" made me lightheaded. I hurried back to the dessert bar and ate a cream cheese brownie.
Whew! Felt much better after that.
"SAR!!"
Do you detect a pattern here?"
When it comes to Thanksgiving dinner, I can skip the turkey. I like the other stuff - stuffing! I made a few different kinds - mushroom, corn bread and oyster/mussels - 3 of my favorites. The stuffing, along with cranberry sauce (cranberries and apricots and chunks of pineapple,) sweet potato pie with lots of marshmallows, mashed potatoes that were heavy with butter and cream, and fresh hot biscuits. My kind of meal!
"There better be something green on your plate when I sit down again, imp," a giant Neanderthal muttered in my ear as he brought another turkey to the table to carve.
I put a pickle on my plate. When he glared, I added two green olives.
"These things are good," our very young friend, Patrick, said as he stuffed his mouth with green beans.
Ackkkk! I have not spent enough time with that boy! No doubt about it! The child has been deprived of the finer things in life... cheese burgers, onion rings, milkshakes, mud pie, tunnel of fudge cake... Next week I will torture him with Mac and cheese and Cracker Jacks and TWINKIES!
When I was distracted by a good looking recon marine who proposed marriage if I'd run away with him and bring my pots and pans... Cowboy did a recon maneuver of his own. He slipped a piece of honey baked ham onto my plate. I ate it without realizing it. Good thing I liked it. Tsk.
Having fulfilled my food obligations... I went back to the dessert buffet.
Can you say Heaven On Earth? ~ Swoooooon ~
I had a bite of everything. 'Twas glorious. I was so darn high on sugar I should have floated away. Instead, I was wired and so charged with energy, I bounced around my guests making sure they ate plenty - especially the green stuff.
I also slept really well that night.
The next morning, Cowboy made his traditional "after Thanksgiving" cream cheese waffles for folks who were invited to drop by. On Sunday, we'll have our annual "after Thanksgiving" brunch for the neighborhood. It used to be that was when we got rid of leftovers but we didn't have any leftovers... so as I write this, I have cake in the oven. Cowboy will make omelets; there will be bagels and smoked salmon and cream cheese and I'll make fresh apple and peach kuchen (like tarts) and this will be the official start of the holiday giving.
On another note:
The Animal Rescue rep called and asked if we could take a 5th dog... Cowboy said he had to ask me. I grabbed the phone and said yes.
SWAT!
"We should have discussed this first, imp!"
Yeah, yeah.
So, this afternoon... we are expecting the animal rescue van to drive up with...
**2 black Labs
**1 Giant Schnauzer
**1 Briard
**1 Bouvier des Flandres
...and a partridge in a pear tree.
The kennels are ready - fresh bedding and toys and I'm rushing to post this so I can go whip up a nice meal for them.
"Is there any peach pie left over?" Guess who wanted to know.
"I'll make some for you tomorrow."
"What's wrong with today?"
Sheesh! Is his timing off or what?
SWAT!
Trivia question: Who gets all testy when he's peach pie deprived?
~Sar~
Everything was buffet style. There was a table for hot and cold appetizers and another for soups and salads.
While everyone headed there, I fiddled around at the dessert bar.
"SAR!!"
Jeez Louise! I cooked and baked everything. The least he could do is let me enjoy what I like most.
I quickly gobbled down a hunk of tiramisu and then joined the folks at the appetizer table. I "worked" the room, was the bestest hostess and said polite things. I even outgooded myself by thanking MsHairUpHerAss for bringing over her green bean casserole. I put a heaping helping on Cowboy's plate... I'm so good sometimes I can't believe it either. I hope Santa is taking notes.
~ sigh ~
The sight of all that "green" made me lightheaded. I hurried back to the dessert bar and ate a cream cheese brownie.
Whew! Felt much better after that.
"SAR!!"
Do you detect a pattern here?"
When it comes to Thanksgiving dinner, I can skip the turkey. I like the other stuff - stuffing! I made a few different kinds - mushroom, corn bread and oyster/mussels - 3 of my favorites. The stuffing, along with cranberry sauce (cranberries and apricots and chunks of pineapple,) sweet potato pie with lots of marshmallows, mashed potatoes that were heavy with butter and cream, and fresh hot biscuits. My kind of meal!
"There better be something green on your plate when I sit down again, imp," a giant Neanderthal muttered in my ear as he brought another turkey to the table to carve.
I put a pickle on my plate. When he glared, I added two green olives.
"These things are good," our very young friend, Patrick, said as he stuffed his mouth with green beans.
Ackkkk! I have not spent enough time with that boy! No doubt about it! The child has been deprived of the finer things in life... cheese burgers, onion rings, milkshakes, mud pie, tunnel of fudge cake... Next week I will torture him with Mac and cheese and Cracker Jacks and TWINKIES!
When I was distracted by a good looking recon marine who proposed marriage if I'd run away with him and bring my pots and pans... Cowboy did a recon maneuver of his own. He slipped a piece of honey baked ham onto my plate. I ate it without realizing it. Good thing I liked it. Tsk.
Having fulfilled my food obligations... I went back to the dessert buffet.
Can you say Heaven On Earth? ~ Swoooooon ~
I had a bite of everything. 'Twas glorious. I was so darn high on sugar I should have floated away. Instead, I was wired and so charged with energy, I bounced around my guests making sure they ate plenty - especially the green stuff.
I also slept really well that night.
The next morning, Cowboy made his traditional "after Thanksgiving" cream cheese waffles for folks who were invited to drop by. On Sunday, we'll have our annual "after Thanksgiving" brunch for the neighborhood. It used to be that was when we got rid of leftovers but we didn't have any leftovers... so as I write this, I have cake in the oven. Cowboy will make omelets; there will be bagels and smoked salmon and cream cheese and I'll make fresh apple and peach kuchen (like tarts) and this will be the official start of the holiday giving.
On another note:
The Animal Rescue rep called and asked if we could take a 5th dog... Cowboy said he had to ask me. I grabbed the phone and said yes.
SWAT!
"We should have discussed this first, imp!"
Yeah, yeah.
So, this afternoon... we are expecting the animal rescue van to drive up with...
**2 black Labs
**1 Giant Schnauzer
**1 Briard
**1 Bouvier des Flandres
...and a partridge in a pear tree.
The kennels are ready - fresh bedding and toys and I'm rushing to post this so I can go whip up a nice meal for them.
"Is there any peach pie left over?" Guess who wanted to know.
"I'll make some for you tomorrow."
"What's wrong with today?"
Sheesh! Is his timing off or what?
SWAT!
Trivia question: Who gets all testy when he's peach pie deprived?
~Sar~
Friday, November 17, 2006
Home Again
It's astounding how quickly most of us acclimated to the computer and are addicted/dependent on it for our daily fix. Of course, some folks need this wonderful tool for their work, others to keep in touch with friends and family and the world at large. When we're offline for a while, it's a horrible period of withdrawal, especially when it's not our choice to be offline.
While we were away I was only able to access my messenger service - no email or anything else. Yep, email box is FULL. I sneaked onto the giant squid's laptop when he wasn't looking but it kept yelling "unauthorized Navy site!" Sheesh! Ya think he knew I was gonna sneak onto his laptop? The man is totally lacking in couth.
His lack of couth on this particular trip started at the airport. While we were waiting for our flight he muttered unintelligible noises about how heavy our duffel bag was... Well, of course it was heavy. I stuffed Butterfinger and Baby Ruth bars in it. Those are very hard to get in Pearl Harbor. I found out the grocery stores carry Twinkies but just in case my research data was out of date, I shipped a dozen boxes to friends so I'd have some when we arrived. Can't believe I had to bring my own Butterfingers. Tsk.
When I told the giant squid... he gave me "that look."
"But the bag will be so much lighter when we fly home," I smiled sweetly - something that is not easy to do when you realize that a descendant of Kubla Khan is flexing his hand as if his palm was itching...
Oy!
"It will be jammed packed with the stuff you buy," he announced and rubbed his palm on his thigh.
Double Oy!
"No, it won't," I assured him and dug into the bag for a Butterfinger bar to fortify myself from any further discussion.
"You're not shopping when we get to Oahu?" he asked with a look of profound shock on his handsome face.
"Of course, I'm shopping. But I'll have everything shipped home."
This may not have been my best answer.
The "look" turned into a frown. Both of his brows arched. He rubbed BOTH hands together.
I dug into the duffel and grabbed 3 more Butterfinger bars.
The ceremonies aboard the USS Arizona were both bittersweet and poignant. The Naval officers were in dress blues; the ladies in dresses, hats and gloves. It was a special occasion and the wall of memory plaques humbled me. I know our Veteran's Day was also a Day of Remembrance in other countries as well. Regardless of which country they serve, we owe the warriors who fought to preserve our freedoms a debt that cannot be repaid.
We stayed with friends who are billeted on Oahu. They have a house on the beach and Cowboy and I jogged in the early morning sun. Weather was lovely; chilly in the early hours but great for a morning run. We stayed on our time so when it was 6 a.m. there, our body clocks registered 9 a.m. A couple of times I stripped out of my jogging clothes...
"What the hell are you doing?" Guess who yelled that!
"It's warm. Got too many clothes on. I was wearing a bikini under the sweats.
"Gonna get your tush warmed, too!" Same Neanderthal yelled that warning.
"Yeah, yeah. You have to catch me first!"
I took off like a bat out of Hell.
HE took off after me like a surface-to-air missile.
Swats... then stuff... ensued.
We can NEVER go back to that particular stretch of beach again.
"Was that behavior unbecoming an officer and a gentleman?" I asked when we were completely dressed and walking back to our room.
"You're my Lorelei," the giant squid laughed. "I was unable to resist your siren's song, not your tush, either. A jury of my peers - Naval officers - will understand that and excuse my behavior."
"What about the swats? Will they forgive that too?" I rubbed my butt to remind him he was an uncouthful being.
"We use to flog miscreants in the Navy," he told me.
"I'm not in the Navy," I protested.
"Thank God for that!" he muttered and gave me another swat.
Just for that, I'm loading up that duffel bag with Hawaiian rocks!
~Sar~
P.S. Got home. Pups smooched me and slobbered on the giant squid. Cats came running, rubbed up against me, yawned, and went back to sleep. (The squid is invisible to them. LOL!)
While we were away I was only able to access my messenger service - no email or anything else. Yep, email box is FULL. I sneaked onto the giant squid's laptop when he wasn't looking but it kept yelling "unauthorized Navy site!" Sheesh! Ya think he knew I was gonna sneak onto his laptop? The man is totally lacking in couth.
His lack of couth on this particular trip started at the airport. While we were waiting for our flight he muttered unintelligible noises about how heavy our duffel bag was... Well, of course it was heavy. I stuffed Butterfinger and Baby Ruth bars in it. Those are very hard to get in Pearl Harbor. I found out the grocery stores carry Twinkies but just in case my research data was out of date, I shipped a dozen boxes to friends so I'd have some when we arrived. Can't believe I had to bring my own Butterfingers. Tsk.
When I told the giant squid... he gave me "that look."
"But the bag will be so much lighter when we fly home," I smiled sweetly - something that is not easy to do when you realize that a descendant of Kubla Khan is flexing his hand as if his palm was itching...
Oy!
"It will be jammed packed with the stuff you buy," he announced and rubbed his palm on his thigh.
Double Oy!
"No, it won't," I assured him and dug into the bag for a Butterfinger bar to fortify myself from any further discussion.
"You're not shopping when we get to Oahu?" he asked with a look of profound shock on his handsome face.
"Of course, I'm shopping. But I'll have everything shipped home."
This may not have been my best answer.
The "look" turned into a frown. Both of his brows arched. He rubbed BOTH hands together.
I dug into the duffel and grabbed 3 more Butterfinger bars.
The ceremonies aboard the USS Arizona were both bittersweet and poignant. The Naval officers were in dress blues; the ladies in dresses, hats and gloves. It was a special occasion and the wall of memory plaques humbled me. I know our Veteran's Day was also a Day of Remembrance in other countries as well. Regardless of which country they serve, we owe the warriors who fought to preserve our freedoms a debt that cannot be repaid.
We stayed with friends who are billeted on Oahu. They have a house on the beach and Cowboy and I jogged in the early morning sun. Weather was lovely; chilly in the early hours but great for a morning run. We stayed on our time so when it was 6 a.m. there, our body clocks registered 9 a.m. A couple of times I stripped out of my jogging clothes...
"What the hell are you doing?" Guess who yelled that!
"It's warm. Got too many clothes on. I was wearing a bikini under the sweats.
"Gonna get your tush warmed, too!" Same Neanderthal yelled that warning.
"Yeah, yeah. You have to catch me first!"
I took off like a bat out of Hell.
HE took off after me like a surface-to-air missile.
Swats... then stuff... ensued.
We can NEVER go back to that particular stretch of beach again.
"Was that behavior unbecoming an officer and a gentleman?" I asked when we were completely dressed and walking back to our room.
"You're my Lorelei," the giant squid laughed. "I was unable to resist your siren's song, not your tush, either. A jury of my peers - Naval officers - will understand that and excuse my behavior."
"What about the swats? Will they forgive that too?" I rubbed my butt to remind him he was an uncouthful being.
"We use to flog miscreants in the Navy," he told me.
"I'm not in the Navy," I protested.
"Thank God for that!" he muttered and gave me another swat.
Just for that, I'm loading up that duffel bag with Hawaiian rocks!
~Sar~
P.S. Got home. Pups smooched me and slobbered on the giant squid. Cats came running, rubbed up against me, yawned, and went back to sleep. (The squid is invisible to them. LOL!)
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Bustin' My Buttons!
Got a call from the local animal rescue society. Currently, we have empty kennels and they asked if we'd foster four large breed dogs. Two are oversized black Labs - 120+ lbs. Another is a giant Schnauzer and the fourth is a Briard. The Schnauzer is a hundred-pounder and the Briard around 85-90 lbs.
The UPSIDE! They want me to train the dogs in obedience, including advanced commands AND in general assistance. I'm over the moon about this! All four dogs are slated to go to four vets back from the Iraqi war and in need of assistance/companion dogs. I couldn't be happier than to provide our veteran warriors with animals that will make their lives easier and to be able to give four dogs rescued from possible euthanasia a second chance to live productive lives in good homes is a huge bonus.
Okay, off my soapbox. We'll be getting the dogs in about 2-3 weeks.
"You sure you want to do this at this time of year?" the giant Neanderthal playing devil's advocate asked.
I saw no reason to get into a long discussion about something I was determined to do so I sat on his lap and shut him up by stuffing heaping spoons full of peach cobbler in his mouth. (I froze some for when peaches went out of season.)
"You're extra busy these days cooking and baking for the upcoming holidays," he continued between bites.
Tsk. Obviously I didn't stuff his mouth fast enough.
SWAT!
Double tsk.
"And what about the downside to training these breeds? None of them are exactly docile."
Oh Ye Of Little Faith!
Black Labs are a whole different kind of retriever from Goldens. Goldens live to please you. Black Labs live to outwit you. They are extraordinarily bright, STUBBORN, and have a hugely wicked sense of humor. They steal things. They wag their tails while listening to you but in fact, they are really plotting what they're doing next. If you bring them into the house, they wait until you're asleep. Then they drink all the beer and watch porn all night.
I like a challenge and let's face it, I'm not crazy about beer or porn but when my mind is made up, I can be more stubborn than a black Lab.
"That's for sure," the giant squid says.
Oh sure. Now he agrees with me. Tsk.
The only Giant Schnauzers I've met are police dogs that patrol the perimeter of the navy base at night. Some are attack-trained and assist the military police if necessary. Schnauzers are also bright animals and easily trained as long as they know who the alpha is. I'm not concerned about training this one. It's like working with 100 lbs. of steel wool.
The Briard: Oh boy! Bright and crafty! You have to outwit this one and give it LOTS of praise and attention. It also responds well to treats. Well... that's what I do every day to keep Cowboy in line so this shouldn't be anything new.
SWAT!
"The truth hurts, huh?"
SWAT! SWAT!
Laughing... but softly.
We're off to Hawaii in a couple of days. The giant squid has been invited to attend the Veterans' Day ceremony aboard the USS Arizona. It's an honor to be invited and we're excited about attending. We have friends in Pearl Harbor and elsewhere on Oahu so we expect to be there about a week. When we get back, the holiday planning and baking et al will be in full swing.
We have a few social obligations already marked on the calendar. When you live with a giant squid, those things happen. Naturally, I thought this would be a wonderful opportunity to spruce up my wardrobe so I've been doing that, too. So far, the credit card company hasn't called to yell "fraud" or "cease fire" or whatever other nonsense they like to exclaim when I forge his signature...
"You forged my signature?!?"
"Of course not, dear. I wouldn't dream of it."
~Sar~
The UPSIDE! They want me to train the dogs in obedience, including advanced commands AND in general assistance. I'm over the moon about this! All four dogs are slated to go to four vets back from the Iraqi war and in need of assistance/companion dogs. I couldn't be happier than to provide our veteran warriors with animals that will make their lives easier and to be able to give four dogs rescued from possible euthanasia a second chance to live productive lives in good homes is a huge bonus.
Okay, off my soapbox. We'll be getting the dogs in about 2-3 weeks.
"You sure you want to do this at this time of year?" the giant Neanderthal playing devil's advocate asked.
I saw no reason to get into a long discussion about something I was determined to do so I sat on his lap and shut him up by stuffing heaping spoons full of peach cobbler in his mouth. (I froze some for when peaches went out of season.)
"You're extra busy these days cooking and baking for the upcoming holidays," he continued between bites.
Tsk. Obviously I didn't stuff his mouth fast enough.
SWAT!
Double tsk.
"And what about the downside to training these breeds? None of them are exactly docile."
Oh Ye Of Little Faith!
Black Labs are a whole different kind of retriever from Goldens. Goldens live to please you. Black Labs live to outwit you. They are extraordinarily bright, STUBBORN, and have a hugely wicked sense of humor. They steal things. They wag their tails while listening to you but in fact, they are really plotting what they're doing next. If you bring them into the house, they wait until you're asleep. Then they drink all the beer and watch porn all night.
I like a challenge and let's face it, I'm not crazy about beer or porn but when my mind is made up, I can be more stubborn than a black Lab.
"That's for sure," the giant squid says.
Oh sure. Now he agrees with me. Tsk.
The only Giant Schnauzers I've met are police dogs that patrol the perimeter of the navy base at night. Some are attack-trained and assist the military police if necessary. Schnauzers are also bright animals and easily trained as long as they know who the alpha is. I'm not concerned about training this one. It's like working with 100 lbs. of steel wool.
The Briard: Oh boy! Bright and crafty! You have to outwit this one and give it LOTS of praise and attention. It also responds well to treats. Well... that's what I do every day to keep Cowboy in line so this shouldn't be anything new.
SWAT!
"The truth hurts, huh?"
SWAT! SWAT!
Laughing... but softly.
We're off to Hawaii in a couple of days. The giant squid has been invited to attend the Veterans' Day ceremony aboard the USS Arizona. It's an honor to be invited and we're excited about attending. We have friends in Pearl Harbor and elsewhere on Oahu so we expect to be there about a week. When we get back, the holiday planning and baking et al will be in full swing.
We have a few social obligations already marked on the calendar. When you live with a giant squid, those things happen. Naturally, I thought this would be a wonderful opportunity to spruce up my wardrobe so I've been doing that, too. So far, the credit card company hasn't called to yell "fraud" or "cease fire" or whatever other nonsense they like to exclaim when I forge his signature...
"You forged my signature?!?"
"Of course not, dear. I wouldn't dream of it."
~Sar~
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