Day Three Hundred Twelve

Laugh Through Your Tears - It's All Okay

I like to watch The Incredible Dr. Pol. For those who aren't familiar, he is a veterinarian in Michigan who treats everything from reptiles to cows and all creatures in between. I don't necessarily agree with all of his methods, and one of his vets drives me up a wall, but it is interesting to watch the various procedures. The one thing I cannot watch is when he has to put an animal down. Especially a horse. That's why I tape the show so I can fast forward through those painful moments.

Well, on the latest show, there was a horse that was too sick and old to survive a treatment. So the owner made the decision to let the guy go before he got worse and suffered more. I get it. I just can't watch it. You see, it brings back memories of my mare, Poco.

This is not my girl, but looks so much like her.
The blaze on her face was in the shape of a wrench, too.
I just couldn't bring myself to look through the pictures.

I found this one with Poco and Andy

Even though it has been a few years since I had to rehome her for her health's sake, there is still a hole in my heart. Of course, I get through more days now than I did when she first left. Then, I was inconsolable. Now, it hits me when I see a horse that looks like her. It hit me hard this morning while I was watching the show.

Grief is a strange life partner. They say the love you felt for the lost loved one is in direct proportion to the amount of pain you feel when you lose them. And there really are no short cuts to getting through the loss. I honestly don't want to forget her. I bear the pain, and have a long cry, remembering her soft eyes and how sweet she smelled. I don't ever want to forget that.

Fancy knew right away I was struggling. All of the cats are outside enjoying the beautiful day, but he appeared in a flash and jumped up on my lap. He put a reassuring paw on my leg and gave me the slow blink which says, "I love you." In those moments I know why Fancy was sent to me. I love him so much...

I really try to keep this blog upbeat, but life isn't always fun and games, is it. Grief, pain, anger, anxiety - are all part of it. The key is to feel the feelings then move on. It's like you stopped and picked a bouquet of roses. You know darn well you are going to get stuck by a thorn - at least once - but they smell so good and look enchanting that it's worth the prick and blood. Well, life is the bouquet of roses and grief is the heart bleeding from the stab of loss.  

Even during the darkest moments, there is humor - if you look hard enough. I was raised to believe it was phony or disrespectful to laugh when you're "supposed" to be sad, or some other so-called negative feeling. I can now call "Bullshit!" on that. I actually said that under my breath when I was a kid.

Believe me, I said plenty under my breath back then. Observations and such like, "What the hell?" "You're crazy!" and "That's just wrong." to name a few. If I had said any of those things out loud to my mother's face, I would look very different these days. Sideshow different, as in half of my face on the back of my head different.

My father had the opposite reaction. He would have stifled a laugh then said something like "Nice girls don't talk that way." My parents were vastly different people. My mother had to creatively "discipline" me so as not to leave a mark. Her go-to was pulling the hair on the back of my neck. She was a jewel of a mother. 

Of course this isn't really a picture of my mother.
This lady looks much kinder.....

Anyhoo - I now know it is perfectly normal to laugh when you're scared; giggle when others are crying crocodile tears; chuckle when somebody falls - come on - it's funny, unless of course they broke something, then you best serious-up real quick.

I still laugh remembering the time I was riding in the back seat of my parent's Dodge with my little sister. Seatbelts and/or car seats did not exist yet, although it wouldn't have mattered because my mother didn't believe in using either. Uh huh.

Anyway, my father slammed on the brakes suddenly and my sister, who was about two or three, flew over the back seat and landed in the front. She was not hurt. I am having trouble typing right now cause I'm convulsed in laughter! My mother was so mad at me you could actually see sparks shooting out of her eyeballs!

I remember thinking, "What the hell did you want me to do? I'm a kid!" I was like ten or eleven at the time. I guess she, who saved herself by the way, thought I should perform some herculean task by catching my airborne sister, while breaking my own neck in the process. Whatever. It was funny. It still is....

Okay, so now you know my little secret - I am a sadist. Be that as it may, I feel so much better now that I've had a good cry followed by a really good laugh.

Day Three Hundred Eleven

Lucky Number Seven

We think my next cat is right outside. That would make seven, which just so happens to be my favorite number. I say we, as in Andy and I. That's right. He has stopped saying, "No more cats!" and has just given in. There is a stray/feral out there I am determined will live with us.

The kitty is a beautiful, tiny cat that looks like a cross between a Ragdoll, Siamese and raccoon. I have dubbed it Shadow because it moves very quickly and if you aren't paying attention you think you imagined it.

Hmmm, now that I've seen this,
maybe it isn't a cat after all!

Like Fancy did, this baby comes around looking for food. Like I was with Fancy, I worry about it. He/she is so small and seems so vulnerable. Of course I put out food and water. Well, there's always water out there for the squirrels and birds.

I am going to make a shelter for it today. Then I will attempt to trap it so I can take it to the vet to be spayed or neutered, vaccinated and tested for any diseases. I can't take a chance with my other babies. If everything checks out okay, and she/he is willing, Number Seven will join the feline ranks in Matchettville. 

It seems I worried about Boo! for nothing. She is back to her old tricks. A few minutes ago, while three of the six joined me in the bathroom, Boo! jumped onto the wall shelf and scared poor Eli to death. He was standing on the edge of the bathtub and fell off, hitting the trash can as he plunged to the floor. That scared Dash, who was sitting on my lap. He ran out the door. Eli composed himself and took off as well. Boo! sat on the shelf looking quite pleased with herself. I got out of there before she started lobbing Kleenex boxes at the back of my head.

Rooney's "bed buddy" days are coming to an end, I'm afraid. She is an immovable force which does not bode well. I have to move my legs when I sleep. If I don't stretch them, they cramp. So, last night, I got up to go to the bathroom and when I returned she had taken up my space at the bottom of the bed. I tried to squeeze in anyway, but was terribly uncomfortable. Then, she developed hiccups. With each "HIC" the bed shook! I thought I was going to lose my mind at that point.

Asking her to move provides the same result as asking the paint on the wall to change color. So, I resort to a more realistic motivation - treats. Only now she has figured out it makes no sense for her to get off the bed to get a treat - why can't I just give it to her where she is? That leads to me raising my voice. Raising my voice wakes the Big Guy. He intervenes. Somehow he got her off the bed and I went back to sleep.

Day Three Hundred Ten

Shel Silverstein Kinda Day


"Sick" By Shel Silverstein

'I cannot go to school today, '
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
'I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more-that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut-my eyes are blue-
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke-
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is-what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is...Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play! '

I love this poem and have to confess, there are days when I feel like Peggy Ann McKay myself. Yesterday was one of those days for me - and for Boo!

After I had my little incident with lizard poop yesterday, I was worn out. I reluctantly got dressed to go to the store, only to discover my car battery was dead. I asked the neighbor to jump start it for me, which he did, but then he had me terrified to drive it anywhere because he said the battery was probably shot.

He played out the scenario for me - I would make it to the store, then find out when I got back in the car, the battery was dead again. Only this time, instead of getting my nice neighbor to jump start it, I would get a serial killer who would murder me and take my car, which they would later find ditched in one of the numerous open retention ponds we have so many of in Florida. I went back in the house, locked the door and kicked off my shoes.

I did not mind one bit being housebound. In a pinch, I can eat toast for supper. It was Andy I worried about, but I managed to find stuff in the pantry to make a decent meal. The day would have been rather mundane had it not been for Baby Boo!

Now, we are used to Boo! tearing around the house at warp speed. Sometimes she wipes out, as in, she goes so fast her back legs spin around when she tries to stop. Everyone stops and raises their eyebrows when she does this; it is that impressive. So, for her to be missing in action was very disturbing.

I looked in all of her usual hiding and/or stranded when the door gets shut places - the comforter on top of the dog kennel in our bedroom, under the bed, outside, the pantry, the laundry room, the bathtub, the closet, behind the mirror, under another bed, inside a different bathroom, under the couch, on top of the cabinets, in the cat tree, in the other cat tree - no where. It never occurred to me she might be in her tiny bed on top of the dining room table. But that's where she was, all curled up. I covered her with her blanket, gave her a kiss and figured she must have gotten cold outside and needed some time to warm up.

She was still there sound asleep, hours later, when Andy got home. I was now panicking, because she rarely stops for a minute let alone hours. I checked her ears to see if she was hot, as in feverish. I checked her gums to see if they were white. They were not. I checked her tummy to see if it was bloated, hard or squishy. It was fine. Her eyes looked okay, too. I was puzzled. We (Andy and I - I'm not the freaking Queen of England...) decided to watch her and, if she was still puny in the morning, we'd take her to the vet.

Boo! was back to her old self this morning; tearing around both inside and out. She was okay enough to harass her brothers - Chance got hissed at and Dash got chased down and attacked. I was so relieved.

I hate that they can't tell me what hurts. I have to guess. The thing is, I suspect if they could tell me I'd be a nervous wreck because I'm fairly certain they would play me like a Stradivarius.

Day Three Hundred Nine

And the Winner: Beardie Poop

In my lifetime, I have cleaned up the poop from a variety of sources, including:
chickens, ducks, rabbits, hamsters, fish (yes, you have to clean their poo, too) horses, goats, dogs, rats, cats, baby humans and (sadly) elderly human. TMI? Sorry. It's just that I am still recovering from having Copper poo on me. On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the worst smell it could possibly be, Bearded Dragon poop is a solid 46.

I never minded cleaning up horse poo. Actually, it has a rather pleasant scent. This is because they are vegetarians. Feed something meat and you are going to get knock-your-socks-off olfactory assault. I do not know how nurses, or proctologists for that matter, do what they do. It takes a special kind of person to willingly clean up somebody else's poop.

The other thing I learned the hard way is if someone, who knows what they're talking about, tells you to do or not do such and such, it behooves you to pay attention. (The movie, Gremlins, comes to mind.) In this case I am referring to the clear instructions given to Bearded Dragon newbies:

1) They must be kept warm.
2) Feed no more than 10 crickets per day.
3) Don't hold them while they are sleeping or eating.
4) If, while you are holding them, they become agitated or restless, put them back in their environment.
5) Always make sure there is a white mass included in their poop. I don't remember why, but they acted like this was a big deal. Something about calcium I think...

Now, I have been diligent (okay, obsessive) about the light thing. My son set me up with a timer so the lights go off and on at regular intervals. I have never picked her up while she's sleeping (who would do that?) I have, in typical fashion, been guilty of overfeeding her. Maybe I'm in a hurry to get rid of the damn crickets. Who knows. Anyway, she can't complain about having nothing to eat around here. 

My downfall? Miscalculating when she might poop - remember, she's a once every three days gal - and also, misreading her fidgets.

Setting:
This morning, after everyone was fed, watered, etc. Jack and Rooney were snoring away on the various couches. All of the cats were outside. I had fed Copper and she was basking on her rock. I went through my checklist and it seemed like the perfect time to hold her. She crawled onto my hand and we curled up together in my chair. I had my cup of coffee next to me. All was right in my world. (Cue the tense music cause all that was about to change.)

We sat there visiting for quite awhile. When she started to get antsy, I figured she just wanted a different vantage point. Instead of interpreting this as "Um, I really have to go to the bathroom!" I kept holding onto her.

That was when I saw her tail go straight up and I caught a whiff of what can only be described as Zombie Apocalypse, oozing wound, knock you on your ass (or off as in my case) putridtudinous, stenchified rot. I looked over and saw this green, runny mass oozing down my jacket. (Believe it or not, even in my eye-watering, ready to pass out state, I looked to see if there was a white blob amongst the green ooze.)

Thank God I was wearing a jacket because, if it had gotten on my skin, I'm pretty sure I would be dead by now - covered in a green web of algae or some such, with my eyes rotted out. (We've been watching X-Files reruns.)

Now, remember, I was sitting in my recliner. Since I cannot levitate (darn) I did the next best thing. I contorted my body so as not to drop the green mass on the floor, all the while holding onto Copper (who's lucky my first instinct was curtailed, which was to toss her into the air and run screaming into the bathroom.)

Also remember when I mentioned the location of everyone? Well, the stench was so bad, even the cats smelled it outside and came running in to see what on Earth was happening. It was either that or the primal scream I was emitting. Jack and Rooney woke up; sat up and looked at me like, "What the hell?"  You know it's bad when a dog, who will eat poop on occasion, is disturbed by the smell!

So, I put Copper back in her aquarium, and ran into the bathroom with Boo! and Dash following close behind. I did my best to scrape the poop off my jacket and deposited it into the toilet, trying very hard not to think about how water is recycled... Dash actually peered into the toilet then looked up at me as much to say, "What the f--- was that??"  Both of them just shook their heads in disbelief.

I carefully removed the jacket and was grateful it hadn't seeped through onto my tee shirt. I ran into the laundry room to wash what I could off the thing before tossing it into the washing machine. Not doing that and just tossing it into the machine would mean I would have to get rid of my washing machine afterwards. I would have poured Clorox over it had it not been a nice, red jacket.

I still haven't recovered. Lesson learned? You betcha. From now on, I will only hold Copper on the off-poop days, then well after she has done her business. Come to think of it, I recall her being put off by the smell of her own poo; moving as far away as she can get in such a small enclosure. And she seems very grateful when I remove it. You know it's bad when you can't stand the smell of your own - you know what...

Day Three Hundred Eight



Death by Sweater

I posted a video of this on my Facebook page but thought it deserved special attention here. When the temperature started to drop, I bought Boo! a sweater. Mean of me, huh? Well, it turns out, Boo! thinks I planned to kill her with it.

It's like this. She is so tiny; has short hair and very little body fat. Boo! loves to go outside but, when it's chilly, she ends up sitting sphinxlike, shivering, in a little ball. So, I ordered a teeny, tiny sweater for her. It's adorable. She thinks it's an instrument of torture.

The first time I tried to put it on her, she slid right out of it, like a hotdog through a bun. The second time we tried it, she went a little crazy, remembering the first time, and ran away. I decided to just let it lie around awhile so she could smell it and hopefully realize it wouldn't kill her.

This morning, it is chilly, and I felt so bad for her shivering on the porch, but not wanting to come in. So I scooped her up and slid the sweater over her head. I even managed to get her little legs into the leg holes. Success.  The only problem was, she did not get the point.

To her, I may as well have put her in a straight jacket. She ran into the dining room and hid behind the mirror. When she finally came out, she acted like she couldn't walk. There was a major amount of drama going on for such a minor event.



What did I do to deserve such abuse?

At this point, Dash must have picked up on her angst and came running in, like the protective big brother he is. He looked at her, smelled the sweater then looked up at me like, "What did she do now? And isn't this a bit extreme?!"



Look at me! I can't even walk!
I'm gonna die right here...

I'll get you out of this thing somehow!
Just let me think!

You push and I'll pull!

One by one, the rest of the guys had to inspect poor Boo! Even Jack and Rooney got in on it. Boo! must have been giving off serious distress waves or hormones. I don't know. All I do know is that I was getting some pretty nasty looks. When I heard growling and saw Boo! in mid-swipe, I grabbed her right before she took out one of Rooney's eyes. She was mad. I even caught the brunt of it on my leg.

What I envisioned....

What I got.

Anyway, the sweater came off and Boo! happily ran away. I don't get it. If I was cold and somebody offered me a sweater I would say "Gee, thanks. How nice of you." But then I've never been an Aby who must value freedom over all things. 

Day Three Hundred Seven

Rainy Day

I love rainy days. Living in Florida, where the sun becomes somewhat of a nuisance, it's nice to get a break from the searing rays and just enjoy nature taking a shower. Everyone here is lazy. The rain brings them down to that. I am just mellow. - and introspective.

The downside of everyone being mellow, however, is the lack of material about which to write. Even Boo! is quiet today, which is so rare for her. After assaulting me in bed this morning, she has kept a low profile. She wasn't even interested in racing into the bedroom when I opened the door and went in there to deposit clean laundry. I went into the laundry room and she just sat there looking at me. Hmmmm

I chatted with a dear friend today and he told me about his new kid - a rescued Cocker Spaniel. He described him as sweet but a little stubborn. Snort! That could be any one of the creatures living here! They are all sweet, but quirky; well behaved but stubborn. As a matter of fact, that would describe my kids as well! Unconditional love means you take the sweet with the sour. Perhaps it has more to do with the "parent" than the "kid" - of any species.

Another thought I had today was about control. When I was a young mother, or a mother of young children, I struggled with letting go of control. Everything tells you to be in charge and responsible. A good parent does such and such, etc. The problem with that is nothing is really in our control. I drove myself crazy with the illusion of it. It wasn't until I truly realized I have no control over anything but my own reaction or response to a situation, the shackles came off. Honestly, life is not fair to young parents. It just isn't.

I am still responsible in my new role as zookeeper, (smack my face cause I hate zoos - but the title fits) and strive to be conscientious and attentive. But I don't have the same sense of urgency. I mean, I am not working toward getting any of them into a good college; or concerned about their moral upbringing; couldn't care less about their table manners. And the best part is, they do not outgrow clothes or shoes! About the only commonality would be nutrition and wellbeing. Oh, and happiness. And safety... Have I missed anything?

Fancy and I had a good, long chat last night. He was sitting on my lap trying to get me to play the "rub my belly and then I will attack your hands" game. I was not cooperating. He pulled out all the stops in getting me to engage in his scheme. He would stretch his arms back and pull my hands toward him and act like he would never in a million years bite or scratch me. And then he did. Once. I informed him that I was not buying into his tricks. If he wanted to sit with me and be nice - fine. Otherwise, he could just leave.

This is usually where I get tricked into rubbing his tummy -
then "GOTCHA"- the game changes.

That's when he said something to the effect that (he) is a cat and this is what cats do. If I loved him I would know this. It goes against everything (he) is to not react to a belly rub in this way. I asked him why he even bothers to set it in motion in the first place. His response was, well, hey, it's what we do and we have to at least try. There are tons of things humans do that animals hate, but because (they) love us (they) put up with them.

I asked him for examples.

First of all, Fancy hates it when people run their hands over his back. It feels funny. And he hates loud noises and I am the loudest person on Earth. Fancy does not like to be confined, so when I want to hold him he freaks out. He also hates it when I ignore his pleas for treats.

Hmmm. I got schooled. I am either losing my marbles or really getting into this animal communicator thing. All I know is, I love this phase of my life. Don't get me wrong, I loved raising my children, but life was incredibly stressful. I was a terrible "child communicator."  I am better at this than anything I've ever done.  For this I am grateful.

Day Three Hundred Six

Cricket Madness

You know something is truly annoying when your ten year old granddaughter complains about it. The same girl who is used to dealing with the annoyances of three little boys and a Dad who's a noise machine.

I am, of course, referring to the crickets in a box - AKA Copper's food. They chirp. A lot. The sound is similar to the sound my dryer makes when the belt is wearing out. Or, like a squeaky gate in need of WD40. A gate that is being repeatedly opened and closed by an evil, manic troll. I want to smash the box into a million pieces.

So, when my granddaughter suggested perhaps we could move the box into another room - preferably in somebody else's house - I knew she suffered from cricket madness.  This is when you can't tell if it's really the bugs making all that noise or your ears are going terribly wrong. Tinnitus on uppers. She also had that same look on her face I get when the noise level is making me want to rip my face off. It's in the eyes.

I can't move the cricket keeper into the bathroom, because my grandson can't remember to flush, let alone close the door, so Boo! doesn't release the crickets - again. I settled on the laundry room. Except, then I kept thinking the dryer was running. Imagine my surprise when I went to unload the dryer and all I found were soggy clothes in the washer that needed to be washed all over again.

I also discovered Copper isn't eating the tiny crickets, only the large ones. I asked a pet store person about this and she said the BD probably can't see them. Can't see them!? This is a lizard with laser vision. What the heck - can't see them...

I think the real reason is she can't bear to eat babies (yea right) or they taste funny. I'll bet they aren't as gooey as the big honkers, so she just passes on them. Consequently, there are dozens of them lining the walls of her cave. The cave she has outgrown, btw. I'm sure you can take this to its logical conclusion on your own. If not, then I will help you. I have to flip the cave every day and relocate the crickets by hand.

Now, I've said this before but it bears repeating - crickets are like roaches with knees. Roaches. With knees. I would no sooner stick my hand into a cave (albeit a tiny one) filled with roaches than I would one filled with snakes.

But needs must. I release the tiny crickets from their hiding place, only to have them return later because Copper doesn't like them. I don't care if she can see them or not - I paid for them; feed them and have to listen to their infernal noise. She needs to belly up and dig in.

 

 





On a completely unrelated topic, I had to laugh when the gentleman from the pool company showed up to give an estimate on some work we need to have done. Jack and Rooney were in the bedroom but the cats were free to roam. All the cats were curious about the guy walking around the pool, but Dash and Boo! turned on the charm.

Well, actually, they started to show off. It got pretty intense and hilarious. They were chasing each other, following him, then hiding from the other cats and scaring them when they walked past. They got Fancy a good one.

The whole time they kept looking for a reaction from him. He was kinda focused which left them somewhat disappointed. I did my best to make up for his lack of attention by laughing my butt off. They truly are little hams.

Day Three Hundred Five

Clueless or Canine Mensa

Andy and I were observing there are times when Jack and Rooney seem totally clueless and other times like members of the Canine Chapter of Mensa. 

Let's start with the "clueless" examples:

Me: Jack and Rooney, come on, it's time to go out. Jack and Rooney? Come on, let's go! Oh, Jack and Rooooney - can you hear me?

Nothing can dislodge them from their places on the sofa(s) if they do not want to go out.

Me: Jack and Rooney, come on, it's time to come in. Jack and Rooney? Come on, let's go! Oh, Jack and Rooooney - can you hear me?

Just ignore her and maybe she'll go away.

Rooney! Rooney! Rooney!

What?

I'm good out here. Just enjoying the day.

Once outside, nothing can get them to come back in until they are good and ready.

Me: Rooney, move over. Rooney, come one - I can't feel my legs. Rooney, move. over. now!

Rooney becomes deaf as a post when she doesn't want to do something like move when she's sleeping in your spot on the bed.

Now I present you with their level of selective genius:

Me: Stop begging. I just gave you half of what I'm eating. Oh, yuck, Jack, now you're drooling all over my chair! Here, just take the rest of my (fill in the blank) - I'm not hungry anymore.

Mission accomplished. They not only got some of what I'm eating, they managed to procure most of it.

Me: Andy, since you only want a little bit more, why don't you toast a whole muffin and I'll put some gravy on it for them.

This was an actual conversation between Andy and I last night. No sooner did the words come out of my mouth when both Jack and Rooney jumped up and ran over to get their half of the gravy muffin. How did they know I was referring to "them" and how do they know what a muffin is?

Me: Jack and Rooney - go into the kitchen and tell Dad to give you something.

They both nod their heads at me, as much to say, "Okay, got it." Then they run into the kitchen and tell their Dad to give them something.

The pattern is clear. When it comes to something they really don't want to do, they become deaf, dumb and blind. However, when food is involved, they can not only understand English, they seem to be able to read minds. Their ability to interpret intention is flawless.

Now, here's the rub. One would think enticing them with treats when they are reluctant to either go out or come back in would solve the problem. It doesn't always work. It also appears that there is a degree of stubbornness involved here. Once they set their minds to something, little else matters.

I'm guessing they've had similar conversations in which they weigh whether or not their human parents are fools or geniuses. I can hear it now:

Jack to Rooney: Why can't they just let us sleep? We tell them when we want to go out, right? I mean, I wait until she's all done with whatever she's doing, then when she's sitting down I figure she has the time to get up and let me out. I think I'm being very considerate. I can't understand why she gets all huffy about it.

Oh, you're finally sitting down. Good.
I need to go out.

Rooney to Jack: And why do they put us outside in the first place when they just want us to come right back in? Can't they tell we want to smell the air and watch the birds and listen to the sounds? All I hear is, Rooney, Rooney, Rooney....

Jack to Rooney: And how stupid are they to be surprised when I smell or see food and this water drips from my mouth?! I can't help it! Gosh, you'd think I was dripping toxins everywhere. I don't know what that means but I heard Mom say it one day when I dripped all over her precious chair. Just wipe it up already!

I guess it's all a matter of perspective...

Day Three Hundred Four

I'll Stick to Animals, Thank You Very Much


All I can say is it's a good thing I chose to write about animals and not politics. Cause if I was writing a political blog, I would make a lot of enemies. Why, just the other day, all I did was ask a question on a Hillary supporter's post and she blew my keyboard up. You see, stuff like that makes me want to dig in my heels even more in campaigning for Bernie Sanders. I may support women but I won't be brow beaten or made to feel guilty if I don't blindly vote for one. Nope, not this old broad....

Yes, it's a good thing I do not write a political blog....

 

 

On the Matchett Front, we have Boo! (of course) featured today, with a little bit of Dash and Copper thrown in for good measure....

I'll start with Miss Boo! I mentioned this on my Facebook page but forgot to include it in my blog from yesterday. So, the other night when the grands were here, I finally got to sit down with them to watch a movie. L was sprawled out in my comfy chair and E had taken over the couch with his "man toys." He gave them that title years ago - referring to the super hero/villain figures he collects. (I'm not finished working on him yet.)

Anyway, I was ready to park myself somewhere, with a plate of cheesecake in hand. E had taken over the entire couch with his prone body plus his action figures. I pointed to a spot on the couch and asked if I could please sit down. His response was something like, "I'm playing with my toys here."

Now, let me stop right there. I am a very "cool" grandma - or so they keep telling me every time I buy them something new. I also have more patience than I did when their dad and aunt were little. However, between my aching back and overall exhaustion, when I reach my limit, steam comes pouring out of my ears and my eyes cross. L saw the signs.

E was holding fast to his claim on the couch. I put down my cheesecake, and lowered my voice to a menacing rumble and said, "My butt is going to be in that spot right there by the time I count to three. It's up to you whether or not your head and/or your man toys are under it as well. Your choice. One. Two." I never got to three. Little Man wisely moved himself and his man toys.

He was now sitting in the middle of the couch where the cushions separate a bit. This is important to note. We were watching Goosebumps - which is a kids' movie but still a little scary. I was in mid-swallow with a bite of cheesecake when E jumped up and started yelling! He screamed, "Something's attacking me!"

I could not for the life of me figure out what was going on. Then I got it. Boo! had crawled into the back of the couch and was indeed attacking poor E's butt. She has very tiny but needle-like claws as well as needle-like teeth. Basically, she is a walking needle ready to jab, poke, scratch or bite into whatever she damn well pleases. Her target was a choice butt, just waiting to be attacked.

I already said I was in mid-bite when this took place. I exploded in laughter when I realized what was happening only there was a blob of cheesecake blocking my airway. Not wanting to traumatize my grandchildren by either blowing cheesecake out of my nose or passing out,
(remember, they were watching a scary movie,) I did the best I could to swallow, breathe and laugh at the same time.

E did not see the humor in any of this. L did and started laughing at me - her insane Gigi. I was wheezing, snorting and gasping for air as I kept playing the scenario over and over in my head.

Boo! wasn't finished. Since she got the reaction she desired, she decided to up the ante. Crawling up the couch and under the blanket covering it, she became the bump that attacked. The more we laughed, the crazier she became. I was now convulsing with laughter. The cheesecake was forgotten as I attempted to protect my grandchildren from the menacing monster. It's so hard to believe such a tiny thing can inflict so much damage.

Once she achieved the desired outcome, Boo! moved on to other things. By the yowls coming from the kitchen, I think she either annoyed Eli or attacked Dash. By this time, my grands were looking at me the way all visitors do - with that is it like this all the time? quizzical expression. It pretty much is - but Boo! definitely plays to the crowd.

 

 

 

Since Boo!'s arrival, Dash has become quite subdued. He occupies himself playing with or supervising his little sister. They stick together, which is what I hoped for in bringing her into the fold. But, make no mistake, Boo! is in charge. She just lets Dash think he is. When it comes to Copper, all bets are off. Boo! is very curious about the lizard and her accompanying box of crickets. Dash sees Copper as prey.

I've seen cute videos of cats, dogs, bunnies, babies interacting with Bearded Dragons. That is never gonna happen here. Based on the way Dash and Jack look at Copper, she wouldn't last two seconds if they got near her.

Today, I was sitting in my chair holding Copper with Dash sound asleep on the back of my chair. In a split second, Dash was awake and on the attack. I was quicker and raised Copper up at arm's length; preventing Dash from making her his new toy. Copper sensed danger and started to squirm. Poor thing was traumatized and probably has a pretty good idea she was almost lunch for a much bigger creature. I wonder if she felt like a cricket?