Friday, March 21, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Thursday Hilarity
Today's humor is brought to you by my 14 month old daughter and the neighborhood recycling collector.
First, Livers and I attended the bi-annual children's consignment sale this morning. In line on the way out was a woman, her child, and who I assume was the grandmother. Said grandmother was walking around with an oxygen tank. Livers saw it, and thanks to her current fascination with vacuum cleaners, kept looking at the woman's tank and going "voom, voom, voom!", which in Livers-land means vacuum. Occasionally she'd sort of pronounce it right, but I still had to explain to her in public that it was, in fact, not a vacuum.
Second, I was spying out of my kitchen window at the recycling collector to see how much he actually was taking. (I think sometimes they just throw it in the trash.) I noticed he had stopped for quite sometime around the paper side and wondered why. Upon further inspection I saw that, yes, the collector had stopped throwing away the cardboard to take out a freshly recycled People Magazine from my bin and was standing at his truck reading it. What a hoot!
First, Livers and I attended the bi-annual children's consignment sale this morning. In line on the way out was a woman, her child, and who I assume was the grandmother. Said grandmother was walking around with an oxygen tank. Livers saw it, and thanks to her current fascination with vacuum cleaners, kept looking at the woman's tank and going "voom, voom, voom!", which in Livers-land means vacuum. Occasionally she'd sort of pronounce it right, but I still had to explain to her in public that it was, in fact, not a vacuum.
Second, I was spying out of my kitchen window at the recycling collector to see how much he actually was taking. (I think sometimes they just throw it in the trash.) I noticed he had stopped for quite sometime around the paper side and wondered why. Upon further inspection I saw that, yes, the collector had stopped throwing away the cardboard to take out a freshly recycled People Magazine from my bin and was standing at his truck reading it. What a hoot!
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
All Is Safe in the Land of Canine
Molly in the kitchen after polishing off the rest of our Thanksgiving Turkey.
Lacey lounging on the couch.
Today was a very stressful day in our household. Our beloved first and secondborn, Molly and Lacey, had to go the vet to have their teeth cleaned. We got the girls after less than a month of marriage in the summer of 2005. We got them from the local animal shelter, and they were quite the sad sight. They were SEVERELY underweight (Molly weight about 13 1/2 pounds and Lacey an even 12 lbs) and had very scraggly fur. Most people thought we were insane to be taking this on, but I had grown up with dogs and always wanted some of my own, and after seeing their pictures on Petfinder.com I knew that (Lacey) was the dog for me. We went to the shelter only planning to get her, but upon seeing her sister I knew we couldn't leave her to suffer at the shelter and possibly be put down, so I managed to beg enough to get both. It was one of the best decisions of our lives, because they are wonderful doggies.
Well, in recent days the girls' breath had gotten horrid, and no amount of Yip Yaps (doggie breath mints), teeth brushing, and breath spray for dogs was going to cut it. I knew that they needed their teeth cleaned professionally, but Jeremy was freaked out about it because he had heard horror stories of dogs dying from anesthesia. (And I was nervous, because my grandmother's 17 year old dog had died getting his teeth cleaned, though incidentally not from anesthesia). We finally decided to bite the bullet and made the appointment, and we sat in nervous anticipation for today's cleaning. We got up this morning and said our goodbyes, worried that it was going to the last time we ever saw them. (This had actually become a thing for Jeremy the past few days. He was getting very sentimental about everything pertaining to the dogs--this might be the last treat we give them, their last romp in the backyard, the last time they fight over the food, yadda yadda yadda, you get the point.) We went nervously about our days, periodically talking over Google Talk about how much we loved our dogs and hoped everything went okay. The procedure was scheduled for noon and they weren't supposed to call us about them until at least 3, so when we got a call from the vet at ten till 2 I got really nervous. Thankfully the vet said that everything had gone splendidly and they were recovering.
And boy, were they. Jeremy brought them home a little after 4 and there were druuuugged up. Poor Lacey tried to walk up the stairs but kept falling up them, so Jeremy had to pick her up and bring her to our bed to rest. We tried to keep them from jumping off of furniture as best as possible, because we were worried that their lack of coordination would cause them harm. Molly was a lost cause, because she such a Ms. Nosy Pants that she won't sit still, so we let her roam the house, but we put Lacey in my office on the sofa where she quietly and happily recooperated the rest of the day. We are very glad that this is over with (and that they teeth are nice and sparkly and breath nice and fresh) and grateful we won't have to deal with this for another couple of years.
Well, in recent days the girls' breath had gotten horrid, and no amount of Yip Yaps (doggie breath mints), teeth brushing, and breath spray for dogs was going to cut it. I knew that they needed their teeth cleaned professionally, but Jeremy was freaked out about it because he had heard horror stories of dogs dying from anesthesia. (And I was nervous, because my grandmother's 17 year old dog had died getting his teeth cleaned, though incidentally not from anesthesia). We finally decided to bite the bullet and made the appointment, and we sat in nervous anticipation for today's cleaning. We got up this morning and said our goodbyes, worried that it was going to the last time we ever saw them. (This had actually become a thing for Jeremy the past few days. He was getting very sentimental about everything pertaining to the dogs--this might be the last treat we give them, their last romp in the backyard, the last time they fight over the food, yadda yadda yadda, you get the point.) We went nervously about our days, periodically talking over Google Talk about how much we loved our dogs and hoped everything went okay. The procedure was scheduled for noon and they weren't supposed to call us about them until at least 3, so when we got a call from the vet at ten till 2 I got really nervous. Thankfully the vet said that everything had gone splendidly and they were recovering.
And boy, were they. Jeremy brought them home a little after 4 and there were druuuugged up. Poor Lacey tried to walk up the stairs but kept falling up them, so Jeremy had to pick her up and bring her to our bed to rest. We tried to keep them from jumping off of furniture as best as possible, because we were worried that their lack of coordination would cause them harm. Molly was a lost cause, because she such a Ms. Nosy Pants that she won't sit still, so we let her roam the house, but we put Lacey in my office on the sofa where she quietly and happily recooperated the rest of the day. We are very glad that this is over with (and that they teeth are nice and sparkly and breath nice and fresh) and grateful we won't have to deal with this for another couple of years.
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