than to let a snake handler drape boas around your neck.
More later.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m still not a dog person, so much as I was just a Tyson person.
I do know that almost 2 years ago exactly, on a spur of the moment decision, I drove an hour and a half into uncharted, Western New York farm territory, on the hunt for what would become the little light of my life. I had no idea what I was getting into.
When I called Brad at work to tell him that I’d found a male toy fox terrier, and that I wanted to go pick him up right that second, his response was, “Only if we can call him Kong.” Well, he was never named Kong, but he very quickly became the King of our house.
I went in to the kennels, and took a look at him. He wasn’t what I expected at all. When I brought home our female, she literally fit in my pocket. She was so tiny. Here was this bold, leggy, creature, at least 3 times the size JoJo was when I first found her. He was barking up a storm and running back and forth in his little pen. Pick me!! Pick me!! He was pretty damned cute, though, and I wanted him to be part of our family.
I had brought a cat carrier along with me, because the ride was long and I knew I had Customs to worry about as well…..but there was no leaving him in there. There was too much to see and explore outside that kennel, and he was all about seeing it and exploring it. And for the next hour and a half, he bounced around the front seat of the beetle, hopping from his seat to mine, climbing up my chest and chewing on my ears. He was an ear biter. A lobe lover. And as such, he became “Tyson”.
He quickly became the ruler of the roost. He claimed our house as his own, our pets as his inferiors, and stole our hearts with his quirks.
He was a huge little dog and there was no forgetting it.
He wouldn’t walk, he’d strut. Waving his entire back end back and forth.
He didn’t like dog biscuits, but he loved to play with his food:
When he played with JoJo, he’d open his mouth wide and bray like a grizzly. When he yawned, he squeaked.
He hated the flashlight. He hated all things weird flashing lights, actually. One night we took him in the soove and he barked out the window at the cars passing by.
He loved money. He would be right in line in the morning when I was handing it out. He’d stand in front of me and jump up and down like a kangaroo, twisting his little bumm in the air as if it gave him extra height. Thankfully he went for the coins, and not the bills. He’d shoot pennies and dimes across the floor and chase them, and then shoot them back, diving after them again. Every time you move something in the kitchen, you find about 7 cents.
He loved the camera.
He got so excited when I pulled it out and pointed it in his direction.
He gave me the lovey eyes, and demanded all of my attention. None of the other animals were allowed to sit with me. He’d jump up on my lap and push them off me with his butt.
I couldn’t sit down for two minutes, before he was cuddled in, and sound asleep.
When I came home, he was first at the door to greet me, and God help me if I didn’t pay attention to how much he’d missed me.
He was my burger fries. And I have no idea where the hell that name came from, but it did.
He was my big man. I loved him so much.
I miss him so very much.
I was just settling in yesterday, for what seemed like was to be a productive day, when Caitlin called. She was frantic, upset. She said that Tyson was just attacked, and his stomach and leg was bleeding. I bolted from the office, and tore home. The 40 minute drive seeming like an eternity.
All I could think of was, he’ll be okay. I’ll clean him up, cuddle him and love him for the rest of the day, and he’ll heal. Scrapes and bruises. He’ll be okay.
When I walked in the door, Caitlin was sitting with him on the floor in front of my desk. I bent down and made a huge deal out of seeing him, called for my Burgie, and his little face lit up. His eyes twinkled and he had that familiar “My Mum is here!!” look that he always gets, like it’s been weeks since he’s seen me last. He came barreling over to me, and I tried to pick him up, and recoiled and bit at me, and yelled in agony. I had blood on my hands. He wouldn’t let me near him.
I ended up getting a large towel, wrapping it around him, covering his little face so he couldn’t bite me, and gently as possible picking him up and putting him in a box, so I wouldn’t have to support him by his back end.
We took him to vet. He’ll be okay. He has to be okay. It’ll be fine.
It wasn’t fine. It wasn’t okay and I couldn’t make it right. I couldn’t help him and it wasn’t fair.
I huddled his poor, pain killer induced body to mine and told him how fantastic he was. I told him that he was my big man, and I loved him so much. I told him he was a good boy and that he just needs to close his eyes and go to sleep. I pressed my face into his and filled his fur full of tears and whispered and kissed and loved, and when the drugs were pressed into his catheter, his little body went limp in my arms, and his head rested back against me, and he was gone. And I was lost. I feel so fucking lost.
A St. Bernard who was walking by with his owner, broke free and came into my yard. He ran up onto my porch, cornered Tyson, who was on his lead, and used him as a chew toy. By the time the dog’s owner recovered and restrained the dog, Tyson had a punctured bladder, an abdominal tear, bite wounds in his back legs, a scrape on his eyelid, and God knows what other internal damage. When the vet unwrapped him from the towel, his penis was bleeding and part of his intestine was slipping through a hole in his midsection.
I could have taken him to the emergency clinic, a 50 minute car ride away. They could have taken the few more hours to stabilize him so they could take upper and lower xrays, and prepared him for exploratory surgery, where they would literally cut his bellie in half lengthwise and open him up to see the extent of his injuries. They could have said, after all this torture, that his injuries weren’t as bad as we initially thought. They could also, and most likely, tell me that he needed to be put down, that Tyson’s insides were much worse than his external injuries.
I made the choice to end his suffering.
I wish to hell I could ease mine.
My puppy was killed today because people refuse to be responsible pet owners. I just don’t understand.
Yesterday, while talking with Caitlin, my beautiful, loving, driving, daughter….
Caitlin: I put $30 in your gas tank. It didn’t even come close to filling it up.
Me: No, it won’t. It costs about 60 to 70 bucks to fill it. But thank you.
Caitlin: I had to drive around the gas station, because I couldn’t remember what side the gas tank is on. He didn’t charge me a service charge, either.
Me: A service charge?
Caitlin: Ya, you know how you said that it costs more when you have them put the gas in? It didn’t. I gave him 30 dollars and got 30 dollars worth of gas.
Me: [grinning] Oh, he charged you a service charge.
Caitlin: No, really. The gas pump said 30 dollars. I got 30 dollars worth of gas.
Me: [trying not to laugh] Honey, when you pump yourself, you pay about 99 cents a liter. When they pump for you, you pay about a dollar two.
Caitlin: Oooooooh, now I get it.
Me: So, yes, you still get 30 dollars worth of gas, but it’s less gas.
Caitlin: Well, that’s not very nice at all.
Well, my annoyance level has reached an entirely new peak that I never thought possible. Work has become a perfect puss bubble of suckage that is literally draining the life force out of me and turning me into a massive shit pile of bitch. I’m having issues with the kids that, under normal circumstances I could handle, but due to this amazing lack of tolerance for life that I have lately, I’m just that psychotic bitch that hands out money and they call Mom. At least they’re still telling me that they love me, but I’m not sure how long that one will hold out.
This young, cute, 20 something, male pharmacist clerk asked me the other day, if I wanted a bag for my tampon purchase. Nah, I said, I was thinking that I’d just take them all out of the packaging, tie them all together by their strings and wear them like a “proud to be bleeding” necklace around my neck, to my car. Alright, I didn’t really say that, but only because I didn’t want to see him cry.
I opened up my google reader today for the first time in, like, I dunno, eleventy million days. There is an even 500 posts in there waiting to be read. Jesus, don’t you people ever suffer mental life break downs? Oh, right, when you do, you blog about it. Ya, me too, usually. But for some reason, not lately. My mental life breakdown has included secluding myself from all things blog.
I loaded my web page yesterday, just to make sure it still worked, and to tell it that even though, if it were a real child, it would have shat through it’s diapers and likely died from starva-dehydration, mamma still loves it. I don’t think it was convinced. It’s a good thing your blog can’t give you it’s own feed back. I’m surprised my blog hasn’t run away to live with Dooce.
Zilla has resumed his old habit of pissing on the corner of my tv unit. My new, tv unit. Which isn’t really new at all, but a very old, very handed down from some other generations not in my dna, very loved cabinet. I’ve gone from loving my beloved kitteh, to wanting to punch him in the head whenever he’s within my comfort zone, then feeling guilty because I’m fucking evil and he’s so cute. But I get over it quickly.
[as I was typing this, Tyson just threw up on my kitchen floor]……[twice]
DO YOU SEE WHY I’M READY TO THROW MYSELF OFF A BRIDGE??????
Brad has been working late this week. He comes staggering in every night after midnight, barely awake and recognizable. Ya, I think he’s having an affair, too. I can’t blame him….his boss is a filthy rich lawyer playboy. I’d totally do the guy, too, and I haven’t even met him.
(disclaimer: some of that above paragraph might not be true, but I’m not telling you which parts. eat it.)
Alright, B-rad and I are taking my niece and nephew to see “Up” this afternoon, so I have to drag my sorry ass to the shower.
Have a good day, and all that stuff.
Sometimes, you just have to be honest with yourself, and those around you. You have to do what is best for the good of those you love, and cleanse your pallet of secrets that could destroy your life as you know it.
Well this isn’t one of those times. Nanner nanner.
I am, however, going to confess something to anyone and everyone who chooses to drop into my life and read my words. I am having an affair.
I have fallen in love.
This will come as a shock to some of you, considering I already have a good amount of love in my life, but I can no longer deny the need that I have, to stray.
I find myself sneaking around. Making up excuses. Allotting monies, that could be spent elsewhere, to feed my addiction. I just can’t stop, and the more I have, the more I want to try and experience.
There’s no sense hiding it any longer. It’s time to come clean. To sweep away the dirt of my existence. To dust off the shame that I have been carrying with me, and to share.
The object of my affection?
Swiffer Dusters.
It started out innocently enough. I was contacted through email by my lovely and talented matchmaker, and approached about giving the Duster a whirl. And what a whirl wind romance it was, that developed from there.
The Dusters came into my life in a time of turmoil. A time of clutter and dusty despair. A time of house renovations.
That Swiffer Duster had no idea what it was in for, and didn’t know what hit it.
I worked it. I glided it over the dustiest surfaces I could find. I stuck that Duster into dirty cracks and crevices and put it through grueling tests of strength and endurance.
I was mean. I was ruthless. I was determined to make that Duster fail. I refused to acknowledge the growing love and adoration that was brewing inside my heart. And when I was finished, that Duster was worse for wear, but had stood the test of time. It had stood the test of ME.
Will I continue to buy Duster refills? You bet your crusty old spider webs, I will. That’s the true test of a product, isn’t it? Being willing to continue using it, spending your hard earned money on a product that you know won’t let you down.
In fact, last week it was all I could do not to spend my last 30 bucks on a SweeperVac. (hey, Proctor and Gamble, call me! *wink* ) but….. I did buy something else totally awesome. It’s the Swiffer Dust and Shine Furniture Spray It’s smells so good, and works magic on dusty surfaces. It’s also fantastic to spray on your broom, if you’re not using a Swiffer Sweeper to pick up pet hair and dust.
OR…..get this…..if you have laminate or wood floors, you can totally spray the Dust and Shine on the floors, and you can totally recreate the Tom Cruise Risky Business underwear slide your kids can use it as an indoor slip and slide. Right!!?? I know!
Anyway, I honestly used to think that Swiffer products were a highly over rated fad. Not anymore. I think they’re pretty wicked. They also have a money back guarantee, and you can’t beat that.
Unfortunately I don’t have a give away for this promo, but if you’d like to try them out yourselves, here are some coupon opportunities for joo:
Canadian link to coupon offers.
USA link to coupon offers.
As some of you know, I have dreams of grandeur that include putting my house on the market, as soon as possible. The sooner the better. Yesterday, if I could manage it. Alas, I can’t.
Anyway, to keep my sanity and hopes alive, I’ve been working my ass off trying to get every nook and cranny prepped and ready, beautiful if you will, for the blessed day when I can afford to do the real money repairs on the house, and hammer that “For Sale” sign into the ground. I’ve been working every last bit of skin and nail off my finger tips, every bead of sweat out of my pores, every muscle in my body until it aches to the point where, if I do sit down, I can barely get back up again because these old bones just don’t want to work anymore. I’ve almost gotten to the point where I look forward to going to work on Monday, because I have an excuse to sit down and not move around. Almost.
The weekends are exhausting, indeed. And last week I started my weekend renos on Thursday night, so the week days seem to be getting shorter in numbers. I guess I need to do something about that. I’m also not sleeping well again, which leads to the pure exhaustion of it all. You would think my head would hit that pillow and I’d be out, but I’m tossing and turning, and waking up to the next morning’s alarm like I had just fallen to sleep fifteen minutes prior.
I know you’ve all just been dying to know why I haven’t been around to your blogs to visit. Alright, if not, could ya fake it a little? I’m old and in pain and fragile, here. 
By the time I get home from work, usually between 6 and 7, I’m done.
One of the things that I promised myself I wouldn’t do, was paint the livingroom. The livingroom is my favourite room in the house. It’s calm and cozy and not cluttered like everything else, and it’s comfortable and a nice place to relax. The problem is, I painted the livingroom ceiling last weekend, and once you have a nice, stark white ceiling, the walls that haven’t been painted for years, start to look, well, like they haven’t been painted for years. So, although the house repair list is as long as my arm, I decided to add to it, and I painted the livingroom.
I was kind of freaking out. They say that you shouldn’t mess with a good thing. Initially I was planning on just painting it the same colour, but then I changed the whole colour scheme. It turned out awesome, which is good because it would really suck if you ended up hating your favourite room in the house because you painted the walls in baby diarrhea.
Here’s some before and afters:
From drab:
To fab:
From boring:
To spectacular:
From tired:
To clean and fresh:
Last week it was the kitchen. Next weekend it will be the bathroom and back hallway. I’m in denial about the kids rooms…..because they scare me.
Life isn’t fair, but it’s still good.
When in doubt, just take the next small step.
Life is too short to waste time hating anyone…
Your job won’t take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and parents will. Stay in touch.
Pay off your credit cards every month.
You don’t have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.
Cry with someone. It’s more healing than crying alone.
Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.
When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.
Make peace with your past so it won’t screw up the present.
It’s OK to let your children see you cry.
Don’t compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.
If a relationship has to be a secret, you shoudn’t be in it.
Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.
Get rid of anything that isn’t useful, beautiful or joyful.
Whatever doesn’t kill you really does make you stronger.
It’s never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.
When it comes to going after what you love in life, don’t take no for an
answer.
Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, save it for a special occasion. Today is special.
Over prepare, then go with the flow.
Be eccentric now. Don’t wait for old age to wear purple.
The most important sex organ is the brain.
No one is in charge of your happiness but you.
Frame every so-called disaster with these words’ In five years, will this
matter?’
Forgive everyone everything.
What other people think of you is none of your business.
Time heals almost everything.
However good or bad a situation is, it will change.
Don’t take yourself so seriously. No one else does.
Believe in miracles.
Don’t audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.
Growing old beats the alternative — dying young.
Your children get only one childhood.
All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.
Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.
If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else’s, we’d grab ours back. (I love this one.)
Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.
The best is yet to come.
No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.
Yield.
Life isn’t tied with a bow, but it’s still a gift.
