Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Question of the Day:

Why is it that when pets have an instant urge to vomit or have diarrhea, they will run to the 10% carpeted area of a home rather than the 90% tiled area?

Perplexing, isn't it?

Tuesday, February 06, 2007


I know I promised pictures of the new addition to our family, but I haven't had the patience to figure out our new camera (plus the fact that I can't find the USB cord for it). So, no pictures for now.

After braving the ER on Sunday, Scout decided that he wanted to go to the Humane Society. Now, I'm never in objection of visiting or rescuing unwanted dogs, but Scout has always been a little hesitant to allow our pack of canines to continue growing. Well, apparently he got a wild hair and decided he needed a new dog (in addition to the three that we have and the new cat we just adopted last month).

Still convinced that Scout was playing an April Fools joke on me, I helped him pick out a beautiful female weimereiner. We walked her, talked to her, and started thinking that maybe this was the dog we would take home. We put her pack in her kennel, promising her we'd be back in a few minutes. When we went to the front office to do the paperwork, the lady who worked there told us we couldn't have her because she was heart worm positive - we'd have to wait about two months to pick her up. I didn't have the heart to go back in and say goodbye to her. She really didn't want to go back in that kennel.

Our disappointment was suddenly distracted by four pitbull-mixed puppies. Scout has recently started talking about pitbulls because they are so beautiful and naturally strong. I told him that this particular breed typically has too much baggage for me to deal with (especially with other animals in the house), and if he wanted one, it would be a puppy or a female - and it would be rescued, not purchased by a breeder or at a pet store.

The story of the puppies (and the mother) was disturbing, although I have to say not as disturbing as some I've heard. Have I said before how much it outrages me that people can be so cruel?

Anyway, we picked out a white pup with a blond eye patch, brought her home, and named her Daisy. She really is quite cute, although I told Scout I would never have puppies again. Ever. That lasted a little over a year.

Daisy now as a pink leather collar with spikes (in full pitbull style, of course).

So now I'm going to take the opportunity to make a plea. First, what I'm about to say might make those of you that have purchased a purebred dog feel like I'm targeting you - I'm not. Dogs are bred for certain characteristics, and I can certainly respect wanting a particular breed because of personality, demeanor, or physical attributes. Having said that, if you are thinking about getting a dog, please visit your local pound or Humane Society first. They have all types of breeds, as well as mixed breeds for those that may not care. Like I mentioned, we saw a weimereiner, pitbulls, blue heelers, dachshunds, saint bernards, labradors, etc. Not only can you get a dog (or a cat) that is purebred, you can fix what the animal's previous owner fucked up, and you don't have to pay 17 million dollars for him or her either.

Just in this particular Humane Society alone, there are about 90 unwanted dogs, and about the same number of cats. Imagine how many unwanted animals there are around the country. If I could rescue them all, I seriously would. But in the real world (where I sometimes live), I can't bring all unwanted pets home. So I need your help. Just consider it next time you want a pet.

Sunday, February 04, 2007

Sty In My Eye

I spent a good part of my day in the emergency room.

Why, you ask? I had a double-sty. INSIDE.My.Freakin'.Eye. And by the way, sty is just a really nice way of saying: Huge Freakin' Zit On One's Eyelid.

After two hours of listening to screaming children and being reasonably sure that my leather Fossil bag would have been heaved on had I not promptly moved it, a doctor told me she could relieve my painful, itchy eye ailment by popping the sty with a scalpel. Believe it or not, it sounded less torturous than letting the damn thing pop on its own.

So I called Scout back to the makeshift "Emergency Room" to hold my hand, which was really just a hallway with folding chairs filled with other patients. As I laid my head back to rest it on the wall, a medic held me down and the doctor proceeded to do what felt like plucking my eyeball out with a spoon. Dang, it hurt.

So now my eye is just a little swollen, but it feels much better.

And Scout decided that he needed another dog today. But that's a whole different post. I'll blog about it when I can post some pictures.