Thursday, June 29, 2006

An Unexpected Visitor

This morning started out like any other. I woke up at 7:00, hit the snooze button until 7:30, rushed to get the six-year-old dressed and fed and ready for his last day of school. I don't normally accompany him to the bus stop, I usually watch from behind the window or, at the most, our front deck. This morning, though, I wanted to wish the other moms a happy summer, so I headed down to the stop.

As the kids were boarding the bus, we noticed that there was a little white fluffiness prowling the nieghbourhood lawns. "Oh, he was there yesterday, too," said mom #2. "You won't be able to catch himi. The kids tried yeserday, but he just ran away."

It was a miniature poodle. Cream coloured. Clearly a male, judging from the way he was lifting his leg so high he was almost falling over. So, once the kids were safely on their way and the bus had rounded the corner, I tried my hand at capturing the elusive little critter.

In my happiest voice (strictly reserved for dog training and two-year-old rangling), I called out, "Here, puppy, puppy!" He came. Imagine that?

Yup, he's a boy, alright. A male, intact (that means his little package was present and accounted for), purebred miniature poodle, just wandering the streets alone. He was also filthy and soaking wet, presumably from being out in the torrential downpour that lasted the better part of yesterday and last night and included marble-sized bits of hail. No collar, no tattoos, nothing to hint at where he came from. I scooped him up amidst a flurry of licking tongues and wagging stub-tails and carried him home.

After drying him off and introducing him to a less than thrilled Wile E (who, I'm pretty sure, though he was a rabid squirrel, judging by the way she kept carefully out of his reach), I started making calls. The first was to the closest vet. No one had reported a lost dog, but I could bring him in to check for a microchip. So I put one of Wile E's old leashes around his little neck (remember, no collar, so I had to make do) and carried him into the car. We got to the vet's office where they checked for a microchip. Nope, no microchip either, although they did determine that he's between one and two years old.

Here's a little piece of advice for all of you dog owners out there. If you have a dog, get it microchipped. The cost varies, but mine was $40, one-time deal. They put a little chip, the size of a grain of rice, just under the dog's skin between the shoulder blades. The chip contains a number which is linked to the same number in a huge database. This number is connected to your contact information. Your information is kept in the database forever. If your dog somehow manages to get lost without its collar, this is the best way to make sure he/she gets back home to you, safe and sound.

Anyhoo, once we got home, I continued with my phone calls. I called every local vet and left my name and phone number along with a description of the dog. I called our local SPCA and did the same. I then called our town's animal control officer. Well, let's just say he's given me a topic for another blog on another day. Everywhere I called, no one had any reports of a missing poodle.

Now, I don't know about you, but if my dog were missing for two days, I think I'd be trying very hard to find him, wouldn't you? I'd be calling everywhere I could think of, putting up posters, knocking on doors. Mind you, my dog is tagged and microchipped, so anyone who found her would be able to find me very quickly. Not to mention the fact that she's a bit of a cling-on, so even if she did get out of our yard, she wouldn't go very far without me by her side (and I know this for a fact because she does get out on occasion, only to be found right behind our front door, waiting to be let back in).

So I started making plans. In the event that he isn't claimed by the week-end, I certainly can't keep him (Wile E is liking him less and less as the moments progress), so we'll have to find him a proper home. First things first, though, he's getting neutered! The last thing we need is another baby-maker running loose in the streets! My sister-in-law has been tossing around the idea of getting a pet lately, so maybe this is fate intervening on her behalf.

He was being quite the nosey little parker, so I stated calling him "Parker" in the interim. I kept him blocked off in my kitchen, to allow Wile E a chance to escape whenever she felt the need. Wile E can clear a baby gate without working up a sweat. Parker, while he clearly can attain the height needed, hasn't figured out how to propel himself forward, so he just bounced up and down on the other side of the gate.

Later in the morning, I thought we could all go outside for a little air. I put Parker on a leash, put Wile E's leash on (although she can go out without her leash, there's no fear of her running off, but I still put it on her just because it's the law) and put Trouble's hat on. As we stood there watching Daddy work on Mommy's motorcycle, I notice an elderly gentleman walking up the next block, checking in all the ditches and in people's yards.

Uh, oh. I think I've found the wayward owner. I battled with a little voice inside my head that wanted me to hide the dog in my house, and which was very close to winning for a moment.

"Are you looking for a dog, by any chance?" I call out to him.

"As a matter of fact, I am. A little one."

"This one?" and I pull Parker out from behind my car.

He smiles and comes over. "Yup, that's the one!"

The dog's real name is apparently 'Tic-Tac' (no wonder he ran away!). He belongs to the old man's daughter. Tic-Tac has the bad habit of sneaking out of his owner's yard through a tiny hole in their fence. "She really should do something about that hole," he said. Yeah, no kidding. "She said he usually comes back, but he was gone too long this time, so I came looking for him." There's that voice in my head saying, "I told ya so!" as I try not to think of how many females he could have impregnated in two days. I offer up the advice that she have him microchipped, just in case he escapes again. I told him it would cost approximately $40 at the nearby vet, and it's really the surest way to identify the dog if he were to ever get lost again. Seeing as how this wasn't his dog, I refrained from preaching about the benefits of neutering the dog as well. The old man thanks me, tucks Tic-Tac under his arm and heads on home.

About fifteen minutes later, I see an older man and a younger woman walking down my street together. As they get closer, I realize it's the same man who had just picked up Tic-Tac. The woman must be his daughter. I figured she wanted to know who had found her dog. They nod politely and walk on by. What?! Not that I performed any great feats of heroics or anything, but surely I deserved a word of thanks for potentially saving her dog from being hit by a car or eaten by coyotes (yes, they've been calling to each other in the back fields again) or, worse yet, picked up by a puppy miller who would put him to a lifetime of caged slavery pumping out some rediculous oodle-mix puppies?? Nothing. I got a nod and the backs of their heads. Nice.

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Friday, June 23, 2006

Couldn't I Have Her Eyes?

They say that dogs sometimes look like their people. In my case, it's the other way around. I've recently realized that I've taken on some of my dog's characteristics. Not the good ones, either.

Why couldn't I have taken on her athletic physique? She's built like Lassie - all tucked-in tummy and long, muscular legs. Me? I'm ... well ... not. She can run forever seemingly at the speed of sound without breaking a sweat. Yeah, I know, dogs don't sweat. You're missing the point here. Suffice it to say that, when we're discussing body structure, she's the clear winner. Kinda sad when you're jealous of your dog's metabolism, isn't it?

Maybe it's the eyes? Nope, that's not it either. My eyes are brown. That's it. No embellishments to be found anywhere. Wile E., on the other hand, has these lovely doe eyes in a mysterious amber colour with long, spikey lashes and thick, permanent eye-liner a la Cleopatra going almost back to her ears, for Pete's sake.

No, good readers, it's not the eyes or the body structure. I made the sad realization this morning while in the shower. The only thing my dog and I have in common is the shedding.

Yes, shedding. While I started out in a free-flowing shower, I soon found myself in a quickly mounting pool of water which was being held in by spidery masses of my very own hair. Too bad it's all coming off of my head, though. Wouldn't it be nice if once, just once, all the hair on your legs or under your arms or your bikini line just jumped off your body voluntarily? I mean, of course, without there being some sort of severe medical issue that causes the hair to jump off.

My shedding issues aren't restricted to the shower, either. My kids are quite used to pulling dog hair out of their food. What's an extra follicle or two amongst family? Take a close look at the dust bunnies under my bed and you'll realize that some of those dust bunnies have had dye jobs (and their roots are showing pretty badly, too).

Oh, well. I may not have the svelte figure or the Cleopatra eyes. But, when my guests are picking bits of fur off their behinds, at least I can blame it on the dog. :D

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Thursday, June 22, 2006

Echoes of Mom, Much?

Why get a parrot? I mean, they live for - what? - fifty-sixty some-odd years, don't they? If you really want to have a creature to follow you around all day repeating every word, every turn of phrase you utter, I'd suggest getting a toddler.

For example, I was sitting here reorganizing a years' worth of paperwork the other day. Trouble had disappeared from my side yet again, having grown bored with the movie he had asked to watch. Knowing what kind of carnage Trouble is capable of over a short period of time, I shouted from the bedroom/office, "Hey, Trouble! Where are you?"

The answer came from the living room, "I downstairs!"

Me: "Well, come back here and watch the movie with me!"

Trouble: "What?"

Me, slightly louder: "I said, come back here and watch the movie with me!"

Trouble: "I can't hear you! Come down here to talk to me! Don't yell across the house!"

I guess I can file that nugget of wisdom under "Do as I say, not as I do." Nothing better for a mom's ego than having a two-and-a-half year old show you with crystal clarity exactly how ridiculous you sound.

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Friday, June 16, 2006

WAHM Bloggers' QOTW

This week's question from the gals at WAHM Bloggers is: What was your first job and what life lessons did it teach you?

Wow. My first job. What a blast that was! Seriouisly, what's more fun for a seventeen-year-old who refuses to grow up than a job at Toys 'R' Us?

I started out as a stock clerk. You know, unloading those eighteen foot trailers packed full of pallets of play sand, and doing it in a denim mini-skirt and heels. Now that's talent!

They quickly moved me up to cashier, mainly because it was nearing the Christmas rush and they needed bodies on the registers. Remember, ladies and gents, this was back when we still had to take imprints of people's credit cards and actually remember which copy belonged where. This was pre-debit cards and prior to electronic displays, when people paid mainly with - can you believe it? - cash, so we actually had to know how to count back their change properly.

Since I was one of the few girls who lasted past the Christmas (and boxing day) rush without having a nervous breakdown, I was promoted to head cashier shortly thereafter. I was one of the first to use the new-fangled computer-based cash register reconciliation system - oooh! I was there when they introduced the new debit card systems, and as head cashier, it was part of my duties to win the 'old timers' over to the new way of accepting payment. And it was during my capacity as head cashier that I caught my first major thief. Oooh, that's a juicy story, full of intrigue and high-level deception. I would tell you all about it, but I was sworn to secrecy (author casts furtive glances around her as she types).

What life's lessons did that job teach me? Well, for one, the strength & vigour of youth should not be underestimated. We pulled all nighters just to get the latest load of Cabbage Patch Kids on the shelves before the next major holiday or to get inventory counted in the allotted timeframe, and stayed the very next day for our regular shifts. We dined on pizza five days a week and still managed to maintain our target body images. We had the memory capacity to know exactly what someone wanted when they came in asking for, "...those little red things - you know - they're small - and red. Know what I mean?" We also had the patience to answer these same customers with a smile, and refrain from taking out our frustrations on those inflatable clown punching bags - at least, until we made it back to the staff lounge.

In all honesty, I learned that attitude really is everything, a smile and good service can change someone's day (or life). I also learned that, if I don't enjoy what I'm doing, noone else will. So, when you're contemplating a career path, make sure it's one you're going to be happy in, something you truly enjoy doing. Because your clients will know, in the end, whether you're satisfied with your job ... or miserable in it. ;)

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Wednesday, June 14, 2006

BikerMomma's Slacking Off

And BikerMomma apologizes for it. It's been a little hectic around here lately, so I haven't been able to post as much as I'd like – or, at all, for that matter. Which is unfortunate, since there has been so much blog fodder going on, what with all the visitors and house guests and the kids being kids. Too bad I have a memory like a sieve, because I can't remember any of it now, although I distinctly remember thinking at the time, "Wow! This is great blog fodder!"

There have been visitors galore, and the phone hasn't stopped ringing off the hook. Like hubby said, "Gee! All I have to do to get people to come visit me is develop a potentially fatal condition!”

While hubby’s been having a great time receiving guests and gifts and phone calls from people he hasn’t spoken to in years, I’ve been running around like a chicken without a head. For one thing, I sometimes feel like the phone has been permanently melted to the side of my head. Another example - I made the mistake of washing my floors before my parents arrived, only to be told that I’m supposed to wait until after the party to clean up. Why do the same job twice? I like that logic. However, by the looks of it, my floors won’t be washed within the next six months, as the steady stream of well-wishers is showing no signs of slowing. Who knew hubby was this popular?

Then there’s the food. All these people need to be fed and watered, after all. It’s a good thing Mom and Dad showed up when they did. Mom always has crates full of homemade cookies in tow whenever she comes for a visit, so at least I can offer coffee and treats to my unannounced visitors. So far, only one of them had the – um – foresight to show up an hour before suppertime.

What is it with men and illnesses? They have no idea how to convalesce properly, do they? I know hubby’s going stir crazy. He’s not used to weeks of forced inactivity. We’re at the point now where I’m seriously considering the use of tether straps to keep him from overexerting himself. When my six year old doesn’t want to do his homework, I threaten to tell his teacher, which usually gets him moving. I’ve now resorted to the same strategy with hubby. “If you don’t sit still and relax, I’m going to call Dr. G and tell him what you’re doing!”

It’s a good thing I’m screening all his phone calls, too. Hubby doesn’t have the will power to resist the kind of temptation his so-called ‘friends’ are throwing at him. Just yesterday, exactly two weeks after his major abdominal surgery, hubby got a call from one ‘friend’ to ask if he’d be up to going dirt bike riding over the weekend. Sure! While we’re at it, why don’t I just rip your incision open with my bare hands? I’m sure that would be a lot of fun, too (excuse me while I wipe up the sarcasm that’s dripping all over my dirty floors).

I’ve discovered, though, that laughter truly is the best medicine. It’s working wonders for me, for one thing, and it does a great job of keeping hubby laid up in just the right amount of pain to remind him that he’s not completely whole just yet. Luckily, our family's antics are extremely laughable, so I have plenty of material to pull out of my hat whenever hubby's proving especially ambitious. We also have a friend who sends a daily compilation of jokes he receives from various sources. There's usually at least one per day that has me in tears, like the anecdote about the gentleman who thought his lizard was giving birth, only to be reminded that they lay eggs (I'll have to post that one for you some time - it's a classic).

Along with the guests and the phone calls and caring for the husband who won't sit still and two bored children and the bored dog and the offers for mystery shopping jobs that I had to turn down, I've also received - get this - one major engraving order from an existing client and one new offer for a freelance copywriting job, both worth several hundreds of dollars each. When it rains, it pours. In my world, it's apparently monsoon season. But, hey! Where would I get my blog fodder from if life were a picnic in the park? ;)

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Friday, June 02, 2006

The Latest Groaner...

...courtesy of my sister:

A Tale of Two Robins

Two robins were sitting in a tree.

"I'm really hungry," said the first one. "Let's fly down and find some lunch."

They flew down to the ground and found a nice plot of newly plowed ground that was full of worms. They ate and ate and ate 'till they could eat no more.

"I'm so full, I don't think I can fly back up into the tree," said the first one.

"Let's just lay back here and bask in the warm sun," said the second.

"O K," said the first.

So they plopped down, basking in the sun. No sooner had they fallen asleep, when a big fat tomcat up and gobbled them up.

As the cat sat washing his face after his meal, he thought...










(scroll down)









(ready??)












(you're gonna like this one)












"I JUST LOVE BASKIN ROBINS."

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