According to the Census Bureau, I live alone. I, however, beg to differ. Yeah, I’m currently the only 2-legged being in my household but by no means do I live alone. Not if you count 4 dogs, 4 cats and an array of foster kittens. But furry things don’t count with census takers.
As you know, I frequently blog about my animals. After all, they give me lots to write about. One of the 8 often does something either ridiculously adorable or exceedingly frustrating…it’s a continual cycle of entertainment.
Consequently, I am never bored. Who has time for that? I’d need to pencil it into my schedule: Sunday, August 6, noon-1:00: BE BORED. I must admit it might be nice to have that luxury. When I’m not out wrangling kitties or on the tennis court, I’m at home attempting to work through my never ending honey-do list. And I’m the honey that do.
Now don’t get me wrong. I hire help whenever I can’t figure something out, which is rather frequently. And my neighbor Paul, Mr. Handyman, is always lending a hand or a tool. And lucky for me he has every tool ever invented. Continue reading →
Now don’t get me wrong; I’m sure some unique souls out there don’t have routines, but I don’t know of any. Do you? I do, however, know myself and my animals. I can predict what they’ll do even before they do it because, well, it’s habit.
I’m no exception with routines. For instance, in the shower I first wash my hair, then my body. Wouldn’t occur to me to do it in reverse. Without fail, I put on my left sock before my right. I floss my upper teeth before my lower. It’s a habit for me to forget my bags when I grocery shop. Every. Single. Time.
In my silly life, I count on some things being predictable. Some simply occur and I accept them. Then again, some of my truths are nothing more than just my opinion. I guess you could say I hold these truths to be self evident…
When taking my dog, Nellie, for a walk, she will poop on the lawn of the one person in our entire neighborhood who happens to be out front the moment we walk by. Every other house we pass is like the Twilight Zone, appearing eerily empty from the outside. Yet that damn dog will zero in on the one lawn which also happens to be perfectly manicured. She never does it on a dead lawn or in a rock garden.
I sense it the second I see someone out front tending their garden or mowing their precious lawn. Those people are like magnets to my greyhound. I even get my poop bag ready as we approach, prefacing my apprehension by saying, “Don’t even think about it, Nellie.” But she does more than just think about. Every. Single. Time.
I slept three and a half hours Friday night. This is not particularly unusual for me. That’s partly because ever since menopause my body says: Who needs sleep? Why waste all that time with your eyes closed when they could be open? That’s what my body says to me and unfortunately, I usually listen.
So Friday night (actually early Saturday morning), I was sound asleep, having finally dozed off somewhere around 12:30 a.m. watching Stephen Colbert. Then one of the dogs started whining at 4:00 a.m. It was my Greyhound, Nellie.
Nellie happens to have the bladder of a camel so I know at that hour she was simply bored and wanted to go outside to eat poop off the hill, keeping me waiting at the back door until she has her fill. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not exactly psychic. I know Nellie eats poop because she returns chomping on it. Anyway, I didn’t fall for her whining this time and told her to go back to bed. Trouble is, now I couldn’t do the same.
My mind started thinking of my ‘To Do’ list for Saturday and it was a long one. So I read a magazine for a half hour, hoping it would bore me to sleep. But it didn’t. So I watched a program I’d taped. Then I watched another. By 7:00 a.m. I was still awake but starting to doze off. That lasted until 7:30 when the animals decided they’d had enough rest for the night and it was time for me to rise.
I think you all know how much I’ve struggled with house training my one-year-old Dachshund mix, Wally. He’s either the most stubborn dog this side of New York or not a very bright canine. I’d say maybe both.
After his first bath
My friend Patty adopted a Dachshund mix a day before I took home Wally last summer. Unlike me, she has a history with the breed and wanted a companion for her full-on Dachshund, Jimmy Dean.
Enter Ali. Hard as it is to believe, Ali is even cuter than Wally. But Patty’s pup has the same issues as Wally. Yippee!