spring is taking over
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Monthly Archives: February 2008
she likes me best.
Every morning I get up an hour earlier than I should to go downstairs and play with Scout. We generally go for a walk (when it’s not too cold, and when I’m feeling up to coaxing her away from every house where she’s ever seen any other humans or animals–e.g. ‘things put on Earth specifically to keep her entertained’) or just play fetch in the living room. At seven, I have to go upstairs and get ready. Since she’s shown herself able to a.) exist for one hour without going to the bathroom and b.) be alone without chewing everything I own, I allow her to stay out of the crate during that hour.
Every day this week, when I come downstairs after getting ready, she has been curled up in her open crate, hugging one of my shoes. Not chewing the shoe, just hugging it. She loves me enough to cuddle with my footwear.
it didn’t last.
I didn’t expect it to. But it sure would have been nice if, instead of potty training, it was more like a potty cure.
36 good hours in a row.
Don’t get me wrong with what I’m about to say here: It’s not like I never think she’ll ever make another mistake again. In fact, that’s not at all the case. I totally expect it.
That being said–Scout did not use the bathroom inside the house, not one time, all of yesterday. Even over night, she did not use the bathroom in her crate, and believe you me, I make a serious point out of sleeping for 8 hours in a row with no interruptions. She has gone for over 36 hours without violating my hardwood floors, or my kitchen tile, and without forcing me to wash all the blankets and towels in her crate. I am a happy woman.
So it was a good day in our household yesterday. It was a day of going to the bathroom in designated areas, a day of enchiladas and sopapillas, and a day of indulging myself with GossipGirl because when it comes to TV, I clearly have no personal restraint.
I’m not intending for this to turn into a dogblog, but right now, my puppy basically takes up all available space in my brain. That includes the space in my brain that remembers to bring snacks to work for mid-day munchies, and the part that remembers where my keys are, and the part that keeps me in my routine. In the last week, I have turned into an incredibly looney, dingbat brained, can’t keep up with anything kind of a person. I am not that person. I am type A. I border on severe Type A. I am Type A, Capitolized For A Reason, because I can not live my life like an insane woman who has to wake up her sister for a ride to work cause WHERE ARE MY KEYS? right before I remember that maybe they are in my jeans, along with my debit card and my licence, which I didn’t even know where MISSING.
I digress.
I think my dog is pretty awesome.
my jewelry rack
I think it’s abundantly clear from this photograph that I like teardrop shaped earrings.
I designed and built this “jewelry rack” myself. Which is to day that I found that piece of wood in the house (I believe it was a runner for a dresser drawer in its past life) and put a hand full of hooks into it, and then drilled holes in the back (at an angle) with a dremmel tool. I’m so crafty that way. It has become one of my most favorite things.
Now, not only do I wear jewelry more often (than never), but I get to see all of it every day. There are pieces hanging on the rack that were gifts from best friends, and there are pieces that were left to me by my great grandmother when she passed. I love being reminded of my friendships and my family history every morning.
welcome to the neighborhood
Ever since Scout came to live with us, she’s been telling me how disappointed she is with our social behaviors. Her poor little puppy brain couldn’t wrap itself around the fact that, “HEY. There are KIDS across the street, and you don’t KNOW THEM? What were you thinking!?!” I’ve tried to console her, saying, “I was thinking about re-arranging the furniture and what I would cook for dinner, and I was thinking about how many kCals are in a cup of Medium Fat Meat because that’s what my teacher told me to think about. I’m sorry.”
So yesterday after taking her for her evening walk, she took matters into her own paws, introducing us to the across-the-street neighbors via the place in the human heart that loves puppies.
I did not realize that a dog could be such a useful social networking tool. Honestly, I know that dudes have been getting dogs to get girls for centuries, and vice versa, but wow. In 3 seconds, I went from “perfect stranger that rents space next door to the space that we occupy” to “BFF who has a dog with the same name as a cat that we have, isn’t that awesome, do you like wine?”
Yes. I like wine. Nice to meet you, too.
———————-
unrelated: these two sentences were just spoken to me, in this succession, by the same person, back to back: “Trust me, I know everything.” & “Is there a place where I can pull up a website?”
Introducing Scout
Zack and I went to the North Texas Humane Society over the weekend. We’ve been talking about getting a dog for a while now–knowing that eventually we’ll both be working jobs that have shift-scheudles, and that in a matter of a few months, I could be spending nights at the house by myself. (Relative Terms Found in the Last Sentence: “by myself”– sisterkaty lives with us, but that doesn’t always mean that she’ll be at the house, because of the second relative term: “nights”, something that my 20 year-old sister seems to not be aware of.)
Saturday while we were at the shelter, we both fell in love with Scout. We didn’t get to pick her up until last night, due to surgery scheduling. So for three days, I’ve been dancing around the house in glee, wondering how long it will take me to train her to do awesome things like this.
She has already melted my heart. Last night she was so groggy because of the medicine; she didn’t do anything but sleep on my chest. I know that dogs aren’t cats, but I’ve only a cat for four years, and having one day of my dog acting like a snuggly cat was a really good moment of transition for me. This morning when I got out of bed (an hour earlier than usual, cause I just wanted to hang out with her) she was awake and excited and playful. She followed me footstep-for-footstep throughout the house all morning long, displaying that I was CLEARLY the CHOSEN ONE. (yesssss.) This morning, when we were hanging out in the dining room, she smelled my shoes, the ones I had taken her outside in yesterday. She took huge long whiffs, shoving her teeny little head into my shoe, and then took off running. She pranced back into the room moments later with her rope/bone, which she laid on my shoes as a gift.
sudoku
After having just finished my first sudoku puzzle, and having eaten some raw onion in my lunch, I have to say, the latter was more exciting. I thought I would experience the feeling of glory that I felt when I (almost) did my first crossword puzzle.
Instead, I find myself thinking, “My, that red onion was potent, wasn’t it? Where’s my gum?”
valenwha?
All the ladies at the office are currently in a state of shock because I told them that Zack does not believe in, acknowledge, or participate in the festivities surrounding or associated with Valentine’s Day.
“You mean he’s not getting you anything?” “He won’t even say ‘Happy Valentine’s Day?’” “How are you even alive still?” (And my personal favorite: “Why don’t you send him some flowers?”)
It’s just February 14th in my marriage, I told them. Zack would be more likely to take me out in celebration of President’s Day. It’s cool though. I totally knew what I was getting myself into.
the end of an era
My Fairy Chair was the first plant that I ever bought. It has been the plant that has given me the confidence to truly believe that I can overcome the two-brown-thumbs that my mother passed down to me; try as she did to grow things–she never could. I guess you could say that I’m a plant lover because of The Fairy Chair. Before its existence , I never paid much attention to greenery. Now, I’m afraid that I might have to move Zack into the garage soon to make room for MORE IVY.
I have forever called said plant “The Fairy Chair” because its leaves look as if they could each host a fairy or two comfortably for several hours, perhaps as a Lazy-boy hosts me for several hours at a time whilst watching Oprah. I don’t know what it’s really called–not that I haven’t tried. For weeks now, Larry (the plant guy at work) and I have been trying to track down the ACTUAL NAME of my mysterious plant. We’re all, “well, it kinda looks like a variegated rubber plant, but not really, cause those leaves are a weird color.” And he’s like, “maybe it’s tropical,” and, “the blooms look like WHAT?” Needless to say, we’re still baffled. Not even Google knows what I mean when I search “fairy chair, plant, green, looks kind of like a rubber plant, but Larry doesn’t know what it is.”
And Google NEVER fails me.
So yesterday when Larry came to the office to water all the plants he asked me to bring him a clipping of the plant, because now he’s stumped every other plant-person he knows and nobody knows what it is, and now they are all spending poker night scratching their heads, and all those nickles are going to WASTE.
ALL THIS TO SAY:
When I got home from work yesterday, I was watering my plants when I saw the leaf. Of all the leaves on the fairy chair, my favorite one, the one I’d been swooning and marvelling over for at least 7 months finally gave up the ghost. The age of the grown-together leaf has officially come to a close.
Here’s the only bright side: I finally got to pull it apart. It was way more tenacious than you might imagine.
The Grown-Together Leaf in the height of its glory
The Grown-Together Leaf in the height of its window-sill photo shoot
