Good News/Bad News

Well, the bad news is that my online survey is not ready for me to evaluate. The good news is that my online survey is not ready for me to evaluate, so I can “take off” from work tonight.  I could actually work on my NSF grant, but I can do that tomorrow instead. 

So now I shall blog about…

Sibling Rivalry

Originally, we thought this was going to be an issue with Patches and the cats.  But it’s turned into a real issue between Patches and Conor.  And the rival-ous one is Conor! 

First, we learned when we first got Patches that they have the emotional capacity of a two year old.  But it’s as Conor approaches two that we see an awareness of his “brother” as a competitor. 

Honestly, the real issue occurs when Patches picks up one of Conor’s toys.  We can easily tell when this happens by the loud, high pitched NOOOOOOOO’s that we hear echoing through the house.  Patches usually does it just to get attention, although there was a duckicide the other week.  It was duck decapitation.  And we had to hide it from Conor, this small headless duck. 

Poor everybody, really.  Conor is in the midst of toddler selfishness.  It’s a “mine” field out there.  My Milk! My Duck!  Mine! Mine! Mine!! Patches is just starved for doggie attention and will do anything, including petty thievery, to get it.  The cats are starved for attention beyond being thrown off the bed at night and readily pee on any stray pile of clothing.  (Actually, it’s mostly “Basa”, but as she is Conor’s favorite, we mostly forgive her and wash everything in hot, hot water)   I’m still really tired but can’t separate working mama fatigue from head-full-of-snot fatigue.  Dave is just trying to keep out of trouble when I keep reliving the post-mortem of my flu (why, exactly, did I drive to work with 103 fever?  And why did it never occur to me to stay in bed even though I had to nap to walk from the parking lot to my office?  What on earth does that say about me?  And shouldn’t we focus on that as a family discussion for hours on end????  My working premise is that it wasn’t a good thing to have done that but oddly, others in the household are not as singularly focused on this issue as I am) 

Oh, and final observation:  my antibiotics are $50 for two weeks worth of pills.  I’m going to have to spend $200 on antibiotics alone to make a dent in this sinus infection.  Thank you, State of North Carolina, for your prescription drug plan. 

8:38:45 PM    

So what ARE the animals doing?

As predicted by many of our friends BC (before Conor), the furry children in our house have taken a serious backseat to the human child we now have.  It’s not that they are not still an important part of our household, but our focus has shifted, and rightfully so, to our non-furry offspring.

Nonetheless, they continue to be important if not frustrating parts of our household.  (Feel free to skip today’s entry because it is sappy and dwells on other people’s pets---a topic about as exciting as other people’s dreams)

Thus, we shall use this entry to catch up on the animal shenanigans in our home.

Let’s start with Sergio, the red Betta, since the poor fish is clearly not at the top of any list otherwise.  He continues to swim around….actually, no he doesn’t.  He hangs out in his fake grass and waits for his three food pellets to appear twice a day.  We’ve eliminated the major problem we were having with algae by not using gravel in his bowl any more.  But that leaves his home place with just floating grass, which is a little bare.  Conor loves him though and will point to him again and again.  Simba loves him, too, but has not yet tried to eat him.

Oh yes, Simba, our small 6 pound minx of terror.  She is the best cat with Conor.  She’ll let him pet her and pull her tail and will just purr and roll over.  Nonetheless, she continues to pee on any pile of clothing we leave out over night.  (I’m not particularly fond of that habit)  She has also started sleeping in bed with us, but has not quite learned to draw the line between kitty and Mommy.  She likes to sleep on my head.  Originally, that meant sleeping on the pillow above my head.  But the colder it gets, the more likely it means actually, physically, literally, ON MY HEAD.  And she’s not really all that willing to move, which leads to a fun game of black flying kitty at 3:00 in the morning.  She is getting along better with the other cats. Dave even saw Scarlett give her a nose kiss two days ago.  Of course, not too long after, there were paw swats exchanged which is still more of the norm for her.

Scarlett is the normal cat around here.  This is an unexpected twist of events because for the 5 years previous, she was known as Psycho Kitty and with good reason.  She has been quick to hiss and swat at strangers.  And that has not necessarily gone away, but considering she is the least likely cat to pee outside the box, that gains her points in our normal poll.  As far as Conor goes, she’s not too thrilled with him.  She’ll let him get close to her and touch her, but it’s clear that Hiss and Swat are not that far from her mind.  It doesn’t help that Conor screeches every time he gets near her.  It’s ear piercing to us; I can’t imagine what it sounds like to her.

Duncan is actually doing much better.  He is now close to 15 years old but can still get around pretty well.  He is actually peeing less than he was, but we’re not taking many chances.  He tries to keep as far away as he can from Conor.  As soon as he sees the child, he runs—under the bed, into his new favorite spot in the linen closet, anywhere he can as far away as he can from Conor.  (Perhaps this exercise is what keeps him in share?)

And finally, Patches.  Patches is the one who probably has it the best and the worst with Conor.  He loves having a small human around to play with, but he’s getting more and more jealous of the attention we give Conor.  And our small human loves his similarly sized dog.  Looooooves. Looooooooooves almost too much.  More than once lately we’ve had to rescue Patches from some Conor love/torture such as trying to honk his nose his he honks ours.  Patches is so good natured about it, but he still has a pleading look in his eyes when Conor screams and pokes his snout again and again.

Patches is not always so good.  Dave and I continue to lose underwear and socks whenever Patches can reach a snout into the laundry basket.  Used diapers within reach are also up for grab-and-tear.  (Fortunately, these are only pee pee diapers, otherwise, I’d still be retching)  But overall, Patches is amazing in our new household.  He dits with Conor tells him too.  He protects Conor’s toys from the cats.  (Although the cats don’t really give a hoot about the toys, he really just chases them away as they walk by Conor’s toys.)  In the morning, Conor rushes over to Patches’ bed and pets him and Patches just rolls over and licks Conor when he can. 

It is true nonetheless though that when Dave comes home, Patches really, really, really, really, really wants Dave to come outside and throw the Frisbee until Patches can move anymore.  Now, though, the Frisbee throwing has to occur with a little peanut by Dave’s side.  Dave throws.  Patches fetches.  Conor picks up the Frisbee and gives it to Dave and the process starts again. 

OK.  You probably were not so curious about how everyone has been getting along around here.  It’s just another area of guilt for my neglect that I can check off my list now. 

10:41:19 AM    

Maybe I Should Have Skipped That Second Helping of Dressing

“My belly is poking out.  Really.  It’s really poking out a lot sooner than it did last time.  Don’t you think my belly is poking out?”

“Not as much as your ass.”

You may not find this funny, but I find it hysterical.  It’s nice having relatives who are a bit sharper than most tools in the shed. 

Dit and Day

Conor has been helping Dave feed the dog.  (Apparently, this entry deals with food)  As part of our feeding routine, we have Patches Sit, Down, and Stay as we fill his food dish.  With Conor helping, it tends to be a bit longer process of Down and Stay as Conor pours (sort of) Patches’ food into his dish.  There is now an inevitable puddle of drool accompanying this process.

Just this weekend, Conor has started adding his own commands to Dave’s during the feeding routing.

“Sit!” Dave says.

“Dit!” Conor says.

“Down!” they both say.

“Stay” cautions Dave as the drool starts pooling.

“Day!” Conor adds on with an emphatic hand gesture (the “Down” sign we’ve taught Patches).

Conor then toddles off with a handful of food while Dave follows along behind him with the full cup.  Patches patiently dits and days until he gets the magic “OK” command that means he can eat. 

Whatever dominance Conor may think he has over Patches is really part of a collaboration as Conor continues to steal handfuls of catfood for Patches to snack on throughout the day.

We shouldn’t find this as humorous as we do, because we know we’re encouraging it.

Nonetheless, I don’t think any of this behavior is going to stop anytime soon.

12:44:26 PM    

I Hope You Know That This Will Go Down on Your Permanent Record

It was inevitable.  We’ve been expecting it and should actually feel lucky that we escaped for as long as we did.  But it happened, and we’re ok. 

Oh, it’s not that dramatic.  Somebody broke into our car on Friday night and stole two whole dollars.  Actually, they weren’t two whole dollars, it was probably more like two dollars in dimes and quarters.  (And what exactly am I supposed to think when they left the new suit I’d bought from Steinmart in the car?  I thought it was a cute suit!)

It’s our neighborhood.  We love it, but there is a lot of economic diversity both in and around our ‘hood.  It’s one of the things we love about where we live, but it makes us susceptible to petty theft like this.  Shed break ins and stealing change out of the car are very common.  And yes, I was foolish to 1) leave my stuff in the car even though they didn’t steal it, and 2) to leave the car unlocked.  I heard you gasp!  Yes, I leave my car unlocked a lot.  I’m very trusting. 

Dave discovered it Saturday morning when he went out to get the paper.  He noticed that the car door was open and the lights were on.  It wasn’t until he saw that the glove compartment had been emptied that he knew something was up.  (His exact quote was “I didn’t think you were that messy.”  I resemble that remark)

Once we figured out what had happened, there may have been some harsh words spoken towards our lame ass guard dog.  Phrases like “You’re fired!” and “Couldn’t get off your comfy dog bed and alert us to those folks rummaging through our car, eh?”  and the most cutting of all “What would Lassie think?”  This from the dog who does a lap around our .5 acre lot whenever the UPS man drives by and who literally barks himself into a hate filled frenzy at the sight of the mailman. 

The car was not parked on the road, by the way.  It was way down the driveway, about 60 feet or so, behind of our other car, under a street light by the garage, and pretty much behind our house.  They had some cajones to go after both of those dollars.

It wasn’t until later that morning that we found out that our neighbor likely scared them away.  Her dogs woke her up with some crazy barking around 2 am.  She turned on the light in her den to look for the cat she believed was making them so absolutely crazy.  She even peered out her front windows which we think scared the thieves away from our car. 

We were very relieved and thanked her and her dogs profusely for preventing any more damage.

Still….

Patches, our collie, our Timmy’s-in-the-well-and-I-will-bark-you-to-it dog,  got schooled in home protection by a poodle.  A poodle. 

What would Lassie think?

10:27:08 AM    

Get That Dog

We’ve been taking Conor and Patches on walks around our neighborhood between dinner and bedtime to help Conor calm down and get to sleep.  Yesterday, we had a bit of an incident on this walk.

We had just turned the corner onto the main street in our neighborhood.  We saw a young woman standing on the leash of her very large dog, which may have been a bull mastiff.  We stopped walking and stared at her because even from a block away, we could tell the dog had on a spiked choke collar digging into its neck.  And both of us thought it was odd that she was standing on his leash right beside him so that his leash and collar were tight on his neck.  We realized as we approached that she was trying to make him Down by using the weight of her body on the leash.  He wasn’t budging  (My first thought was that she was doing it wrong and that she should lead him down with a treat, not by force)

“Is that dog OK?” Dave asked.

“Yes, we’re training,” she replied.  OK, fine.  I thought.  We’ve trained Patches on this same street. 

We started walking past them with Dave and Patches in front of Conor and me.  The dog started growling at Patches.  Within seconds, the dog lunged at Patches, knocking his owner off balance.  I saw Patches run to other side of the sidewalk while the mean dog flew through the air at Patches, teeth bared ready to bite Patches.  My only thought besides “He’s going to eat Patches” was “If he can’t get Patches, he’s going to go after Conor.” 

“GET THAT DOG!  GET THAT DOG!!!”  I shouted.  She struggled but finally gained control of him and dragged him back to the side of the street. 

“That dog needs training!” my own teeth bared at her and her dog.  

“Yes, that’s what I’m doing” she replied, her eyes wide.  “We’re in a training program.”

“NO!!!!  That dog should NOT be on the street.  You need to get that dog off the street!” 

Now, let me pause here and explain a few things.  First, when I said “GET THAT DOG!” I was loud.  Really, really loud.  No, actually louder than that.  I was louder than the aggressive dog’s barking.  Other people walking up the street stopped; a wise decision, I think especially for the couple with their tiny beagle.  I was so loud that as soon as we passed them and Dave and I could talk, the first thing he said was, “I think you scared the dog.” 

I think he was right.  I saw the dog’s ear twitch towards me when I shouted.  I really did.  And I’m not proud of scaring an attacking, aggressive bull mastiff.  I’m more than just embarrassed.  It's not an attractive feminine characteristic.  And again, when I say I was loud when I shouted, I meant I was loud and low.  I can understand how that dog heard my shouts as very aggressive barks back at him.  I was louder and lower than that big dog’s bark. 

Second, when I said No! to that woman, I meant No on so many more ways than I could explain to her while I was standing there shaking.  No, you don’t train a dog with a spiked choke collar.  No, your trainer is not worth what you’re paying him or her.  No, YOU have to dominate that dog; YOU have to become alpha.  You need to feed that dog every meal out of your hands for two weeks and if his teeth even touch your skin, he doesn’t get to eat. You need to lie on your dog to show your dominance.  You need to keep that dog off of all your furniture.  He needs to know YOU are in charge.  And you need to keep that dog off a busy, public street until he is better trained.  Because if he had hurt my dog or my baby, you really don't want to know what would have happened.  (I think she probably got that last part)

This morning, I woke up and continued to be embarrassed.  I wanted to find her and explain all that to her.  I wanted to give her out trainer Teresa’s number so that she could have a very knowledgeable alpha helping her train her very aggressive dog.  I wanted to apologize for shouting at her.  I’ve always thought it funny to think of myself as an alpha bitch, but to be so on a busy street was embarrassing.

Oddly, the walk didn’t help Conor go to sleep early last night.  I wonder why. 

12:08:41 PM    

Welcome Home or I Love You, I Missed You, and Now I’m going to Pee on your Stuff 

Duncan was a love bunny all day yesterday.  He followed me around the house, pawed at my leg while I wrote and wanted to sit in my lap while I worked.  Considering that usually Duncan spends the day asleep on the bed, I was impressed just by his following me from room to room.

Then, in the late afternoon, I saw him squatting over my shoe.  Knowing his tendency to leave unwanted presents, I called the Collie Cops who nosed him off that spot.  Later, however, we found Dave’s backpack where Duncan had decided to leave his welcome home gift. 

When it was just Dave and Duncan, Duncan’s welcome home ritual was to love, love, love on Dave and then bite him hard on the hand.  Now that it’s Dave, Anita, Conor, Patches, Scarlett and Simba, it’s love, love, love and pee.  I guess I’d rather have him pee than try to bite the baby, but still.  It’s weird.  Duncan is a weird old cat. 

Teeth Aplenty

Well, Fang is about to be Fang no longer.  His front two teeth, in their right spots, have finally started to come out.  They have been visible for well over a week and since last Friday we could actually see them through the blister of skin that was bubbling up over them.  This morning, I finally felt the left one.  Yes, our poor guy has been pushing out 4 teeth at once.  That has got to hurt. 

Isn't he cute chillin in his ride?  He loves riding around like that!

English Peas

We had our first real meal of English Peas from the garden last night.  Yummmmmm.  Those were dang tasty.  For lunch, I’m going to make a salad with some of our over enthusiastic lettuce.  I’m also hoping on going running in the late morning.  My runs have finally started to progress.  Yesterday was the first good run I’ve had since the Charlotte (Half) Marathon in January 2004.  That’s a long time ago.  And it wasn’t even close to that distance.  Nonetheless, it didn’t suck, and I’ll take that in a run right now. 

Off to work. 

8:44:34 AM