{September 20, 2012}
You Are the Sunshine of my Blog…….
I am honored yet embarrassed because I don’t know what that is….Favorite Color: Green…..the color of money that is lacking in my wallet right now…
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 4,300 times in 2011. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 4 trips to carry that many people.
{August 31, 2011}
Sick as A Blog ( an earlier post..due to lack of inspiration…)
I have been informed by current dog owners (CDO’s) that it is important to get your new dog a “puppy check” a.s.a.p. I am a new puppy owner and have not owned a dog since childhood and apparently this is a check-up to verify if you have a healthy or sick dog. This “puppy check” will establish him with a Vetinarian to gain a history and secure his records. Hmm…. very similar to what I did when my kids were born, however, that was covered by insurance. My dog was a quasi rescue and did not come with any records. Maybe the Vet will conduct a back round check. I’ll have Charly-dog present a puppy print to be submitted to the canine data bank.
I did not grab the yellow pages and seek out an established Primary Vet right away, instead, I went the cheaper route and did a one stop shop at the local S.P.C.A to get his initial set of required shots. Also known as “The Clinic”. I have worked in the hospital environment and for all of you who work or have worked in a hospital environment; back then the word CLINIC meant: “Line ’em up, step right up, one ata time folks…get your shots here..hurry while they last..that’s right little lady don’t be shy, now serving number 187”: All accompanied by a waiting room full of the village people.
My 15 year old son accompanied me to the clinic clutching the pup close to his chest as if he were cradling a football and running for that 60 yard T.D.to get to the head of the Free Shot Line. We stood in line for over an hour along with other dogs all senior to our pup. My son tired of holding Charly-dog and decided to set our mongrel down to mingle with the pack, at the ripe old age of 7 weeks. Apparently my son missed the lecture in the car regarding immunities, vaccines, and death by Parvo!
The line moved slowly toward the table that dispensed the paperwork. They asked for my ID and the name of the dog and DOB.(date of birth). The pup was 7 weeks and was born sometime in July so I made my pre-calculous privately schooled teenage son do the math.
We were then escorted to another table ( the paying one) and gave our donation. We waited in line as I witnessed the Vet-du-jour give vaccines consecutively to all the dogs as he inched down the line without taking a breath. It came to our turn and I looked at our new puppy resting in my arms staring at me with those Margeret Keane eyes. My heart was pounding and I was near tears. I couldn’t watch as this fully Tattooed, braided pony-tailed with no credentials in view VET (?) approach my pup with a hypo from the 1950’s…….. I made my son do it.
It went so quickly and not one yelp from our puppy, not even a sniff. This master with a needle had a soft touch equipped with precision that didn’t even tussle a piece of fur. I was so impressed, I slipped the VET a twenty and mentioned that my son is due his tetanus soon and maybe he’s free on Tuesday……..
I may have spoke too soon; a few days later our pup came down with a doggie cold or as the professionals call it: kennel cough; and, as newbie owners and ignorant about puppy ailments, we did what responsible adults do…….dialed doggie 911.
It was a weekend and we did not do step one of new puppy ownership: Get Established With A Vet. So we had to go to an Emergency Vet Hospital, on a weekend, with an On Call Vetinarian….This visit cost nearly the same amount of money as a one nights stay at the Hilton with a spa package.
The Vet receptionist had us enter through the “sick pet door” where we were quarantined in a corner seat in the waiting area. We were greeted much like a regular hospital E.R.; as their initial instructions were:
“Please sign in and fill out this paperwork”.
Our puppy was lying listless in my lap and displaying shallow breathing. We have only owned this dog for seven weeks and I am presented by the receptionist at the Vet E.R. with a vibrant blue page to be filled out immediately. I mentioned to her that my dog will be the color of this form by the time I finish with this paperwork. She turned away smacking her gum to the tune of Springsteen’s “Born in the USA”……..
I noticed at the bottom of this Blue Page there were two options that required One mandatory check mark:
Option 1: ( short version) We will take the pet and do everything possible to save it costing you at the least $750.
Option 2: DNR.
I was hoping that DNR had a different meaning than the one used in People Hospitals. I was thinking that maybe Vet clinics had their own special vernacular and acronyms that pertained to animals, and that maybe their version of DNR meant something less devastating. Like:
Do Note-the Reading-material-while-you-wait……. or…..Dinner Needs Reheating… or…. Did-you Need-to-Rethink-this-puppy-thing?….
As it turned out our pup had a mild form of a kennel cough and just needed a dose of antibiotic and we didn’t need to go to Eddie Bauer in search of an oxygen pup- tent. Our little pupster came through with flying colors as I stayed curled up next to him throughout the night and day.
I know I inherited this mutt a mere seven weeks prior to his illness and my attachment to him was still in a foreign stage to me. I know I was riddled withguilt despair when I was faced with the decisions of those two options listed on the required Royal Page. I know that in those fatal few seconds in between my puppy’s breaths, thoughts flashed through my mind of various views before my pen decided to land in the blank box nestled near the bottom of the Bright blue Form. My mind was being coerced into choosing between an eight week weakling that I barely knew that could stiff me for a giant Vet bill or Do Nothing Right-now……
I know you are dying to know which option I chose…..
That is not an option………
spread the humor.
{July 2, 2011}
Any Blog In A Storm
God hates me. I have been blessed with the sarcastic gene in my family. All my life I have worked very hard to be compliant and follow suit with the more serious society,……. but I can not stop my eyes from rolling to the Heavens every time I see something that strikes my feather brain fancy. I’ll need to Iron(y)- out that problem later when I visit the Optometrist…….or possibly a shrink.
I just found out that I have a new hobby that I was totally unaware of until recently: I am an avid SPAM collector. I do not intentionally attract spam, it just seems to coagulate around me of its own choice. I have located spam sitting on my desktop and now it’s following me to my dashboard. I think I may have a hard drive ahead to try and avoid this spam that is lining my mega mother (cup)board, or maybe I’ll just have to Byte the bullet and band with the other network of canned (s)hams…
I decided to open one of the recurring spams whose label spelled out an invitation of flattery. I guess inside this self contained canned junk are ingredients to saturate the eye sites of people caught up in a web of nonsense. I think my spam collection really came to fruition when I started visiting various avenues in order to site see more effectively. Some of the venues I managed to stumble across made me absorb the contents and forced my eyes to roll causing an infused feeling of Ad nauseam.
I also found out that my spam collection is not solely set in a National genre, it has spread it’s little spam cans..er legs….Internationally as well. I have collected a lot of Love From Russia which scared the Living Daylights outta me when they headline their specialty spam: For Your Eyes Only………
My spam is compiling on a daily basis and I am starting to wonder if I have a problem. Maybe I can try to clean my desktop and rid my cluttered dashboard of all the hazardous spam that I have accumulated from different cities. I thought about setting the spam collectibles on the shelf next to my shot glass collection. It could be quite the conversation piece when I offer my guests a shot of International spam to go with their cocktail weenies…
I was just thinking if there might be a spam headquarters that is operated by a head cheese who controls the outflow of spam. This product is so amass in daily life, that I find myself being unable to avoid collecting it. No matter how many times I empty the spam into the trash it still resurfaces around me and multiplies faster than my sons TI-84 during a Calculus exam….
Maybe I’ll need to join spam anonymous to rid the addictive cycle that burns hard and can d(e)rive chaos onto a pristine dashboard.
Maybe they can get to the core reason as to why I decided this late in life to start collecting spam; or tap into my Blog-havior that attracts this unsolicited call of doody… This is a techno ataxia of a spam-nation. This is a mystery meating of my desktop in cohabitation with a special product of Austin Minnesota that is surely out of my control.
Maybe I’ll just have to acquire a taste for spam since it is so readily available….I could top it off with some drudge and a side of crhackers…
Maybe I’ll find something else that tweets my interest so I stop this spam consumption before I hack-n-eye.
spread the humor
{August 13, 2010}
Blog-Leg-Left
Can someone out there help me to publish this as a book? I surely could use the money. I have decided to incorporate my relationship with my dog,menopause, raising children, and my marriage into some light reading. Oh and float the influx of alcohol into the equation it could add some unintentional lightness of being.
Anytime you affix alcohol into the picture it ads excitement and adventure; oh, and a slight headache. Earnest Hemingway use to drink a bottle of Scotch before he started to write his novels. I just uncork the latest Pinot Grigio and free float. Alcohol adds containment to life’s little sidebars; And also works as a quick astringent for dog bites.
Yes, my lovely Charly The Chaniel grabbed my hand with his Chi-hua-hua canines and left a one inch blood gushing gash in my right palm. That pissed me off. That’s my drinking hand.
No, Charly was not fighting me for the Chardonnay , I was attempting to recover a tuft of tissue dangling from his mouth that he stole from the waste bucket in the powder room. I used the command on him to “drop” before I reached for the used Ultra Soft Kleenex, but Charly was stubborn and would not surrender his rumpled white flag.
So, I, being the larger of the two species, bent down to tear that paper out from his teeth and that’s when he charged and latched onto my hand.
I don’t remember exactly what happened next, but when I came to there was a lot of blood and a rolled up torn Times next to me and my dog looked like an Andy Warhol painting.
My hand did not require any stitches but I was hurting for a dog trainer. I called a family meeting, minus my always traveling husband, and announced to the children that I was getting rid of the dog. My twenty year old daughter said “Good” and continued texting on her Iphone, and my 16 year old son grew silent and grabbed some ice and a band-aid. (I now know which child will put me into the Deluxe Suite at the Retirement Center and which one will leave me duct taped to a wheel chair drooling in a parking lot).
There was no need to call the paramedics for me or an undertaker for the dog; the only phone call I managed to dial was a local Dog Trainer in my “hood”. I had his card for months, but due to economic hardships, doggie obedience and doggie schools and doggie camps and doggie play dates where not in my budget this year.
Plus, growing up with German Shepherds as kid, I never recall any dog training with a professional in our household or even in the neighborhood for that matter. Dog’s just seem to be dogs and they either obeyed or were met on the nose with whatever was handy. Albeit a stick, magazine, or my mothers new Rubbermaid spatula that she ordered through the catalogue that ended up mysteriously missing from the Gadget drawer one day only to be returned with large bite marks on the handle.
“Rubbermaid, Touching millions of people everyday where they live, work, and play”. Even while sent to the Dog House…at least my mother’s bark was worse than her bite…
I finally gave in to the recession and dipped into my budget Piggy bank and hired a Dog whisperer of my very own. Only he doesn’t whisper. He met with Charly-dog and took that Chaniel by the horns and showed him whose boss. He was The Trainer. He was Alonzo Harris in Training Day with a mix of Kathy Bates of Misery, throw in a hint of Darth Vader , and a wardrobe from Barbara Woodhouse.
This Trainer got my dog under control and civilized in under an hour. My Trainer can take my dog anywhere and meet any one or any other dog and my Chaniel never complains. Not one little bark or whimper escapes his little doggie lips. If he had lips. The Trainer can make Charly-dog do anything he wants him to do and Charly obeys him, because if he doesn’t he will face the almighty choke collar cutting off his air supply.
When I try to emulate the Trainer and do as I am instructed Charly behaves like he should. Especially when the Trainer is present. I was impressed to say the least, that I actually had a dog that I could be proud of , and not fret every time I had to walk him and a car zoomed past and Charly would try to outrace the moving vehicle. I basked in the glory of strolling by folks in the neighborhood without Charly on High Alert Attack mode. I have to say that training day is the highlight of my life right now because my dog transforms into a T.V. dog that minds his manners….. For the camera anyway…
That’s right , when the Trainer is gone and I am solo again with my pup, mayhem breaks out and he regresses back to his original Hell Boy Look-a-like. I can not afford to have this Trainer 24/7 unless I offer him room and board.
Hmmm…I’m thinking. My husband does travel a lot and I do have a guest room collecting dust more than visitors….
Well, it could make for some interesting blogging…………
{May 7, 2010}
Gone to the Blogs
I have finally reached rock bottom. My espresso machine broke and I am forced to drink Drip coffee. I can not function without my first cappuccino of the morning, I live and breath to arise to that foamy steamed milk laced with the most vile Peruvian coffee that Juan Valdez would never let his mule sniff. This gets me more excited than my puppy ripping through his cows ear covered with Jack Daniel’s barbeque sauce.
I love my cappuccino almost as much as I love my dog and without my morning ritual I become as bitter as the taste of my cup of Joe. I hate the fact that due to the physicality affect my cappuccino holds on me, I have been forced to dole out a few bucks at the local Espresso stand. I don’t know which is worse, the lousy drip institutional tasting coffee or forking over hard earned dollars for overpriced fancy hot drinks.
I think it all boils down to my being angry at my trustworthy machine for losing it’s parts. I have had this machine for ten years and it had proven to be as faithful as my dog. I find I can not write without caffeine, oh I tried those Teen enhancer’s like Monster and AMP, they tasted like diluted cough medicine with an Alka-Seltzer chaser. Plus I don’t like having to belch after every sip. Some beverages are designed for youth under 25 years of age. If I want bubbles bursting in my nose it better be bottled by the French and have the phrase Cuvee Paradis written on the label.
However, this is not a morning eye opener , well maybe for some people who may use it as an additive in their OJ; but for me I love my capuccino. The aroma, the taste, the rush of that addictive mocha mud jump starting my circulatory system. The only sensation that can mimic that excitement is my Puppy pouncing on me at six a.m. The only missing link is the lack of a fresh brewed smell in his fur, maybe I’ll have to invest in espresso shampoo.
I have to say my doggie is getting calmer and behaving better and I am sure that is due to his budding maturity or my starting to calm down and not hyperventilate every time I take him out. maybe it’s the recent lack of adequate caffeine. When Charly and I head out on an expedition I completely transpose my body in to a KamaSutra state of mind and try to stay in that state until we return to our natural habitat. The House.
I think I am spending too many hours watching the Dog Whisperer, but I do like his incredible lightness of being around his pack. I don’t have a pack. I have a back pack. Maybe I could stuff Charly in there while we take walks around the neighborhood. I wish I could attribute my new found serenity to watching Master Milan and his Miracle Mutts, but my disposition is more of a null and void space and a zombie like appearance. I get up in the morning wearing whatever fell out of my drawer from the night before and shuffle down the hallway with one eye open toward my sleeping Dog for his morning walk. I try to get out there either before the rush hour of commuters or just after, so no one should bear witness to my clown like attire and report me to the home owners association as a possible asylum escapee.
My morning walks with my pup have been very sedate lately because my body is moving slowly to the rhythm of “absence of stimuli”. My capuccino machine broke and I can not function without it, it completes me. It gets my body parts to operate as they are designed to unlike my machine which can’t operate if a part breaks down and you have to wait three to four weeks for delivery. AND when the part finally arrives the Fed Ex driver won’t come to the house because of the barking Chaniel pup, so he leaves it by the mailbox; which then got picked up and ferried by another dog in the hood to some sacred burial spot.
I’m telling you this is gunna be rrr-ruff……….I’m falling apart.
spread the humor
{April 6, 2010}
Sad as a Hound Blogs Eye
I had a visit today with the Established Vet to get my dogs nails done and to have one of the last shots that will enable him to walk amongst every other dog. That is, if he were social enough to walk with other dogs and people for that matter. Charly-dog had to have a muzzle put on for the first time by the Vet Technician, who I noticed, had shaky hands even before we entered the office.
My dog was a little more maintained today and only allotted himself a minute of barking per person. The Vet Technician (VT) explained that:
“Dogs do that when they have experienced trauma either in the home or out ;or heard a loud noise when you’re not home”.
Hearing the word Trauma gave me an upset feeling in my stomach and made me hold my head down in shame racking my brain to try to figure out when and if trauma happened in our house. There’s Drama, which rhymes with trauma, but that’s because I house teenagers.
The only trauma/drama I can think of was when my mother- in- law last visited; but Charly was barely past infancy and I’m sure he has blocked that Holiday from his bobble head. The only trauma this dog has experienced is scoping neighbors passing our property peacefully walking their dogs and he finds himself unable crash through the house like the Kool-Aid pitcher barking “Oh Yeah” and nabbing onto a pant cuff.
I have been spending a lot of time watching dog shows to the point of now being the most confused I have ever been since bringing this puppy home. I have taken Charly-dog places, let him witness other dogs in the hood, and have had guest over all in the vain of getting my dog to a level where I can breath easy in public and stop apologizing to every person we come in contact with.
I actually gave up today on the notion of owning a dog. When I was at the Vet waiting for my dogs toenails to shine, I found myself in a ready position to exit quickly. My checkbook had a pre-written check with the amount due blank. When the Vet Technician delivered my dog to me shaking and suffering from muzzle shock, I tore my check out of the checkbook and ran for the exit.
There were many pets that entered during my puppy’s visit and Charly did not have a nice thing to say to any of them. All I could sense around me were the glares from the dog owners in the waiting room making me feel as though I must have traumatized this dog somehow without knowledge. It was the same feeling I got when my son was two and wouldn’t follow instructions from the pre-pre- school teacher and decided to take all his clothes off during play time and sunbathe on the playground as if he had a VIP card to a nudist colony in Maui. The stares and whispers from the other mothers was just invigorating.
I tried to remain as calm as the Dog Whisperer and keep my head up high and use my “inside voice” to correct Charly’s outbursts, but I yanked his collar until his bark was a spattered choke and exited in silence. I put Charly in the back seat and tethered him to the seat belt that would not allow him within a two foot radius near me. I was seething as I drove him back home and watched as he poked his bobble head out the back window in silence to absorb the ongoing oxygen. I did not want to acknowledge his presence in my car. I did not want to talk to him or look at him. I had horrific thoughts of his escaping through the window at a stop light and me not stopping to get him.
I drove in silence for twenty minutes as Charly RODE in silence. I pulled into my drive and stopped the car and told Charly to get out. I took off his leash and pointed to the vast unknown acreage and yelled at him to get out and leave me alone. At that point I didn’t care if he took off running after a car, or ran after someone screaming his barks in protest. All I wanted to do was retreat to my back yard and tend to my garden amongst my quiet Azalea’s.
I left Charly unaccompanied and on his own in the back yard with out a tethered leash or a fence. I gave him Carte Blanche of the yard without supervision. I went to my garden and took a shovel and dug up last seasons weeds as if I were plotting his grave. I looked up into the sky and watched two vultures circle my area staring down licking their chops in anticipation of grabbing my Chaniel for lunch. I looked up at the predators and glanced back at my puppy perched on the steps watching me. I kept digging and tilling the ground without thought to anything except the possibility of having a peaceful life back and to not turn around if I hear the yelp of my dog as he’s carried off by the treacherous talons of these birds of prey. In that moment of fantasy I saw my dog being carried off into the sunset and my having to explain to my weeping family as to what happened and why is there so much dog fur on the patio.
Instead, I was the one reduced to tears. I stood there wearing oversized gardener’s gloves on my hands looking like Minnie Mouse and crying over disheveled dirt infested with winter worms. I sat in the middle of my garden cultivating my thoughts in hopes of a revelation to inspire me to not offer my pup as a sacrifice to the vulture gods and as I sat there I noticed Charly approach me with a languish grin of satisfaction……….and a few feathers following behind him as he brought me an olive branch that looked like a beak.
I am in dog hell and he has total control. I think I am in need of sticking my bleached head out the window for air……………Muzzle Tov!
spread the humor
{November 6, 2009}
Shaggy Blog Story
Charlywalker's Blog 