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We’ve had Lucy for a week now, and life? it’s okay. I mean, she’s alright: The cuddling on our laps for hours gets kind of old when our legs fall asleep, and the puppy kisses are a little wet, and that wiggly butt sometimes looks like it’s going to fall off, and her wanting to play precludes us doing anything useful, but we’re dealing with it as best we can.
And while her brain will never be in the Doggie Hall of Fame, last night did mark the first time she asked, via pawing at the door, to be let out to use the turf facilities, and it was the fourth night in a row she slept mostly through the night, and the fifth night that I haven’t had to do doggie laundry in the middle of the night, if you know what I mean. So, I call that success.
Slightly less successful — depending on your perspective, and this is mine — is that if you leave the zippers on the collapsible crate near the bottom, she can work them apart and get out, thus provoking a frantic search for (1) her, and (2) any wayward fluids that may have been — inadvertently, I am sure — discharged during the outing. However, her brain cells haven’t quite mustered the stamina to account for the zippers being up in the high corner, so I think we’re safe. For a couple days, anyway.
For now, she’s sleeping in her crate (voluntarily, I might add), surrounded by her favorite toys: Faux Squirrel, Squeaky Sheep, and Mr. Bone. I don’t want to wake her with the flash, so no photo of that, but here’s what she looked like a couple days ago in the grass:
So I guess we’ll keep her. I mean, we’re kind of stuck with her now, so we might as well.
Hostilities commenced just after dawn, when the Enemy Squirrel sent a scouting party* across the border** to pillage supplies**.
Little did the party know, however, that there was a gun trained on its every move.
Pow! Bang! Zing!
With the rapid action only a semiautomatic pistol can deliver, the Allies delivered rubber shock and awe. The scouting party was trapped!
Enemy Squirrel’s scouting party* retreated. But it soon returned with full reinforcements*, hellbent on biting apart the fabric of our society**.
Just when things were looking bleak for the Allies, they called in their secret weapon to patrol the borders:
All right, Squirrely. You tell ‘em I’M coming… and hell’s coming with me, you hear?… HELL’S COMING WITH ME!
[to be continued...]
*the damn squirrel himself
**the fence
Ever since we built a gate (did I mention that? Yeah, WE BUILT A FUCKING GATE AND NOTHING CAN STOP US NOW except for maybe the ridiculously hot weather), we’ve been awakened in the morning to the gentle gnawing of a squirrel outside our bedroom window. So yesterday, when a squirrel dropped dead in the middle of our lawn — plop! straight down from the oak tree’s boughs — I kind of hoped it was the gnawer and that he had died of a stomach full of indigestable cedar shavings. But no such luck: again this morning, the first thing I heard was the methodical sound of two incisors chomping away on the middle picket of the gate:
So, Internets, here’s what I done did: I grabbed my gun, removed the window’s screen, and leaned halfway out in my pink silk nightie and fired three shots at the damn thing. Yes I done did.
And you know what that damn squirrel done? NOTHING. He just sat there blinking at me with his goddamn beady eyes, then took another nibble. Fortunately, at that moment, Sgt. Trollop showed up and Mr. Squirrel decided it was time to mosey off into the lilacs.
Tomorrow morning, Squirrel Wars 2009 recommences. Mr. Squirrel, I have reloaded. Your fuzzy ass is mine.
Currently, I’m sitting on my back porch, with Trollop ensconsed on my lap drooling at full blast; a frappe is sweating on the table next to me and the sprinkler is on the tomatoes, zucchini, squash, garlic, basil, eggplant, dill, and whatever else is growing in my garden (okay, that would be weeds). I just got through turning the compost pile, and before that I spent a couple hours working on an article and a press release for a local business. This whole working from home thing? It rocks. It would rock even more if I were getting paid for it, but I’m sure that’ll come. Eventually.
If someone you love constantly…
- yelled at you
- hurt you physically, enough to leave marks
- destroyed things you care about
- used you for his/her own emotional gratification
- didn’t care at all for your own emotional needs
- had no concept of your or his/her physical boundaries
- annoyed/harassed the neighbors
- didn’t like your friends, or want them to come over
- caused destruction to your house and possessions
you would be considered a battered partner; or, you would own this:
I thought it was exclusive to my local Craigslist, but from the Google search, I’d say it’s not: there are warring factions of animal rights activists on Craigslist everywhere: people who flag others’ posts because of some real or imagined violation of the terms of use. On one hand, it’s beautiful to see democracy in action. And on the other hand, some people are just assholes.
Craigslist doesn’t allow buying or selling of animals (or stud services), but it does allow “re-homing with a small adoption fee.” (Riiiight. Because you can exchange money and not call it a sale…. Anyway, I digress.) The following are reasons people will flag your ads:
- If your animal isn’t spayed or neutered (“you irresponsible pet owner, you!”/”could be used for stud services, which violates TOU”)
- If your animal is a purepred (“you must be a breeder, and this site isn’t for breeders”)
- If you guess but don’t know the breed of your animal (“that’s not an English bulldog, it’s an American bulldog, so this post is inaccurate”)
- If you do list a re-homing fee that is above forty bucks (“smells like a sale!”)
- If you list a re-homing fee under forty bucks (“you should care more about your pet, and asking for a larger re-homing fee ensures it goes to a better owner”)
- If you say a re-homing fee applies but don’t name the amount (“you’re probably going to ask for some exorbitant amount, which constitutes a sale”)
- If you give away your animal for free (“you should ask for a re-homing fee so it doesn’t get taken by people who fight dogs” [yes, even if it's a bunny or a goat...])
- If you don’t give away your animal for free (“people shouldn’t be in the business of animal trafficking”)
- If you’re letting go/getting rid of any animal, no matter how or why (“animals are part of your family! you should’ve thought about that before you adopted it”)
Never mind that the majority of people posting these ads are just hoping to find good homes for their animals and have no idea the shitstorm they’re walking into; no one can win.
I am tempted to draw conclusions about democracy, but think I’ll limit myself to the issue of power: some people can handle it, and some abuse it because, I think, they have so little experience with it, and because it’s much easier when you’re not being held accountable.
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