In the interest of not putting a strain on my wrist and saving time, I will be abbreviating some cusswords today. Trust me–it’s not because I feel bad about using foul language.
It’s been awhile since I’ve been able to complain–I mean, really complain–about our family pets. But something has happened over the weekend that’s sure to fill me full of inspiration for weeks and months to come.
We adopted a dog. (Read also: Not the smartest thing we’ve ever done.)
Yes. Partly to cement our place in heaven, but mostly because we’re suckers, we took in a stray that had been roaming the neighborhood for the past several weeks. It had been casing our house and zeroing in on our family, and Friday evening, it came in for the kill–literally. It hunted around in our blackberry bushes for a couple minutes and came out with 2 rats, just for us–nice, no? Caleb and I pet it. We scratched its ears. It rolled over. I told it to sit, and it sat. I told him to shake, and he shook. He knew how to stay, how to fetch, and he got along so well with Darcy and Smokey. He was very gentle with Mia. Caleb and I looked at each other.
"No," he said.
"Fuck no," I said.
And we promptly went our separate ways–he, to fill a bucket of cool water for the dog to drink, and I, to get the dog a little bowl of food. We just didn’t feel right sending him on his way with an empty stomach. We also didn’t feel right sending him on his way without a little…bath. So we bathed him. And checked him for ticks. And gave him a big honkin’ bone to chew. And pet him some more.
And let him inside the house.
And allowed Mia to name him.
GD MF DA dog. As if we don’t have enough problems. We certainly can’t afford another dog; we can’t really afford the dogs we have. Hell, we can’t even afford to keep ourselves liquored up enough to deal with a new dog. Shit shit shit shit shit. Shit. There’s no turning back now.
He’s cute. Noah is cute. He’s gotta be around a year or a year and a half old, and you can tell he’s been someone’s pet before. My guess is that his previous owners couldn’t keep him for whatever reason, and so they dropped him off in our gated, family-friendly neighborhood. They then snuck into our home and put crushed-up pushover pills in our Cheerios. Our friends think he might be part Short-hair Pointer. He looks very similar to Darcy, only skinnier, but give it time–we’ll have him nice and fat within 2 weeks, tops.
Oh, speaking of my wrist, (I did speak of my wrist, remember?) I have a CYST on it–a wrist cyst! I googled it and I’m pretty sure I’m not dying of hand-cancer or anything. Caleb thought it would be fun to squeeze the hell out of it, which didn’t feel all that good, and it came back the next day anyway. It doesn’t hurt but it does look pretty freaky.
I’ve been flipping through the TV today and I’ve come to several conclusions:
- I tried to watch "What Not to Wear" again. Stacey and Clinton are still unneccessarily mean, and I still hate this show.
- The Duggars are CREEPY. Times 17. Or 18. How many effing kids do they have again?
- Yo Gabba Gabba is getting increasingly awesome. Don’t bite your friends.
- Grown men that get 13-year-old girls pregnant should be straight-up shot. You can learn about these men on Montel.
- Come to think of it, so should child molesters and child pornographers. You can learn about them on Maury.
- Is it just me, or is it "All Obama, All The Time" on, oh, everything?
- Shouldn’t Christians be excited about the possibility of Obama being the Anti-Christ? Just a thought.
- Giada makes me feel like cooking. My family wishes she would just go away.
- No matter how many times I’ve seen it, I will always watch "The Wedding Singer" if it’s on.
- I simply must have Mighty Putty.