Thursday, 12:30a.m. I’m sitting on the couch watching the Olympics, thinkin’ about stuff.
Tuesday I painted. All day. I started at 9 and I finished at 7:30. It is SO MUCH BETTER than the hospital ward green, ohmygod, somuchbetter. Several parts of my body are switching between a dull ache and a pulsating throb and have been since Tuesday at about, oh, 6:30, p.m., but I am really glad I sucked it up and painted. It looks, if I may say so myself, awesome.
The dueling greens. The more electric colour is the one I painted over. Like, duh.
This green goes much better with the Cornmeal cream. Next thing to go: the blue carpet!
The only time I stopped for longer than five minutes, other than to eat, was after Dave had come home with the kids. He and Julia had left early to pick Oliver up and stopped on the way at the Humane Society. Dave has wanted a dog for a long time, but I haven't been feeling it. I grew up with dogs and always pictured myself having one – just not right now. I mean, I was pretty okay with two kids and a husband and a house and a yard. And a cat. I wanted to hold off on a dog, yanno?
But the more we talked about it – and it was something Dave brought up regularly – the more I was willing to compromise. We agreed on a few breeds, a Boxer or a Bulldog, (an English one that we dreamed of hugging and loving and calling Fattie until we discovered how fucking expensive they are), and though he wasn’t too keen I mentioned that I’d get a Pointer again in a heartbeat. My mum and I had an English Setter named Ice Cream for years and she was, in my humble opinion, The Most Kickass Dog That Ever Lived.
So, long story short: Dave went to the Humane Society on Tuesday afternoon and saw cute little brown spotted dog, looking rather dejected, the only dog not barking its head off. He liked the looks of her and when he told me she was a German Short Hair Pointer, I wanted to go see her. So we did – I stopped painting and walked out the door all sweaty in my grubby painting gear to go see this dog, the stray they didn’t know much about but who was gentle and quiet and a bit timid; gun-shy with an air of shame, probably the result of abuse. We took her outside and sat with her for a while and then we filled out the application and put the required deposit down. She gets spayed on Friday; she’ll be home on Saturday.
We got a dog.
Training-wise we’ve got a lot ahead of us, but I get a pretty good vibe from her – she reminds me a lot of Ice Cream. My concerns are that given she’s a Pointer she might try to kill our cat and of course, how she’ll fare with an enthusiastic three-year-old boy (though so far, Oliver’s been very good with her).
I’m pretty excited, truth be told. When she comes home I’ll post some pictures of her (along with her name, which we are almost 100% on).
That excitement kind of waned a bit (okay, I won’t lie to you, it waned more than a bit, goddammit, it waned a LOT) when, earlier this evening, Chewy walked over to where I was sitting on the couch reeking like shit. Reeking, OMFG, reeking. Turns out he’d had an accident, and said accident had gotten tangled up in the hair around his accident hole and in his tail, oh yes, don’t forget the tail!
Don’t forget, either, what kind of cat he is.
Chewy is a Ragdoll.
Fun fact: Ragdolls have a lot of hair.
Lots of hair and poop, together, is a BAD COMBO.
I tried to fix it. Him. I tried to fix him. I tried twice, actually. It didn’t work. Too much, it was too much, so I stopped. I got him some food and some water and I locked him and his sorry little ass in the basement (which is where he stayed until he went to the groomer’s this morning) while I spent a good portion of my evening walking around my house sniffing couches and cushions and bedding to determine if anything had been, uh, compromised.
Oh, the joys of pet ownership!
And we’re getting a DOG!
48 Comments | In: aw, shit!, life, in general | tags: cats, dogs, fun with hairy-assed cats, hospital ward green does not a living room make, i'm pathetically out of shape, painting, pet ownership. | #
