I have a weakish stomach. Certain body fluids really make me cringe, gag, dry heave, etc. Like my husband or kids or anyone else blowing their nose. Or seeing someone spit. Bloody noses.
If it’s my kid (a little one) it’s easier. But once they hit 3-4 yrs old, it’s over for me. And if it’s someone else’s kid, forget it.
Pets really get me, too. I can’t tolerate cat vomit (rare, but it happens). My poor kids have to take care of it. Oddly enough, I prefer to clean up cat poop than vomit.
Dog is the worse, though. He’s pretty gross. Cuz it comes out gooey and he licks it up as he’s throwing it up…..’scuze me while I dry heave…..*gag*
I finally got to bed last night after moving ds1 out of it. (He said he was scared of the dark in his room, but the dark in my room wasn’t scary so he could sleep in there.)
I got relaxed, warm, nice and comfortable in my flannel sheets and started drifting off to sleep.
Then The Brat decided it was time to play. And not just play, terrorize. Me, the poor fat cat (Miracle), whoever she could annoy. She jumped on Fatty and they started running across the bedroom, over the bed, under the bed, in the closet…then they would “fight” complete with loud kitty noises and growling and fur flying (I saw a carpet of black fur on my floor this morning).
Lucky for me, I brought the cat-squirt-bottle to bed with me. So whenever I saw a black thing dart around the room, I squirted it. They finally hid in my closet and I settled back down to bed.
Then they started up again, worse than ever.
I finally decided to ignore them, and about 10 minutes later, they left the room. Good thing, too…I was seriously thinking about kitty barbecue for dinner tonight.
We have a kitten. She’s almost a year old and a total brat.
Yes, she’s a brat. She does things on purpose that she’s not supposed to do. She won’t let me catch her and pretends I’m her chew toy if I try.
Yesterday ds1 was eating a hot dog. He had just a bite left and put it down on the coffee table to go potty. The Brat jumped up, grabbed it and took off. I tried to catch her, but she just hid under another table. I grabbed a couch pillow and tossed it at her, hoping she’d drop the hot dog.
I wasn’t planning on giving it back to the boy at that point, I just didn’t want her to have it. ‘Cuz she’s a hot-dog-stealing brat.
So I threw the pillow…no luck. She ran in the kitchen and I followed, pillow in hand. I whacked her with it. (small couch pillows don’t whack well) Again, no luck. She kept it.
Then she ran into the baby’s room, where he was sleeping. I got really mad at that point. “You wake that baby up, cat, and you’ll be turned into a hot dog!” She’s woken him up before. And I was done messing with her. I reached down to grab her and she took off under the baby’s bed.
At that point, I decided she could keep the stupid hot dog and hoped she choked on it.
The worst part of this? My husband rescued her as a small kitten when she was less than 2 weeks old. She had been abandoned. I bottle fed her for 4 weeks, taught her to poop, let her sleep in my bed, bathed her, etc. And this is how she repays me.
I’ve noticed that just when life begins to settle down a bit, something happens to complicate it.
My husband was coming home last night and saw a dog wandering around near his work. He drove past it to come home, but that twinge of “aw, poor thing” went through his head and he turned around and picked it up. The area where he found it is notorious for pet drop-offs
He came home, looked at me and said, “Well, I did it again, but it’s only temporary this time.” It was then I looked into the mud room where he put the dog and I saw it. I was shocked until he told me the story.
Later on we went driving around, knocking on doors to see if we could find its home, but no luck. He’s a fat, friendly, cute little thing so I’d be surprised if he really is a drop-off. I can see where he used to have a collar, but not anymore. And he’s not been brushed in a good while. So the whole situation is kinda strange. He’s small-ish, a Welsh Corgi from what I can tell. I’m also guessing he’s around 8 (give or take a year) by his teeth and level of activity.
Today my job is to call the local pounds and report that we found him and hope someone comes forward. If that doesn’t work, dh said he’ll put fliers up at work to find him a home and we’ll talk to friends. If that doesn’t work….I guess we’ll have another dog. *sigh* He doesn’t like the cats much…he barked at one so that’s a big drawback. But he adores our Cooper and likes the kids. Our dd has nicknamed him “Corget” so we’ll use that for now. Oh, and he drools…ewww…because he’s so fat, he’s almost constantly panting and his tongue is hanging out.
He’s pretty cute and very social…I just hope he has a loving home that wants him back.
Ok, another “Are you kidding me???” moment! This one is serious though. I was totally shocked and appalled at the hypocracy of PETA, a supposed animal-saving organization.
I’m not much of a soapbox person, but really, this is one of those moments. News of this needs to be spread. Something’s got to be done. This needs to be brought out in the open and talked about!
You know those stories of dog-saving-owner? Check this out.
An Arizona German shepherd named Buddy has called 911 3 times! His owner has seizures, so he was trained to call for help. His owner Joe Stalnaker adopted him at 8 weeks from a Michigan Paws with a Cause, an organization that trains for special-needs owners. The dog is now 18 months old, and can push the programmed buttons until a 911 operator picks up. He then squeaks and makes noises to the operator and they send the ambulance.
I’d like to think so, but I don’t think our Squeaky Chicken would be man enough to do something like this. He’s a good dog and keeps an eye on the kids, but I think when it comes to the phone, he’s rather clueless. Maybe training him will be my new year’s resolution in January…
That Evil Furball….So we ended up taking her back to the vet, who put 5 staples in her to keep her put together.
She’s chewed out 2 1/2. How does she do this??? Doesn’t it hurt?
Guess we’ll have to duct tape her after all.
Can you just feel the sarcasm dripping down my page?? It’s there I assure you.
This morning I woke up to rain. That’s fine, I love it when it rains. But not when I have things to do.
I came downstairs and looked at Evil Furball’s stitches…and saw her intestines. Nice…gotta call the vet and get her restitched. But first, I had to get my car to the dealer for it’s first new-car maintenance done. We took both cars, (he drove his, I drove mine) because the plan was to just leave it there and have it picked up later. Then the dealer told us it would only be an hour…so then what?? We went for a nice country drive. Then Pierce had to go potty, so we drove back into town and stopped at a store. Paul and Pierce came back out with breakfast (we hadn’t had time to eat) of Nutter-Butters and M&M’s. They were peanut, so at least Pierce had something healhty.
Anyway, we picked up my car and came home. I called the vet…no answer. So what am I supposed to do…use duct tape on the cat??? Grrrr….
Oh, and to top it off (can you tell I’m a bit ornery??), by back is so sore! I worked out yesterday, doing things I hadn’t done in a year…I forgot I had muscles back there.
And the boy just got his head stuck in the kitty crate.
This is definitely the makings of a migraine.
Knew you’d look.
I picked up our kitten, Jasmine, aka Evil Furball, up from the vet yesterday. As rotten as she can be, I feel bad for her! We had her spayed, declawed, feline leukemia tested, and 4 shots done. She’s up and walking, but not the happiest cat I’ve seen!
But we’ll all be better for it…she won’t get squirted for scratching the couches, poor little Dean won’t get his toes bitten, Squeaky Chicken won’t have his bed peed in anymore (hopefully), and Gab’s hands won’t look like she’s been playing with a barbed-wire fence.
This is the kitten Paul brought home from work. One of his coworkers came up to him and told him maintenance found 4 tiny kittens and were about to throw them away (heartless redneck hicks!!!). One was already dead from starvation. The coworker knew we’re animal-lovers, so she knew Paul would take one. Jasmine was almost 2 weeks old, judging from her eyes and walking (she wasn’t). We really didn’t think she’d make it…she was totally bony, you could feel every one. It was so sad! I put her in a cat bed next to me on my bed for the next few nights (so I could feed her at night) and every morning; I didn’t think she’d be alive each day. But she made it. I bottle-fed her for 4 weeks (5 or 6 times a day) then taught her to eat canned cat food, then dry. Squeaky Chicken taught her to drink out of a dish…I wasn’t about to do that. (He had to b/c the other 2 cats wouldn’t go near her. )
And now she’s about 6 months old and a very normal, healthy, wild kitten! It’s nice to have her home again.
Another sister sent me a great email she thought would make a good post, and I agreed. This is a story about a dog who was condemned to die but was rescued.
He was born with 2 good legs (his back 2) and a bad front leg that was amputated. The original owners didn’t think the dog could survive, so they were going to put him to sleep. But a woman, Jude Stringfellow, saved him and named him Faith. She gradually taught him to walk, like a person. She is also planning on taking him around the world as a kind of inspirational speaker and has a book to be published “With a Little Faith.”
It just goes to show with a lot of love and patience, amazing things can be accomplished.