Igor.... It LIVES!

The sad thing is, this blog is probably an accurate depiction of my life.

Moving on, because I've been silent too long and I have things to say! 

Thank the springtime rain. The shift in weather seems to have awakened my deeper sense of the world. Or something. 

Firstly, I stumbled one step deeper into that dark, cavernous realm called "adulthood". I'm pretty sure I stubbed my toe, and what on earth is that dripping sound? Am I the only one who hears something very large breathing?

My Monday last week started off like this. Yes, that is self-inflicted. Thankfully I'm able to keep the greater life lessons contained to my work place so I at least have someone around to help me pick up the pieces. 

Long story short (because frankly it's embarrassing) I swallowed my tears and replaced the impaled tire with my donut, arranged for and paid to have the tire replaced, and, with the help of a new jack and tire iron, replaced the tire. 

All this with only a little muscle and prodding from my parents. Despite the pain to my pride and my savings account, I'm proud of how I handled myself. (Also, one of my co-workers said I got farther by myself than his wife would have and, coming from him, that's a true compliment.)

2) We have 30-odd eggs about to hatch. 

Item three: there's also a guinea pig now (not mine). No pictures, though. Chubs is extremely shy. We now have poultry (too many to count), canines, reptiles, rodents, and fish. All we need is a house bird and a pony and we will be complete. (Mom also wants goats. We're holding her at bay for now, but no promises. (We don't even like goat milk.)) Someone may try to add felines to that list. I'm dubious of the wisdom of that plan. 

     3.5 - we are also now the hosts of our own hoarde of little cannibals. 

Do not be fooled by their fluffiness. Do heed the warnings of the red light. These are meat birds. Their sole purpose in life is to grow big and fat really quickly and then...! *mimes slicing throat* This picture is a little old and they're already well on their way to the dinosaur stage. They eat, they sleep, they drink, they eat, and if their food isn't constantly full they will turn on your...or each other. If regular chickens are the sharks of bird-kind, these are piranhas. 

Four, as most of you know, is that I have discovered a new artistic outlet which has lasted longer than a month: painting on canvas. Mostly words, because I love those, but a few are just awesome patterns. 

It's all very trial-and-error but I'm catching on quickly. Now master calligraphy.... (More pictures on my Instagram account [the_magicmirror] , because they be many.)

And speaking of social media and the like, (5) I broke down and joined Pintrest. (That's how I broke into the canvas gig.) No, I will not share. The last thing I need is encouragement. Next up: Etsy!

VI. I have managed to sustain a houseplant for more than a month! 

It got a little withered at one point but is surprisingly resilient and perked back up overnight with some water. I looked for one labeled "low diffused light" and "light watering". That is the key. 

7) I haven't washed my hair since Monday. Be jealous. I have rediscovered dry shampoo, and it feels a little like cheating, but my temples get greasy. (You're welcome for the random fact you probably never wanted to know.)

Ocho - my favorite word at the moment is "embrace". Think about it: not only does it mean acceptance and open arms; but is also means safety, arms wrapped tightly. It's a warm hiding place against the world; it's a place of rest; it's a promise of support. *pulls out canvas* plus, it rolls rather nicely off the tongue. 

That really is all I have for now. The goal was to bring everyone up to speed. Can't say as I covered everything, but it's the first step that's always the messiest. I wanted to get over that one quickly. 

Full Day

Today has been a long, though wonderful, day.

It kind of started around 4:30 this morning when I woke to Sasha licking my elbow. Still not sure what that was about. I actually woke up around 7:30 and was downstairs in time to say good-bye to Dad. Then came a few quiet hours shuffling around the house before Mom, Wes, and I headed out to run errands. We dropped my car off to get some work done, then went to a couple stores, a rummage sale, and a restore before picking up my car. We came home with a stove, a mattress for Wes, a kiddie pool (for the ducks), and some books and clothes for me (old hardback copies of Charlotte's Webb and Black Beauty). After unloading, Mom and Wes went back out and picked up a new bed for him from some friends.

The chicks and ducks were put outside for the day. They didn't wander very much, but they really enjoyed it once they got used to it. I found that the best way to get an accurate head count is to count by breed: "One Bantum, one Brahma, two Leghorns, four Americaunas, etc."

Then Wes got my bow (which I got a couple Christmases ago) and set up a make-shift target along the house. Turns out I can't handle a bow with a draw weight of 40 pounds. But I didn't break anything and didn't hurt myself = success. I was given instructions to practice drawing, starting at 10 reps a day, and build up my muscles (and I actually do have muscles now that I've graduated from home-bound homeschooler to working single).

It being the first truly nice day in the last couple of weeks, I decided I should take Sasha for a walk. I haven't been to the park yet, though Mom and the girls have gone a number of times. Heather and Hershey came along with us.

I was wearing a work-out tank and yoga pants. And was warm.

We didn't walk long. Heather suggested a jog, but that lasted no time at all before I started cramping up. And Sasha has two speeds: waddle or galumph. But it was fun. And, for the first time this year, I turned on the air conditioning in my car. (I'm so glad I have a car with AC!)

Home to cleaning, reorganizing, and playing with the fowl. And I managed to assemble a little shelf for our DVD's almost all by myself. I let Mom handle the nailing at the end. But yay me!

Then a friend stopped by so she, Heather, and I could run through a practice for a rather impromptu special for tomorrow. We've sung the song before, though it was a while ago. We had a recording of the music from the pianist at church, and we tried practicing with it playing on Dad's computer. However, the speakers weren't nearly loud enough, so we ended up moving to the friend's car to practice. Whatever works, right?

Around the same time, Allenna returned home from a couple days with some friends, bringing yard sale loot with her.

More cleaning, alphabetizing DVD's (how long with that last?), supper, and reorganizing. The fowl are now in the garage. And boy was it fun rounding them up! No wonder chicken chasing* is a game in some rodeos! The Polish especially, though some of the smallest, are crazy quick. And turns out possibly 5 of our 6 Buffs from the second group of Buffs are roosters. Yay.

I was kind of hoping to do nothing today (the last few days have been kind of stressful, for some reason) but it turns out this sort of activity was just what I needed. Maybe it was all the fresh air and going barefoot? All in all, a beautiful, enjoyable day.

Mom's been working in the dining room for the last week (or few weeks) painting, including the table. Now things are finally back to some order, and it's looking amazing. I love having a separate, good-sized dining room!

Well, I think Dad got a movie, so I'm signing off.

 

*Look! The chicken with the blue lei in that picture is a Polish!

Rainy Day

I think nearly everyone has those days where all they want to do is sit inside, out of the weather, and worry about nothing but being comfortable. Today was one of those days for me. I'm not even out of my pajamas. Contrary to popular belief and stereotypes, that really isn't normal for me.

We're in the middle of rain and thunderstorms 'round here. Prediction: historic, possibly record-breaking flooding. Perhaps if we lived in town, near the flood plain, I'd believe it. Out here, we're still just a little damp. Good thing, too, because on of my rain boots has a leak.

So today is my day off. I'm not even babysitting tonight on account of the weather. Last night I stayed up late watching Avengers with part of the family, determined to relax for a little today (as if my job is so stressful and life is too tough to deal with). Rainy days stuck at home mean cups of tea, good books, fuzzy blankets, sad music, and/or the like. I'm out of good books at the moment and didn't think of tea until afterward. I curled up in the living room under Mom's amazing sweatshirt blanket (it's literally a big blanket made out of fuzzy sweatshirt material) and turned on Netflix. Commence a couple hours of mindless entertainment. And fighting with Hershey to keep him off the couch. It rained off and on. Sasha had a showdown with the thunder. (I'm trying to decide if she'd make a good guard dog or a bad one.) All in all, a dreary, gray day. Thankfully it's warmer than before and not so windy.

Yes, I feel guilty about it now. I did tend to the dogs and keep an eye on the poultry, but that's as far as my productivity went. The dishes sat waiting, the floor needed vaccuming, and I know I could had put at least an hour to use trying to write or edit or something. Even reading would have been better. But I didn't care. I watched an episode of White Collar, an episode of that Canadian show about the fictional emergency response unit, some BBC movie, and more junk. Now Mom and the girls are home from co-op and it's time to return to the real world. Sigh.

Or maybe not. Mom came home with junk food. And guacamole. Back to the couch I go!

Guys. I only have five paragraphs. What's with that?

Oh, well. Day Three! And Mom picked a cheesy movie.

The Chicks have Arrived

It's old news to a lot of you, but we have chickens!

Yes. Quite against the better judgment of the reasonable side of my brain, I'm excited. And I have succumbed to the adorableness of chicks.

And half of them already have names. Even the hypothetical ones we hope to get.

They arrived on Saturday. Mom went to pick them up. (She only wanted a few to start and couldn't order less than 25.) Half a dozen red something-or-other pullets and two banties (which could be either hens or roosters). We got them all settled and then just stared at them for a while, laughing and "oooh"ing. They all have this funny habbit of melting when they go to sleep. The first time it happened, I thought one of them had died. There she was, sprawled out on the bottom of the box, head cocked at an odd angle. One poke and she was up, and we all laughed some more.

The banties are about half the size of the red ones, and the smaller of the two has been picked on and practically trampled relentlessly. When I went to work Saturday night, I was sure I would come home to find him dead (yes, we call that one "he"), because he'd been very unsteady and listless most of the time. He's still alive, though. However, he's definitely the "runt", if chickens have those.

The red ones could be Buff Orpingtons, Rhode Island Reds, or New Hampshire Reds. If their coloring now is any way to tell, we might have one or two of each. Most have dark reddish backs and heads, and one has defined red stripes on her head and the sides of her back. One is a light creamy color without much red at all. Since Buffs are the lightest of the three types, I think the last one is a Buff. Therefore, I called her Lobelia.

Yes. I know. But I couldn't help it.

We all (indeed, everyone in the family including the dogs and, unfortunately, the cat) have spent a lot of time with the chicks. There's almost constantly someone peeking in to make sure the runt is still alive, and to say "hello" to the others. And, of course, to pick them up and play with them. Dad and I have even held one for Sasha to look at. She's been real gentle about the whole thing, sitting still with just her tongue moving (and it never stops moving). "Chicks are friends, not food."
Only once has any of the chicks willingly got into our hands, and that was for Heather. The rest of the time, they either cower or flap their wings and try to jump the three feet back to their box.

Mom has to keep reminding us that chickens aren't the brightest. I'm reminded of finding salamanders in Vermont when I was younger, and of how they kept walking when you picked them up, right off your hand.

Running with the idea that the banty runt is going to be a rooster, I dubbed him Euroclydon (or "Rocky").

I couldn't help myself. Wes asked, "What kind of dinosaur is that?" It's actually the storm that blew Paul's ship off course. (Call me a dork, but it's a cool name.) I've been wanting to use it as a name for a while now. I'd prefer to attach it to a dragon, but those are kind of hard to come by, and dogs stop responding when the word is longer than two syllables, so chicken it is. (Watch. "Rocky" is going to be a hen, along with all the rest.)

Those are only two I've named. Allenna named the striped one, but I can't remember what, and Heather has only named her hypothetical silky. It will be Ginger.
They'll probably be in the house for a month and a half at least, based on how the weather has been all March. By then, I think the novelty will have worn off and we'll be playing with them out of necessity. Mom's chiropractor (one of her leading sources on all things chickens, if you can believe it) said when she had chicks she would play with them, letting them roam around her when she sat down and talking to them, and they were some of the nicest chickens she'd ever heard of. So that's our mission.
Mom thinks the non-Buffs among them might corrupt the Buffs, who are supposed to be docile and friendly as a rule. Probably that idea that good in the company of bad tends to turn bad, not turn bad to good, or something. (The illustration of one bad apple in a bunch of good ones.) It probably has something to do with how generally good-natured Hershey couldn't teach Sasha manners.
Comparing pictures of chicks to mature chickens, it's obvious their coloring can change drastically. I don't know if we'll be able to keep these guys straight very soon.
This whole "naming the chickens" thing has come to prove to me that if a person insists on something long enough, odds are everyone else might decide they're willing to accept it (within reason). It only took around 40 hours of me calling the light-colored chick Lobelia for the rest of the family to play along. Now to introduce them to Roisin....

There's something wrong with my dog. (Also, my impending birthday.)

I should be cleaning my room, packing for the retreat, washing some very dirty pots and pans, and a load of other things, but no. I'm here instead.

Who's complaining?

Not I.

Actually, I'm currently trying to will away one of those horrid headaches which somehow affect the stomach. (I call it a migraine, but considering how some friends experience migraines, it seems a little rude and unfair to do so.) And also, for some reason, eating "Cap'n Crunch's Oops! All Berries" cereal in hopes that food will force out the headache. Don't ask.

I should also be writing furiously because tomorrow is my birthday and - oh, look! - it's been 16 months and counting since I started that *cough* book and I still have six or seven chapters, 20,000 words, until completion and  two weeks ago I thought I could get it done by my birthday. (16 months to write 70,000 words. What is wrong with me?)

And all I want to do is talk about my dog.

Last day as an 18-year-old. How creepy/weird/unnerving is that?!

Around lunchtime tomorrow, I will have been alive for 19 whole stinkin' years. (And what boggles the brain is taking into account that I'll be stepping into my twentieth year in existence.)

I was once again bemoaning the trials of growing up the other day. Used to be, my biggest dream was owning a horse. But, growing up and all, I've had to learn some hard lessons about life: horses cost money, and require space in which to house and exercise them, and the average American is hard-pressed as it is to make money enough to sustain themselves and a 50-pound puppy when the weather turns to snow and their place of employment caters to people who prefer sunshine to entice their appetite, thus cutting short said average person's expected weekly hours.

Not that I'm bitter.

Back on the "Why growing up is kind of emotionally painful" subject:

When you're a kid, you haven't lived long enough to discover the limitations and expectations and unfortunate truths about life. It's all open and full of possibilities. Anything can happen. And then, like an internet test to judge which occupation is best suited for you, the longer you continue, the more things get whittled down, and suddenly you can't incorporate plants and storytelling into one lifestyle. And one day, you're forced to choose which dreams to pursue and which to let free, only to be recalled when you're telling your kids, "Once, I used to want to...."

But life is also exciting, because sometimes things happen far different than you could ever have imagined, and in some ways the unexpectedness is a pleasant surprise.

Yes, my brain is stuck on surprises because people keep suggesting that that's what I'll be getting lots of for my birthday. Or maybe I'm just reading into all of my recent conversations way too much?

True, I've never been truly surprised for my birthday (Mom likes lists so she has some idea what we would like so we don't get disappointed or she doesn't guess way off or something) but I've come to learn that I don't really like my friends' idea of "surprises". (If you're reading this, Jordan Dear, I'm thinking specifically of you, and in the case of Christmas, I shouldn't have been surprised. But I felt scandalized. Just so you know.)

I was supposed to be talking about my dog.

Well....

Last week, she went to the vet for her skin issues. Bye-bye paycheck.

But no. First, she came to church with us. Because Mom had to take her to the vet so I had to take over Mom's co-op class for the day, and Mom wasn't going to drop us off and then go back home for the mongrel.

And I have decided that, as far as my dog ownership goes, I am a colossal failure. (I was doing to go with "abysmal", but....)

We were the first ones there. Fine. Sasha ran and played and chased and wagged her tail.

People.

Good heavens, people.

My dog turned into a monster.

I was on the verge of tears.

My habit of appologizing profusely when I'm upset or embarassed came out in full force.

Mom left early, dragging the snarling dingo behind her.

And the same display of attitude was presented at the vet.

I will probably never be able to convince my dog that it's okay for me to live with other people, should I ever move out and get a roommate (or get married...).

The vet said it was probably overstimulation or something (new place, lots of new people) and misery from an apparent yeast infection. And I felt like even more of a failure.

Why does my dog have to be bipolar?

I mean, at home, she's generally...well, not quiet, not sweet, but not a monster either. Just weird. But that's her normal. She's almost endearing for it.

Or she has us all deceived.

But she doesn't snarl and snap unless you try to use her for a foot rest. And she loves being petted and doted upon and talked to. She loves playing chase and abusing her teddy bear.

And tomorrow four boys will be arriving to spend the weekend and my darling idiot will be moved to another room while I, her mistress, will abandon her.

I have a very bad feeling about this. Downright foreboding.

So I didn't take my dog to training classes for socialization, and now.... She's hopeless. Good-bye, loving family dog who's so easy going and friendly to everyone and the picture-perfect American household.

And good-bye to "Oops! All Berries". My headache is still present and accounted for.

So the dogs have been begging for more time outside since the weather has changed. We don't have any sort of fense, invisible or otherwise, so I had to cave and get a run. (Even though now we're getting a proper fence soon, which means I wasted $20.) I put Sasha outside on it about 20 muinutes ago.

Apparently she needs me to hold her...paw when she's outside.

I snapped on the lead, took off the leash, and turned back for the door. Sasha didn't move. She just looked at me, waiting, expecting me to pace beside her while she did her business and then frolicked along getting all tangled.

I told her, "Too bad," and went inside.

I've checked on her three times.

She hasn't moved.

She has remained sitting at the end of the lead, watching the door and looked all excited when I appear.

How can this dependant little creature turn into such a horror?

What have I done?

Or is it, What haven't I done?

Well, there. I posted on my last day as 18. Mission accomplished.

How I Run Errands (and don't manage my time properly)

I meant to post yesterday. Don't get me started with the excuses. In short, I lacked inspiration. However, I ran some errands before work yesterday and found my inspiration. Which means you won't get a rave about my new mint plant. Consider yourselves fortunate.

A little backstory of sorts (or is it a preface?):

I don't know if it's the new house, the season, or something else, but the dogs - especially Sasha - have had dry skin issues lately. Sasha has licked herself red in some areas. I found some comfry salve Mom bought at an Amish store a while ago and decided to try it on Sasha's stomach. (Of course, first I googled "can I use comfry salve on my dog".)

What does Sasha do (after I finally manage to get her on her back so I can rub the stuff on her)? Lick it. Seems she likes the flavor. That, or it's just another sign of my dog's overall general.... She doesn't think. She just puts stuff in her mouth for the sake of it.

You know that thing about dogs being like their owners?

Yeah.

Anyway! So I asked Mom if she thought some tea tree oil would help. From personal experience, the stuff is potent. I never actually had to taste any, but I'm sure I'm not the only one who's guessed a thing's flavor based on it's smell. That's half of how we get our sense of taste, anyway.

Turns out we didn't have any tea tree oil on hand, so I said I'd run by a local health food store on the way to work.

Another side note: I'm still practising good time management skills.

This health food store is on Main Street. Don't start imagining anything huge. The buisiness part of our Main Street is about four blocks of Mom 'n' Pop shops, bars, cafes, and the like, along with historic buildings like the courthouse and banks and human service buildings. Doesn't make for a good tourist attraction, but it adds to that "small town" feel the city for some reason seeks to maintain.

So the whole scheme of one-way streets always confuses me, especially when coming from the direction of our new house. I only had a vague idea of how to get where I was headed. I failed. Missed my turn, had to go three blocks to the correct one-way and do a big circle.

Then there were no angled parking spots on Main.

Parallel parking.

I haven't done it since my road test.

Sue me.

I wandered around for a couple blocks, almost turning the wrong way on a one-way and finally finding an empty parallel spot on a slight hill very near my destination.

Yet another side note: if anyone decided to trail me, they might decide I am dangerous. Either to them or to myself, I can't say. When I get turned around, I usually go out of my way to set myself right. I won't guarantee it's...the best method.

I totally blanked on how to parallel park. I started out fine, but somehow became self-concious (I was absolutely sure the driver parking the SUV across the street was watching and laughing) and went too fast. Commence repeated backing up, cranking the wheel, and pulling forward. Bother.

Trying to shake off that blond episode, I made my way to the health food store. One expensive bottle of tea tree oil and some local honey later, my mission was accomplished. Now to Wal-Mart!

Do you ever watch people in passing vehicles? (Maybe it's the fact that I do this that makes me so self-concious?) I was at a stop light right after pulling out of my parking spot. The car across the intersection had their lef turn signal on. There was a woman driving and a man in the passenger seat. The man said something, gesturing to their right, and the blinker went off. After a moment of hesitation, the right blinker came on. Then the driver leaned forward and looked both ways, also gesturing, and the blinker went off. Good to know I'm not the only one who can manage to get lost in a certain small section of city blocks.

I had to grab some things at Wal-Mart and refill our water jugs (we get the reverse osmosis water). Here's where my time management, or lack thereof, comes into play. (Though I'm inclined to blame poor road planning downtown.) I forgot just how long it takes to get 16 gallons of water! 2 5-gallon jugs and 6 1-gallon. I have this dark fantasy about some poor soul during a zombie apocalypse in search of water. So long as they don't have any undead following them, all they need to do is go to Wal-Mart. Forget single bottles (though those do help). Of course, in the event of their being pursued, they might only have time for a few quarts.

But I digress (again).

By the time I'd filled all my jugs (getting many a curious glance in the process) I had to quick step across the store to get dog food (we're trying a half-wet/half-dry diet for the dogs) and allergy medicine (also for the dogs).

On the way, I passed two girls in their mid-twenties. One of them made said, "Oh, it's Friday" and her friend laughed and started singing that ridiculous song***. I had to laugh, because the same thing had immediately started running through my head.

I knew I was late. I resigned myself to the fact, berated myself for the fact, and kept speedwalking (which is hard to do when pushing a cart filled with 16 gallons of water). However, on the bright side, the cashier was really nice and his voice was Josh Turner-deep. Which is just cool.

Skip through a long 6 hours of work/driving home. I ran through the nightly routine with Sasha and headed to bed. I made Sasha lay down on her side (which she hates being forced to do) and applied more comfry salve followed by tea tree oil.

It was late and I was tired, but Sasha wouldn't settle. She kept sniffing around and pacing, and somehow couldn't connect the strange odor to herself. I finally convinced her to lay down. She likes to curl up, but as soon as her nose came near her stomach she was on her feet.

This routine was repeated a few times, combined with sniffing her blanket (which apparently also smelled a little). I finally had to move a different blanket to the top of her "nest" before she collapsed, mostly out of just being tired.

And look! A picture!

 

 

Sasha and Mr. Teddy (plus a sock, my library basket, and a mess spilling out of my closet)

 

So the salve/oil worked. A little too well, it seemed last night. Trial and error, I guess.

By the way, happy March! It felt kind of Spring-y yesterday with sunshine and mud. We've had warmer days where our driveway becomes a muddy mess, and then cold days where the ruts freeze. While I've enjoyed the snow, I'm anxious to get started on my garden. Big plans for that!

 



*** Use caution when clicking this link. Wait. You already clicked it, didn't you?

When I lack inspiration, I can always recap!

Just a warning: I really don't have anything important to say. It's just that I realized it's been a week since I last posted. That's pretty much the only reason I'm posting right now. At 10 PM.

We got more snow! It was coming down so hard this morning that I was told not to go to work. So what did I do? I read. And watched some Netflix. One day my muse will return and I'll finish this stupid book. *headdesk*

We've been in our new house for just over a month now. Only last week did I finally work up the initiative to completely unpack my room. (Okay, not "completely". Just mostly. And I shoved the remaining boxes in my closet. So glad I had a proper closet.)

We still don't have a working dryer. We're using a clothes rack in front of a vent. Works well enough, so long as people remember to bring down their laundry on a regular basis.

Also, last week the cat got his first taste of outside since the old house. He wasn't out long before he was crying to come back in. I think he was overwhelmed. I just hope, with all of the extra space, he'll conduct his hunting away from the house and I won't be stepping on bird bones come spring.

While the neighbors on one side of us remain a relative mystery, the ones on the other side are decidedly less so. Let's just say they make life interesting. And by "interesting", I mean spinning donuts in their car in their yard while blasting country music after 10 PM; having bonfires and drinking beer and singing loudly and off-key to their country music; shooting at targets set up in the cornfield.... And their chickens like to come wandering into our yard. Hershey and Sasha hate that. At least their dogs know their boundaries.

I'm almost starting to miss our old neighbors.

Almost. And then I remember all the facts that came to light after we moved, and that feeling goes away.

Uhg. I know I'm rambling. I'm sorry. As usual, I did have something important to say a few days ago, but I can't remember what.

It's definitely a different world out here, even though we're only 10 minutes further away from most of the places we usually go. Strange how 45 MPH can now feel so slow when it used to feel like speeding.

I've been getting in my bad weather driving practice over the last couple of weeks. First driving at night in a rain/snow mixture, then driving in high wind conditions, and of course plenty of normal night driving.

Maybe if I finally started posting pictures I wouldn't feel so bad when my posts are so short. Ah, well.

One thing I do miss is how warm my old room got in the winter. Maybe part of it was because it was so much smaller than my new one, so it was definitely one pro amid many cons, but.... And now that my room is clean, I find myself in the rare position of needing furniture to fill the empty space. Even a rug or a proper bed for Sasha would help!

So, I just spent 20 minutes writing about nothing relevant. My work here is done.

I'll try not to make it a habit. (Again)

A Life with Dogs is Never Dull (at least, when it's my life)

Recently we've been forced to put bark collars on our dogs when they go outside. I'll admit Sasha has a bit of an attitude bark - where she barks at anything that moves, just because she can. For Hershey, it's whenever he sees a squirrel, deer, or other dog. No matter the size of the dog.

Anyway. We have an old one from when we just had Hershey, and Wes had to replace the batteries. Hershey had been wearing that one, while Sasha had a new one, but the old one didn't seem to be working, so Mom suggested I switch around the collars.

This morning, I went to put the dogs out. This is a serious process now. Sasha doesn't sit still, especially when it's morning and she really has to go. When I do get her to sit, she tilts her head back to eye me so I can't get the collar on. And then, because it's the old one and was set to fit around Hershey's neck, I had to adjust it. Then the new collar isn't snap but buckle, and I think Hershey does something to his neck muscles to keep me from making it tight enough. Rather like a horse and their saddle.

Finally, they were ready. I had the leashes twisted all around my right hand so I could use my left to open and close the door and kennel gate.

And then Sasha spotted a squirrel. She isn't so into them as Hershey, but it's something moving, which means she should chase it. And then Hershey noticed. Commence dragging Amber across the yard.

When the dogs want to go at something, they dig in like they're pulling a sled. I'm surprised my arms are still so wimpy with all this pulling against the dogs. I grabbed the jumble of leashes with both hands and muttered at the dogs. Just past the kennel gate, I managed to pull everything to a stop and start my own dragging. Sasha's ADHD is actually very helpful in these situations. I called her to come to the kennel and she came. She figured she could watch the squirrel just as well from there.

When Hershey gets to pulling, he chokes himself. Then he has to stop and cough and gag for a minute. He was doing this while I was detangling myself and undoing their leashes. And then he coughed hard.

I knew what happened immediately, when he froze. Then, without a sound, he bolted for the gate.

I grabbed him on his way out, trying to console him. Any rough throaty noise the dogs make leads to being zapped. It's happened before when Hershey has coughed. Now, apparently, he'd associated the kennel with the shock, because he didn't want to go back in. He wanted to go to the house.

Meanwhile, ADHD puppy thought it was a new game. I think her brain goes like this: "Look! Something moving! Let's chase it! Oh! That annoying girl is yelling at me again! Okay! Let's go! Hey! The stupid dog is leaving, and the annoying girl is, too! Let's go!"

Out the kennel she runs. I didn't manage to grab her in time, and in a second she discovered her freedom and realized what it meant. She didn't bolt, but sort of trotted off happily to discover things.

Meanwhile I'm yelling at Hershey to stop being an idiot and just get in the kennel. Finally, he's in. I close the gate and call to Sasha.

Naturally, anyone would chase after the little creature who got away, but if any dog gets the game of keep away, it's Sasha. You run, she runs. If you're chasing her, she runs away. If you're running, she's chasing you. Actually, the rule is that if your dog is loose, start up a game and run away from them, contrary to natural impulses.

So I called her. She was casually sniffing around past the garden, starting to move off our property. She looked up, tail wagging. Would she come. I slapped my legs to emphasize my point, and then spun and raced toward the house.

Instinctively, I knew she'd followed. ("Oh! Annoying girl running away! Play!") Before I'd reached the door, she was skidding up alongside me. Now I just had to hope the second part of keep away wouldn't start: where, just as she's within reach, she runs away and makes me chase her. She didn't.

Praising her all the way, I led her back to the kennel.

Sometimes, I think she's like the dog on "Over the Hedge". Of course, Wes says she's the spitting image of Scrat from "Ice Age", including how she acts.
I know, the next post was supposed to be about the blog title. Oh, well.
Before I go, I had one more dog-related anecdote. From yesterday.
I was getting ready to leave for work. I can't remember why, but I'd brought Sasha in from the kennel and left Hershey out. Actually, I think I was just bringing Hershey out and Sasha looked cold, so I let her come in. In any case, I was rushing around making sure everything was set. Then I went to get Hershey, right before I had to go.
The gate was open. I'd left it open.
Yes, I've done this before. Out of habit, when I bring a dog in, I leave the gate open. Hershey has got out before. Luckily, we always have a good idea where he'll run off to. So I got in my car and started up the street.
I'd planned to head to the next street over. There're so many dogs around here and Hershey likes to flaunt his freedom in front of them. However, I wasn't five houses up the street when I saw him sniffing around in a yard.
My windows were already down, and I said the one thing that will get his attention no matter what: "Hershey! What to go for a ride?"
Once you say that, his brain is committed to "car ride". He raced over to me and paced around the car until I opened the door.
I'm not supposed to drive with the dogs in the car. We're all too easily distracted. However, for Hershey's sake, I drove most of the way up the street before turning around and heading home.
And...yup. That's all I got. Hey, at least I posted! But I plan on returning tomorrow. It's just that I really need to wash some dishes before routes.

Practice Makes Perfect

With some of the money I earned from inventories and babysitting, I bought stuff for the dogs the other day. The Kong toys we bought a while ago both went missing (okay, one got left by accident at the boarding kennel and we never took the trouble to get it back) and the dogs have resorted to chewing our things because they're bored. I also got dog treats (the special all natural kind even humans could enjoy) and a new body harness "guaranteed to stop pulling instantly" because the nose harness finally broke.

This was all in support of that healthy, positive lifestyle I've been meaning to develop for the past few years. Nothing like spending my own hard-earned money to encourage me into action. Sasha's nearly a year old.... Wait! Her birthday was two days ago! Whoa. Okay, so she's a year old, and she truly knows only two commands: "sit" (and then her butt barely touches the ground before she's up again most times) and "drop it" (but never with toys). She knows key words like "outside" and "walk", but mostly she catches onto routines: me grabbing the gate and an ice cube means bedtime, my getting on my sneakers in the morning after bringing her in from the kennel means a walk, me holding a treat and telling her to sit in the living room means "lay down" and "crawl" are to follow. She doesn't come when called, she doesn't stay (she'd quite ADHD), she pulls until she can't breathe on walks, she barks incessantly at anything that moves, she's abusive to Hershey and the cat, and, frankly, it's my fault.

When we visited our friends down south and saw how well-behaved their two-year-old dog was, I decided (again) that it was time to make some changes and teach my dog obedience.

All this to get to the point: walking.

Walking is the best way to get out Sasha's natural energy, and it's a good habit for me, too. However, she always pulls and she always leads. I've heard that a dog who follows on walks is a dog willing to follow and submit to their masters in other areas of life, so I figured it was a good place to start (since I failed to teach her "come" and "heel" as a puppy). I started by teaching her the concept of "heel" indoors, keeping her on my left side with her nose by my hip. She saw the clicker and was ready for action, and soon got the idea that walking beside me on my left earns a treat.

However, once we got outside, any such notion was forgotten, and she pulled away. She would come when I called "heel" and gave the signal, but only long enough to earn a treat, and then she was off again. Indoors, she'll fall into step beside me and watched me excitedly, but not outside.

Today was the second day of that exercise. I got 10 treats and broke them in half, debated about bringing more just in case, and decided it wasn't worth it. Then we were off.

I called Sasha to "heel" quite a few times on our street, and she did. However, she's learned where every dog on the street lives and watches their houses expectantly as we walk by, so she was very distracted. I decided to drill her on the "leave it" trick, which essentially means ignoring whatever has her attention, from the cat to a dog to something tasty on the floor she's eyeing. Basically, I clicked when she finally looked away.

Our normal route takes us up our street and across to the next one over, down that street, and across the park back to our house. Half-way down the other street, I'd pretty much given up on "heel" for the walk, and I was running out of treats. Then, all of a sudden, right near the end, Sasha stopped pulling and came back to my side, looking up expectantly.

Wonder of wonders! I dug in my pocket for the last treat I had, praised her, and kept on. Of course, now I was begging her to just behave until we got home so I didn't disappoint her with no more rewards.

We were half-way through the park when she did it again. I gave her all the crumbs I had, and she pulled the rest of the way home.

There are pros and cons to having a smart dog. Pro: she picks up quickly on things. Con: those things are both good and bad. Con: she has a lot of energy. Pro: if I'm persistent, she's willing to use it productively. Con: she assumes because she's so smart that she's better than the rest of us. At least, that's how I explain her attitude. It may just be her natural personality, but I think part of it is, again, my problem.

You live and learn, right?

Bird Watching: Truffles vs. Bluejay

This past week we've been working on getting the yard cleared up because the city has free pick-up of yard waste and such for a couple weeks. So this morning I went out to the backyard to do some raking, putting Sasha in the kennel because we were the only ones awake.

I was working on gathering all the leaves in the garden area when I finally took notice of a loud bird that had been practically screaming for the past few minutes. Looking around, I saw Truffles sneaking through the twisted branches of some gnarled tree nearby. Overhead darted a bluejay - back and forth, all around the tree, feathers ruffled and cawing like crazy. I think there was a nest in the tree, but I can't be sure. That would be my guess because, though the bird was clearly what Truffles was after, I can't think of any reason it would be hanging around and be so angry except for a nest.

I put down the rake and moved closer to see just what was going on. The bluejay kept flitting around that tree and occasionally up to the higher branches of the tree next to it. Truffles was having some difficulty getting through the tangled mass of branches, but his eyes stayed almost constantly on the bird. The bluejay would sit on a branch and yell at Truffles, perhaps take a few jabs at the branch with its beak, and then quickly move to another branch.

In a minute this activity drew another bluejay to the scene, and then there were two angry birds darting around, stabbing at branches, and screaming in unison at the smug cat. Soon more birds appeared - one little bird I couldn't identify came to rest in the high branches of one tree and three or four cardinals settled on a bush. The bluejays had gone quiet, only shrieking in rage every now and then. Truffles completely ignored the nest (I'm pretty sure that's what I saw on the other side of the tree) and kept looking for the quickest route to the top.

Only when I saw the female cardinal resting quietly in plain sight did I have the sense to hurry inside for a camera. It took me longer than I wanted because I couldn't find Mom's, so eventually I had to borrow Heather's point-n-shoot. (Sorry, Heather.) When I came back outside, all the birds but one bluejay (presumably the first) had left, and the one that remained was almost silent, though still moving frantically from branch to branch.

I tried to get some pictures, but failed. Truffles saw that his hunt wasn't going to be a success, so with some frustrated yowls he clambered down from the tree and sat among the lilies glaring fiercely. The bluejay hung around for a while, but I think it finally realized the cat wasn't after the nest.

Returning with Nothing to Say

Hi.

Yeah.

So, at first I was thinking it hadn't been very long since I'd posted. Then I realized it'd been over a week. And then I kept holding it off and holding it off because I really had nothing to say.

I feel like such a bad person.

Honestly, though, not much has happened. And I hate recaps, so I'll skip the details on the nothingness of my life. :) (Yeah, it's a little early.)

Mom was away for a little over a week, so I got charge of keeping the house under control. I'm getting pretty good at grocery shopping. Until the family starts yelling at me to hurry up, or one of the girls starts asking for something expensive that would mean we would have to sacrifice three other meals. There was a time when I could block this stuff out if I wanted to. Granted, I usually had a book in my hands or was right in the middle of writing a death scene, but....

Okay, I'm really rambling. Sorry.

Mom got home last night, which makes me happy. And now Hershey can stop moping, which makes everyone happy!

In an effort to encourage some positive habits in my life, I've been trying to take the dogs on a walk every morning (minus Sunday). It certainly has helped to improve their attitudes, though I still can't get them to walk properly. Sasha has been limping off and on for the past week, and I'm starting to think the pads of her feet might be sore from all of the trotting around on sidewalks and pavement.

Also, she's getting BIG. Still in the 40lb range, but she's now as tall as Hershey. Not as big and muscular, but as tall. She's going to be a beautiful dog when she's full grown.

Rambling again.

I really can't think of anything to say. This is quite irksome.

Bother.

Well, my twice a week schedule worked for a while. Guess I need to try, try again. Clearly, it also helped improve my style of blogging. (Or so it seems to me.)

I rearranged my room yesterday, reached 20,000 words in my superhero story (finally!), am spending far too much time on facebook (and considering taking another break from it, because it was so refreshing, but I'm not sure how I would continue to post my story there for some friends to read), and am not really liking this spring weather this early in March. It might mean puddle jumping for my birthday, but I would still rather have snow.

Yeah, I'm going to go now. I'll come back tomorrow and try again.

Morning Walk

I'm starting to love mornings. Perhaps it's the solitude. Perhaps it's because I get to wake up and get my brain warmed up in silence. I like sunrises over sunsets, I love to watch the world wake up, I love the first tones of morning birdsong.

Okay. That's all the poetic musing I can muster for now.

I was up by 7 today. Even though I do have a hard time waking up, once I'm finally (mostly) conscious, I do appreciate the chance to start my day quietly.

So I did my devotions and wrote a bit (I got a new notebook yesterday!). Sasha was stirring just past 8, so I got dressed and headed down to get her up.

I've been trying to walk the dogs more often. Sad as it is, they don't go for walks nearly as often as they need to (as evidenced by Hershey perking up and getting excited when the very word is uttered). I took Sasha on a couple walks between the time we got her and around the time she turned 5 months, but only now have I actually made the effort to get her outside. For a while I was reluctant to take both of the dogs at once, though I did feel bad when Hershey missed out. But now that we found his old harness, it's easier.

Still, I debated about whether I should get Hershey up and take them together, or do Sasha first and get Hershey later. Eventually I had to admit to myself that the chances of me taking Hershey later were slim. My motivation level kind of dwindles as the day goes on.

So I slipped into the girls' room (and had to capture Sasha before she jumped on Heather's face) and called for Hershey to get up. He was curled up next to Allenna and looked determined to stay there. Then I asked if he wanted to go on a walk. He shot up faster than I thought possible and hurried out of the room, even skipping his ritualistic morning stretch.

I told him to wait while I ran Sasha outside. She was almost ready to go back in when we heard a noise in the yard next door. Some little black terrier was yapping at us. I don't think I've seen him before. Sasha growled a bit, gave a little bark, and eventually ran back to the house.

Hershey was still pacing around excitedly, and Sasha has somehow learned the difference between me getting ready to leave and me getting ready to take her walking. It can't be how Hershey acts, because when we're leaving he automatically assumes he's coming with us, so he's just as excited.

So I had two dogs in my face while I got my boots on.

Suddenly, Hershey wasn't so excited. One, he had just realized that she was coming with us. Two, he was going to have to wear that nasty head harness. Believe me, if I didn't have to, I wouldn't subject him to the great humiliation, but we've tried going without it and he pulls like he has a dog sled behind him and the 5 other dogs are sitting inside.

I finally got the dogs settled and sitting at the door waiting for me to open it. Hershey hung back while Sasha kept inching forward. I opened the door and stepped out, Sasha on my heels. Hershey wouldn't move.

Dejected is the only word to describe how he looked: head down, ears drooping, eyes pitiful. But I gave the leash a tug and he slowly came out.

Then commenced a round of "Who's following whom?" I'm sure it wasn't me.

We got to the end of the road and saw another dog and owner wandering through the park. It was the neighbor who tried to help our Dexter dilemma, along with his old golden retriever. I pulled up the dogs and had them sit, because if they were walking it would have only been after the poor old dog. Hershey whined and Sasha barked a little. Then they were gone and we were on our way.

Sasha may not have learned to follow me when we're walking, but one thing she has learned to do without fail: sit when I stop moving. And I stopped quite a bit to get the blood flowing again in my hand. Much more of this and my left arm will soon be as strong as my right. (I walk Sasha on the left and Hershey on the right.)

Hershey trotted along beautifully, if a little ahead of me. Sasha dug in and tried to pull the entire time. She also tried to set the pace at a run, though I managed to hold her down to a quick walk. Through the park, around the corner, and back across the park to home again was all we did (I'm still not brave enough to wander the neighborhood alone, even if I have Hershey the tough-looking dog). Even so, I had worked up a sweat by the time we got home, and my shoulder is aching.

I offered the dogs some food, but they wanted to go out, so I put them in the kennel. Here's the thing. Sasha, being the socialite that she is, hates being alone in the kennel. If Hershey isn't with her, it's hard to get her in, and she won't stay for long. Hershey, on the other hand, refuses to go in the kennel if Sasha's there. However, he makes an exception in the morning, so they sat out there while I wrote most of this.

Now, while they're fairly calm, I think I ride the exercise bike for a bit and do some more writing. Too bad I can't write and ride at the same time.

Dog Walks and Family History

Thursdays always seem like a long day. It's not like I do a lot of physical work; it's just that I'm used to being home most of the day with the dogs, doing chores and writing (or at least pretending to be busy). And it's not even that I get up any earlier on Thursdays than any other day except Sunday.

I was up at 7(ish...) to do my devotions and start getting ready before I had to get Sasha up. I try (not very hard, usually) to get her out of bed early on Thursdays so she has a chance to run around and eat before it's back in the crate for 6 hours.

Of course, today she decided she didn't want to eat. She's either sick or going through some sort of reverse growth spurt. I don't know. Also, she picks up on the ritual we all go through before we leave the house and was repeatedly putting herself in her crate and waiting for us to leave.

So she went to her crate without breakfast. Not my problem.

We dropped the girls off at co-op, and then Mom and I headed out to a city about 15 minutes from there to do some errands. Normally we sit at the church until it's time for the classes we teach; I'm glad I could skip that today.

Back to the church for a little sitting around and chatting until physical science. We had an experiment involving a bottle rocket, but it failed. Twice. I was sad.

Then off to routes. Wonder of wonders, the papers were already printed and waiting for us! At 12! Still, we weren't done until around 3. Then we got the girls and headed home.

The dogs were acting antsy, so I decided to take them on a walk. Before his head harness, we had a regular harness for Hershey that somewhat kept him from pulling. I decided to use it on Sasha, since it was too small for Hershey and he needed the head harness.

It was just a quick trot around the park, but man was it tiresome. Both dogs were tugging to be in the lead. The harness kind of worked for Sasha (she wasn't choking and gasping for breath, and she didn't spend half the time rolling around on the ground trying to get something off her nose) but she really needs to be taught to heel and let me lead. Maybe with some practice....

Then I sat down to check stuff on the computer and write this post. However, I got distracted when I saw ancestry.com was offering free viewing of the 1930 census! Excitement ensued, and I started searching relatives.

I learned that I am 1/8 Danish. Dad's always talked about how we had Danish in us, but I never learned which ancestor(s) were Danish. Now I know. My great-grandpa's wife was born in Denmark. That made my youngest sister happy. (She's taking German at the co-op.) Now to find the Native Americans somewhere in the family tree....

Warning: This Post is Pointless.

Uhg. Nothing to say.

And yes. I'm a day late. Again.

....

Okay, it's official: I'll take a full grown dog over a puppy any day. I know, I'm an idiot, but this puppy really is testing - and destroying - my mental and emotional fortitude. It's not all her fault. She's actually mellowed out a bit since her arrival. Maybe it's because I'm taking her on walks now. (Okay, I've taken her on two in the last week.) Maybe she's just giving me the silent treatment because I made her wear the head harness we got Hershey a couple years ago. Without it, she pulls and almost suffocates herself in her eagerness to explore. With it, she pouts and glares at me.

Yup. I hold the status of "mom" in her mind: controlling, demanding, and less patient than all the rest of the household members, minus the cat. (No, Mom, I'm not suggesting anything about you. I love you!) I also clean up all of her messes, feed her, wash her, put her to bed and tuck her in (ie, give her Mr. Teddy and pull down the towels over her crate), get up early to take care of her, and beat her when she's not playing nice with the other kids. And somehow my brother thinks he deserves her more than I do. Right. After all the effort I've put in, I'm not giving her away.

Sorry. I'm rambling and Melody is reading over my shoulder so I can't concentrate. 'Spose it's time to practice my writing-in-any-and-all-conditions.

A friend of mine recently wrote me into a story of hers. Yeah. I'm a daredevil who travels the world. According to her, I fought bulls in Spain, climbed the Eiffel Tower, and got a window seat for my gypsy wagon from an Arabian prince. My alter ego is way more exciting than myself.

The real me has spent a lot of time lately plotting my story. Yeah, not the important one I've been working on for three years. No, not that one. Why on earth would I be working on that one?

Help. I'm going crazy and myself is the one driving the bus. And I don't have a passport, and one cannot reenter the US of A without one. So I'm stuck.

Okay. I really am just spouting nonsense. Pain. But hey, I'm blogging twice a week, and that's better than I've done in a while. However, I think I'll stop now.

Oh! We got snow! Yeah, deadly snow. I wanted it, but not like this.

Okay. Now I'll go.

Dexter (and YELLOW!)

WARNING: excess links below. Only click if you need to waste some time. They're really not all that grand.

For starters, let me just state that I have recently developed an obsession with the color yellow. (Okay, so maybe "obsession" is a little too strong a word, but a more accurate synonym escapes me. And yes, when I informed my mom of this last week, she, too, gave me a funny look. "Yellow?") Maybe it's because I'm feeling a bit sunshine-deprived (although we have had some fairly sunny days of late). But it's such a happy color! (Yellow Brick Road, anyone?) Yellow is summer and laughter and flowers and lemons! (Okay, so I don't really like lemons, but they're still bright and perky.) Stick a yellow bandana on a puppy and instantly it's like "Hey! I'm a friendly guy. Come give me kisses!"(Which is probably why my dog does not wear yellow.)

Yeah, yellow is traditionally the color of cowards, but I think that's totally unfair. To me, it's more like happiness.

*cough*

Okay, I'm done.

My real reason for coming here was to relate the adventure I had yesterday. (I know, I was supposed to post yesterday. Things happened and I eventually didn't have the time. I'm sorry. But I'm here now.)

It was probably about 2 or a little later when Hershey started going berserk about something outside. Like high-pitched whining, yapping, and eventually all-out barking. Sasha didn't know what to think and was pacing back and forth whimpering.

I finally noticed and went to see what was going on. There was a dog pacing in the road in front of our house. Mom and Wes had just pulled in and were calling the dog over to them. I hurried outside (barefoot, of course).

The dog was a bit timid and trotted back and forth around Mom, Wes, and the car. I coaxed him over to me and got ahold of his collar.

He didn't have any tags or any other form of identification. Just a collar. (Green camo, if you're wondering.) He seemed friendly enough, so I started petting him. He was a pit bull, about the same height as Hershey, white except for patches on his face and ears and a couple spots on his tail.

Wes said he'd never seen the dog before, and the rest of us agreed. Living so close to the "park", we see a lot of dogs walk by. So we started wondering what to do.

Long story short, we got an extra leash, I took Mom's shoes and got my coat, and Wes and I headed off to ask some people if they'd ever seen the dog.

We didn't knock on many doors. Most people weren't very pleasant and told us to just take the dog to the shelter and be done with it. Fine. If your dog gets out, I'll do that.

We found one guy who was nice enough. He thought the dog looked familiar but said it wasn't from his street. ("They have a black dog. They have a beagle. They don't have any dogs. He has a cat....") He eventually shrugged and said his neighbor (who has a golden retriever) knew who had what dogs and could help us, but he wasn't home. So we gave him Mom's number and our address and headed down the street to a house he had indicated. (The lady there didn't want to talk. I think she was mad about me making her dog bark. She's the kind of person who wouldn't buy coupons.)

We were heading home when the friendly guy's neighbor pulled in, so we went to talk to him. He said he'd seen the dog running loose a while ago and that a boy had come and got it, and he pointed in the direction he thought he'd seen them go. It was a general location, but Wes and I weren't going to lead a strange dog down all of it. (Oh. At one point a couple drove by. We'd been watching for someone driving along looking for their dog, and as these people were smiling and staring at us we did the same to them. They drove on by without a word. I felt like an idiot.)

So we started back for home, numb and out of ideas. Wes went inside to talk to Mom and I sat outside with the dog, who was now licking my face, all shyness gone.

Then I heard shouting. It sounded like the same name over and over, along with the occasional whistle. It was coming from the direction opposite of which we'd been told the dog probably belonged, but I called Mom outside. She'd been on the phone with the Humane Society asking if any missing dogs had been reported.

Mom agreed we should go looking for whoever was shouting, so we hopped in the car, me in the back with the dog.

They were standing at the end of a dead end road just past the Inconvenience Store shouting and whistling: an older woman and three kids. Mom asked if they were looking for a dog. They saw him in the backseat and nodded, looking unhappy. (They'd been shouting "Dexter", not "Samson" as I'd guessed.) The woman undid the leash and they all headed for the house, she giving me a curt "thank you" over her shoulder. We headed home, me feeling satisfied. Good deed for the week: check. (Haha.) Now I'm even more determined to teach our dogs to come when called and to stay nearby at all times. Somehow....

Christmas party, Christmas trees, Christmas time...but no snow.

Hershey is sitting proudly in his chair by the window, watching the world come to life. Sasha's restless in her crate, moaning and grunting because, for once, Hershey is out of the girls' room before 9 and she can't be up to "play" with him.

It's a nice change to the morning routine, if you ask me.

For the last...probably at least the last month, maybe more, I've had my alarm set for 7. I don't think I've actually been up by 7 more than 5 weekdays in the past month. I keep hitting snooze, and then that's deactivated I reset the alarm a couple times. (Usually my excuse is that I'm in the middle of a good - or at least interesting - dream and want to see how it ends. But after a few hours of being awake, I wonder how I could think it was that interesting.)

Sure, sometimes I climb out of bed around 7, but that's only to take Sasha outside so she'll sleep a little longer.

Today I got up to take Sasha out, as usual. When I put her back to bed, I went to the girls' room to get my computer cord, thinking I might make an effort to stay awake. (I really should clean my room, but that's beside the point.)

Hershey was wide awake and standing by the door expectantly: not normal for him. Usually he's curled up as tightly as possible on one of the beds and refuses to move.

I got the cord and decided to let Hershey out, thinking he might just be thirsty and would go back to bed after I gave him some water. He downed nearly a gallon of water, then asked to go out. After that, he wouldn't go back to the girls' room but wandered into the living room.

Sasha wasn't happy, and waited for me to let her out. When I didn't, she barked a few times to remind me she was there.

I went upstairs to get dressed and grab my phone. When I came back, Hershey was gone. No where in the kitchen, living room, bathroom, or girls' room. I briefly wondered if he'd gone stealth mode and sneaked past me on the stairs and was hiding in Wes's room, but quickly dismissed that idea. Hershey can't be quiet about anything.

Then I remembered Mom's light had been on. Sure enough, he had pushed open her door and was curled up on the bed. She didn't let him stay for long.

So I gave him his medicine (buried in a heel of bread slathered in peanut butter so he couldn't pick it out like he usually does) and sat down to check a few of the games I had downloaded to my phone yesterday. Mom came out and cleared off Hershey's chair, opened the curtain, and invited him to hop up. He stared outside for a while, but now he's snoozing. And Sasha's quiet, too.

And yes, I said all that both because I wanted to change style a little and because I don't have much else to say. Even living in a family with comparatively eventful lives, sometimes those lives can feel pretty unremarkable.

I'm trying to remember everything that's happened since my last post.

Oh. Christmas party. It was fun. I'm glad we girls got the chance to get dressed up, and we ate something besides paste or taco shell-wrapped Mexican food. It was a big change from last year, when we all collapsed on the floor in jeans and colorful socks and drank dangerously bright Kool Aid and messy enchiladas.

This time, we pretty much sat around. After all of the pictures were taken, that is. (There were a grand total of 2 Sr. High guys there without girlfriends, and at least a dozen girls, so the youth pastor's wife suggested the girls pair up for pictures and the guys be in every one. Some girls were not in favor of this plan, but we did it.) I know this group of Sr. Highers typically does just sit around at activities, but usually we can lounge or sit on each other and throw pillows or something.

Anyway. Even gift time was quiet. I started out with a cool stationary set (stolen, because I was 23 out of 30 people and there weren't any exciting-looking gifts still wrapped) but that got taken and I ended up with a set of juggling balls. I could have had the pancake maker (a tube with a special tip on the end, which you fill with pancake batter and can use to make neat designs) but the girl who had it wanted to keep it and I'm nice like that.

And yes, my hair stayed curly the whole time. I was happy. And now I have a new technic for styling my hair. Yay me!

After that....

Well, on Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day ancestry.com offered free viewing of their WWII records, so I went and searched for a bunch of my relatives. I couldn't find my dad's dad anywhere, which is really strange, but I did find his dad, who enlisted when he was 63!

Searching those records prompted me to finally transfer the rest of the information from the family tree booklet I have onto the one I started online. It's done at last! Now whenever I decide to use the free 2 week trial of ancestry.com I can start filling in the past 40 years.

I can't really think of much else. Co-op and Institute are out for Christmas break. I failed terribly at memorizing Ephesians, so I'll have to deal with it and pay for the classes and look for a job (or because a best selling author in the next 6 months).

Last night we got our tree. We got a real tree last year, too, our artificial one finally so old and worn that we got rid of it.

It was cool and really windy last night, so we weren't in the mood for browsing every tree in the place. Mom wanted a tall, slim tree, but we couldn't see any of those. Heather found one she liked and was determined to have it, whining anyone else even looked at something different. "Mine doesn't cost as much as yours does" and "Mine's prettier than that one". Eventually we gave in and let her have her tree.

Then, courtesy of some nice route customers, we went to Logan's, and I made a note to never get Balsamic vinaigrette for a salad ever again. Sweet dressing on salad = yuck.

I can't believe we have 9 days until Christmas! Since our first snowfall, we haven't had anything. It's been gray and rainy this week. We got a dusting of snow last night, but it didn't stick. Tomorrow Mom's taking us girls shopping, so maybe a few hours pushing my way through a crowded mall to the sound of Christmas music will get me in the spirit. (I doubt it, but we'll see.)

Strange dreams, hair curlers, and pet rivalry

I was going to do a post on pictures, because I haven't posted very many pictures yet, there's a recent one of Sasha that I managed to snap in a rare moment where she's not moving, and the pictures have been accumulating on my phone and I need to take care of them. But either Blogger or our internet (or both) doesn't want that to happen, because the pictures simply won't be uploaded, no matter how long I wait for it. So that's for another time, I guess.

I do have some stories to tell!

I have this thing similar to recurring nightmares, but it's not actually the same one over and over. It's not even a series. (Yes, some of my dreams have sequels.) It's more of just a strange theme running through them. I don't know when I had the first one. Years ago, I guess. But I had another yesterday night. In the middle of the dream I was thinking to myself, "Oh, no. Not another one of these."

The dreams? My wedding.

This last one must have been number 7 or 8, though I'm bad at remembering most dreams so I'm not sure. Every one is different. Different people are in it, a different location.... There's only one thing that's consistent: I never see the groom's face. In one of the first ones, he even looked directly at me. There was nothing there.

It drives Mom crazy, though I'm not really sure why. She wants to put out a notice on facebook along the lines of: "Will the man stalking my daughter's dreams please show yourself?" Yeah, that'll go well.

The crazy dude always has his back to me and pretty much never speaks. Well, I only assume it's the same guy in each. What I have seen of him is pretty average.

Hang on. The pup is attacking my hands as I type. I should probably take her out.

That took longer than I thought. Where was I...?

Oh, yeah. Mysterious, faceless dream stalker.

As far as looks go, what I can see of him is pretty average. Average height (by my standards, not my brother's), average hair. I think once someone said his name, but I don't know what it was.

So that's what haunts my dreams. After the fifth one, it started to get old. This last one was super boring.

The Sr. High Christmas party is tonight, and, for the first time (to my knowledge) it's formal. Mom took Heather and I shopping yesterday for shoes and some accessories. At Payless, we were served by a girl who seemed either seriously starved for human interaction or just overly friendly. Either way, she came by after I had found some shoes (only $11, though they seriously up my chances of killing myself) and was browsing around while Heather hunted for her own pair. I kept pulling out the gaudiest shoes I could find and showing them to Mom, and Ms. Friendly asked if I was getting married!

Yeah, I'm actually still talking about my dreams/nightmares, not shoes, because the irony is so funny.

My first reaction was to blush. Second was a slow, quiet, "Um, no."

She went on to ask what the occasion was ("Prom?") and then decided to ask how old I was. When I told her, she kind of smiled and said, "Oh. The way you carried yourself, I thought you were, like, 21."

Is this a good thing or bad thing?

If nothing else, our interactions with her provided some humor.

Okay, onto something else besides my crazy dreams.

Yesterday Mom took us to get our Level 1 licenses. We left around 9, which had Heather up at 8. (Yeah, Mom called her to get her up and asked, "Are you up?" Heather said, "Um, no." She told me she was staring at the dark window and wondering why on earth she'd be up so early.)

We wished for two miraculous things as we headed to the Secretary of State office: a short line and a nice person to wait on us. Neither has happened any other time Mom's been in there. The service could make bridge trolls look friendly and helpful, from what I've heard.

But miracles do happen! When we arrived, there were only two people in front of us, and the person who helped us was apparently the manager and wasn't so sunshine deprived as her colleagues have all appeared to be (in regards to their temperaments, not complexions). She was friendly, she was patient, and she didn't give us any problems. (And she was wearing a very cute jacket.)

When Mom went to do the same thing with Wes, they gave her trouble over the documents she brought to prove residency, legal presence, etc. We have friends who brought in six or seven things just to make sure they weren't missing anything, and the people got mad at them for bringing too much, while they said the four items Mom brought to cover the four required areas weren't enough. (Fickle, much?) But not this lady. Mom brought two or three extra things for each of us and she didn't ask to see any of it.

After we filled out our forms and she got our names straight, she had us take the short vision test. Heather did fine, even though she's been saying she needs glasses. I, who have glasses, didn't do so well. Evidently my left eye is much worse than I had believed. They split the thing into three sections: left, middle, and right. I could barely tell the left section existed, but the right was clear.

Little things like this make me blush, and, of course, I did. But no worries. I survived.

After that adventure, we went for a little drive to see the snow. Thanks to routes, that didn't last long. Then, because we were nearby, we grabbed papers, and I ended up sitting through the whole route because it was easier than Mom dropping me at home. Cold is the only word there. The heat didn't kick in until near the end of routes. Again.

Then we did a little shopping and headed home.

Mom decided I needed a curly up-do for the party, and she is determined to make my hair curl. (It might just be me, but it doesn't hold a curling-iron curl if I use a whole bottle of hairspray and sit like a statue in an air-tight room all day. [Not that I've tried.])

So I took a shower, towel-dried my hair, and silently submitted myself to Mom's hands. (She can get borderline-violent when it comes to doing hair.) She loaded it with this weird smelling gunk and then loaded the top part with curlers, twisting the bottom in small strands and holding it all together with bobby pins because we ran out of curlers. Then I had to sleep with it like that.

And do papers routes with it like that, because Heather is at a friend's.

We had to get gas first, and I knew Mom wouldn't let me pump after the fiasco on Thursday (I'd rather not talk about it), but I assumed I'd go in to pay. Turns out even Mom isn't (usually) so cruel as to subject me to that torture to my pride, so she paid. Then to the paper office. No one in sight!

Actually, I almost made it through the entire routes without anyone seeing me (to my knowledge). Until we were three minutes from being done. We pulled up to one of the apartment buildings. There was a guy standing outside smoking.

"Do I have to do it?" I groaned, sinking down in my seat.

Mom insisted. I tried covering my head with my hood. No good. The hat Mom had brought? It wouldn't fit.

"He's probably already seen you. Just go."

So I went. I walked quickly up the sidewalk. He glanced at me, muttered a good morning, which I responded to, and turned away to pace up and down the grass. I rushed inside. Down stairs, trip on top step, drop paper, up stairs, smack self in face with paper, drop paper, mumble to self, back outside. The guy wouldn't look at me, and I hurried back to the car.

When we got home, I took Sasha out and then went to bed, drifting in and out of sleep for three hours before I decided I should probably get up. Sasha was two hours overdue for breakfast, and she wanted out.

I've been avoiding mirrors, windows, and puddles because every glimpse of my reflection I've had makes me cringe. Ah, the things we do to look nice. Now my neck and shoulder hurt because I couldn't curl up on my pillow, but the curlers are still intact. And they must remain so all day.

My hair better curl well, and it better stay that way until I take a shower tonight.

What else to say? Um, on Thursday one of the girls at co-op came up to me and remarked that I was wearing a NaNoWriMo hoodie. I excitedly asked if she knew what it was. When she said she did, that's she'd done it, I bounced and nearly squealed. She probably regretted saying anything at all, but it makes me really happy that someone else knows. I'm still waiting for the day a random stranger at the store will say, "You do NaNo? So do I!" But I don't see that happening any time soon. I keep trying.

I made a remark the other day while Sasha was in terror mode that I should have chose the fat, sleeping puppy. Let's be honest: she was in the middle of a nap, and when she did wake up it was because two of her sisters were sitting on top of her biting her tail and face. She didn't even have a chance to come when I stuck my hand in and called because she couldn't move.

And then Sasha calmed down and took a nap and I decided I could live with her. But I do have to wonder what would have happened if I had chosen any of the others. They didn't have very defined personalities at that point, but they were each different in subtle ways. What if I had chosen the sweet one Allenna picked up, or the cute one Heather grabbed, or the biggest, laziest one who didn't even look up?

Who knows?

Who cares?

Sasha's about 13 weeks now, and she is getting better. Now most of her accidents occur because I know she needs to go (she's only been barking in my face and pacing around for five minutes) and I ignore her for too long, or she's been in the crate for an hour too long and just gets too excited when I walk in. She's still not getting very far in training, but what puppy really learns much outside of the very basic commands before they're a year old? Hershey still doesn't obey unless he feels like it.

Yeah, it's not really the best idea to compare them. Not to be mean (though it'll come out that way) but Hershey is kind of...dense? He was crazy as a puppy, but now he's a laid-back, totally mellow, lazy dog who isn't too fond of copious amounts of fresh air and chasing a ball. Sasha could spend all day outside if the weather is good and is always demanding to be played with, and she picks up on things much faster than Hershey ever did. Granted, she's still a puppy, but they really aren't comparable.

Also, our household does not support pet equality, which really frustrates Sasha and makes Hershey smug. Hershey is allowed on the furniture and Sasha isn't. Hershey gets human food and Sasha doesn't (though she still thinks any and all food is hers by rights to take as she pleases). Before Hershey got angry and destroyed them, there were some toys that only Sasha could play with, but his heart was not off limits to her. (Oh, the things we could do with that rubber heart of his. Another time.) Hershey sleeps in the girls' room on a bed, and Sasha sleeps alone in her crate. Sasha has to eat at a specific time, but Hershey is free to eat whenever he is inclined to. (Don't worry, he doesn't over eat in any way. He just doesn't like eating if he's all alone. Especially lately, someone has to stand within sight of him before he touches his food.)

Okay, enough about the pets. (All three of which, by the way, are napping in the living room as I type this.) Actually, I can't think of anything else to write at the moment. And any way, I think this post is long enough now.

So a little cleaning, a little writing, and then probably two hours of preparing before the part tonight. I should be back tomorrow to write a little about that, and maybe I'll even manage to post a picture or two.