Rooney has a vet appointment this morning. She loves to go anywhere, as long as it's with her Dad. Jack, on the other hand, has been pacing back and forth like he knows something is up. He hates to be left behind, and being with just me qualifies as "left behind."
I had to get a sample of Rooney's pee to take along to be analyzed. She has kidney dysplasia and her kidney factors have to be monitored regularly. I had my big feed scoop ready (makes a great pee catcher) and a jar to put it in. What I didn't factor was Rooney taking off like a shot when she was let out. I had to run like a mad woman to catch up with her and get that scoop into place.
Now, on my best days, I don't run. This was first thing in the morning, I hadn't had a cup of coffee yet, and I was wearing those butt ugly garden clogs! There's a reason people don't run in those things. Thankfully, I did not fall. But I sure was a sight to behold. Andy, who was standing there holding the jar, kept making comments like, "Holy (bleep)! Are you okay? That's a lot of pee!" He threw in a few more expletives, but you get the idea. Mission accomplished.
Andy's job was to hold the glass jar (note to anybody collecting a pee sample - don't use Tupperware. It degrades the sample.) When it was filled, I handed it back to him. He looked at it and muttered, "What am I supposed to do with this?" I told him to put it in the fridge. His look of horror said it all. I reminded him we have a fridge on the porch and that's where it could go. With a relieved sigh, he gingerly deposited the jar and walked away holding out his hands like they had been covered in zombie juice.
As soon as Rooney had her collar on, Jack lost his mind. He looked at me to do something. I tried explaining (in that voice you use on kids when you're lying but want them to think otherwise) that I needed him to stay here with me! That didn't seem like a good compromise as far as he was concerned. As they were leaving, it was obvious what he was thinking, "They did it again! Dad is taking her somewhere fun and I have to stay here with you! I am fed up with you people!" He is now in the living room, pouting. He'll live.
If anyone reading this is also a Facebook friend, I posted about a snake I nearly ran over the other day. Well, I have actually had two snake encounters - on the same day - and I consider them blog-worthy. The first snake was crossing the road as I was leaving my neighborhood. I had three thoughts slam together simultaneously: Should I run over it? No f-ing way - what is wrong with you!!?- then - Oh, that poor thing. Look at it trying so hard to cross the street - with no legs. I hope it makes it across.
Now, I can honestly say, I have never had warm and fuzzy feelings toward snakes in my life. But I had such an overwhelming feeling of empathy toward that little snake. Later that day, I had just put the dogs out when I saw a black snake slithering across the vine-covered wall. He was using the vines as a sort of rail transport. At first I was shocked because the thing slid right past Rooney's detection. Then I marveled at how clever it was to use the vines that way.
What is happening here? Am I starting to like snakes? The part of me that has had just enough psychology training to be dangerous thinks I may be starting to identify with helpless creatures. They say pre-teen girls and old women are the most negatively affected by seeing road kill, because they identify with a powerless being. That is also the demographic drawn to cats and kittens; supposedly because they are "baby-like." (I don't make this shit up.) If you are interested, there is a good article online in, Psychology Today, by Hal Herzog Ph.D entitled, "Road Kill and the New Science of Human-Animal Relationships."
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