You are currently browsing posts tagged with Trollop

My day, at 8 a.m.

§ November 24th, 2010 § Filed under insomniblog, pets, whine § Tagged , , § 3 Comments

Midnight: Awake.

1 a.m.: Awake. Get up to use bathroom.

2 a.m.: Awake.

3 a.m.: Awake. Dog is shaking her collar. Hope that she doesn’t need to go out, because it’s effing cold in the house.

3:30 a.m.: Dog is whining. Get up, locate bathrobe, think unkind thoughts about roasting a bulldog instead of a turkey for Thanksgiving.

3:32 a.m.: DOG WON’T LEAVE THE FUCKING PORCH. I know it’s like two degrees Fahrenheit out there, but for fuck’s sake.

3:34 a.m.: Dog has left fucking porch after I threatened her with broom to bottom.

3:38 a.m.: DOG WON’T COME BACK IN THE HOUSE. Decide to water and potty self while waiting.

3:40 a.m.: Dog wants to play instead of go back to bed. Effing dog is stuffed into effing crate without effing treat.

3:45 a.m.: WIDE EFFING AWAKE.

3:46 – 4:30 a.m.: Internet.

4:30 a.m.: Wide awake. Bathroom, again. Back to bed. House is bloody freezing and got two degrees colder while letting dog in and out.

5 a.m.: Sleep, finally.

6:15 a.m.: Husband’s alarm goes off. Consider roasting him for Thanksgiving in addition to dog and turkey.

6:50: Husband is waiting for car to finish defrosting and comes inside. Following conversation ensues:

me: The furnace didn’t come on last night. The heat pump ran all night instead and it hasn’t warmed up.

him: Furnace?

me: THE. FURNACE. Downstairs. That big thing next to the hot water heater?

him: It didn’t come on?

me, the one who slept for maybe an hour and a half: YES.

him, the one with a full night’s sleep: Huh.

him: (goes and checks temperature): It’s 55 degrees.

me: I KNOW.

him: It’s set for 59.

me: I KNOW.

him: So…the furnace didn’t come on?

6:52 a.m.: Husband leaves for work. Finds Trollop on porch and brings her in to bed with me, possibly because she is crying on the porch even though she has a heated bed, but probably in retaliation for my explanation of where he could stick the effing furnace.

6:53 – 6:55 a.m.: Pet Trollop. Wish she were always this sweet.

6:56 a.m.: Bitten by Trollop.

7 – 7:15 a.m.: Trollop bathes. Contemplate dinner of roasted turkey, bulldog, husband, and cat, but probably protein overload.

7:16 a.m.: Trollop jumps off bed; I levitate from bed (what enormous belly?) in time to grab her before she pees on anything and stuff her outside. Free Lucy from crate; dog heads straight for back door. Let her out; she stands on porch looking in, all like “This isn’t what I wanted; do you KNOW how cold it is? Lemme back in and I’ll pee on the nice warm floor.”

7:18 a.m.: Stomp outside and start to yell, “GO POTTY!” but words are frozen in my throat and can’t catch breath. Somehow, through skull of concrete, dog gets message and pees three inches away from porch, then streaks back up and inside.

7:20 a.m.: Breakfast for both of us.

7:30 a.m.: Dog comes over and slimes couch with food-encrusted drool.

7:31 a.m.: Dog back in crate. Me back in bed.

Squirrel Wars 2009: Standoff at high 7 o’clock

§ July 31st, 2009 § Filed under fun, house, pets § Tagged , , , , , § 2 Comments

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

Squirrel Wars 2009

§ July 30th, 2009 § Filed under fun, house, pets § Tagged , , , , § 3 Comments

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.