On Friday, we said goodbye to the sweetest dog ever, and it hurts so badly I feel like my heart is being crushed by an iron hand.
I have just gotten the shock of my life, you guys. If you were to tell me the sky was falling, I would be less shocked, totally not kidding.
A few weeks ago, we got one of those DNA tests for your dog, because we’ve always wondered what breeds Freya is, right? Quick swab of the cheek, send dog-spit to lab, chew fingernails for a couple weeks, get confirmation, go on with our lives.
Except in this case, the confirmation has just BLOWN MY FUCKING MIND.
So just to refresh your memory, this is our Miss Freya:
I am finally at the end of three or four weeks of craziness: daily practice for our show; playing the show (no pics of us have surfaced yet, but here is my set of Bella Morte shots); having my mom as a houseguest for a couple days on her way to a vacation with her sister; going camping; having my mom as a houseguest again, after her triumphant return from Durango, Canyon de Chelly and points north and east; and a fairly crazy few weeks at work that are still ongoing.
And in the midst of all this, we’re integrating the kittens that no one wanted to adopt (you’re missing out, seriously), keeping the dogs entertained, and pretending to clean the house occasionally.
I’m not gonna lie; I am wrecked.
I mean, our show was pretty good — I wasn’t too nervous, I didn’t screw up too badly, the sound was killer, and most of the other bands were great people and made with the serious rocking.
And camping was crazy good. I love when it gets down to the high 40s or low 50s, because I sleep so well in the cold. And the dogs had a blast, and our new gear was just exactly what we needed, without being heavy or expensive or fussy, and it was a delightful 2 1/2 days with some of my very favorite people, and I can’t wait to do it again as soon as we possibly can.
But despite these pockets of awesome … I am looking forward to a few days of nothing much to do, and long days in which to do it.
Since no one wanted to adopt our kittens — or, rather, could adopt our kittens — it’s pretty certain we’ll be keeping them. I am simultaneously happy and anxious about this — happy because, well, kittens; and anxious because for one thing, if the animals organize an uprising we are fucked.
We’ve been slowly introducing them to the other cats using the methods suggested by the behaviorist we engaged to help us with some of Miss Freya’s issues (a story for another time), and it’s been going as well as can be expected: Perdita is wary, Agnes is pissed, Ix is indifferent and Windle’s excited by the new range of food he can steal.
The kittens themselves are thrilled by all the new things to smell and new kitties to play with and new places to hide and the way they can get up to top speed, round corners by digging their claws into the carpet, and end up in a whole new room in just seconds. They are, not to put too fine a point on it, loving it.
Earlier in the week, we let the kittens go as far down the stairs as they dared, while the dogs waited anxiously on the landing, separated by the baby gate. Only Mr Grey went down, curious but cautious. Then Friday, while I was at work, Loki let the dogs come upstairs to meet the kittens properly.
I’m so pissed I missed this. Apparently it was super-cute and no kittens were mauled in the course of the love-fest.
So I guess we have to come up with names now. I personally favored Marmalade and Dumpling, as befitting an orange cat and a pudgy one, but I think they may end up as Trillian and Arthur, unless anyone has a better suggestion — and supposing we can remember to actually call them that.
I kinda feel like I wanted a longer weekend, but that would probably mean we’d’ve tried to cram in more stuff, and I had quite enough stuff to be going on with, thanks.
We helped with the easiest move ever on Saturday, shuttling KT’s stuff to her new townhouse, then took the dogs to the park. It was Freya’s first time, and it was comical how quickly she realized that flipping her Fierce switch in the company of strange dogs might not be the best plan.
She still has way too much energy, though — I woke up Sunday (too early, far too early) to a swathe of destruction that is becoming only too familiar. So far she’s eaten or destroyed: a bible, a PS3 controller, a tube of superglue, some slippers, a 100-year-old first edition, a book of dirty jokes, and an 80-year-old Don Juan. You fuck with my Byron at your peril, Little Miss.
Oh, and she peed on the library rug.
Cue several hours of cleaning and crankiness, that was only alleviated by the arrival of my birthday masseuse. Oh, gods, y’all. That massage was so very, very good. Loki does a mean shoulder pummel, but having someone work all the bad muscles at once was heavenly. I’m going to do a few weekly sessions at her health-institute-place, because I am just that broken.
I took my newly-relaxed self to the Low Men show, turning up at 5 with Loki, because that’s when all the bands were told to turn up. Why? We don’t know. It certainly wasn’t to load in & soundcheck, because there wasn’t enough room for one band’s equipment, much less that of all 9 bands on the bill.
Plus there was some confusion as to the Low Men’s set time. Their set kept getting moved around until settling at 10pm, and wonder of wonders, it actually happened on time — a little early, in fact, a feat I consider a minor miracle. Of course, this meant we were hanging out at the Rhythm Room for five hours, sitting through several bands I’d rather have missed. Dreadful, dreadful stuff.
My camera batteries having died, I actually watched the entire Low Men set, and I’m glad I did. They all left a pint of blood on that stage, I tell you what: it was one of their best shows ever, tight and fast and good, and you’re now bummed you missed it.
They’re playing this Friday at Crabby Don’s in Gilbert, and you should totally come see them. It’s going to be good. No clue when their set time is, but somewhere in the vicinity of 11, I should think.
And now to plow through the rest of the week. Yay!
When last we left our heroes …
Thanksgiving: Was pretty damn cool. The food was superb (if I do say so myself), the company outstanding, and the wine flowing. I can highly recommend the Blanc de Noirs I found at Trader Joe’s. So delicious! (I went back & bought three more bottles, because apparently my fizzy-wine kick will never end. Also, at $10 a bottle, it’s far cheaper than the Moet & Chandon I was digging before. Win!)
As usual, though, a week’s worth of prep, cleaning and cooking left me wrecked, and I was in bed nursing my aching muscles at 9:30. I’ve got to figure out a way to do Thanksgiving that doesn’t involve half-killing myself in the name of food.
Dogs: They’re doing great. Freya’s fitting in quite well, although she doesn’t really get that Fenris doesn’t always want to play, nor that, alone among the cats, Carrot will play with her. Doesn’t stop her chasing them, although she’ll stop chasing if we bark at her.
House: Things are really coming together, finally. We’re cleaning and purging and organizing and getting things just as we want them. Sometimes I just stop and look around and am amazed that we’ve created this cozy place that I want to come home to. It makes me feel a bit uncomfortable, too, because others don’t have that. Fingers crossed that situation improves.
Everything Else: I’m feeling pretty good. Fairly sleep-deprived, and there’s something horrifically wrong with my back, but overall? Not so bad. It’s kinda nice, and I’m enjoying it.
So what’s new with you?
Our little Freya (yep, we decided) is now much happier with her situation.
Once the surgery drugs wore off, she decided Fenris was awesome (as long as he didn’t violate her personal space when she wanted some alone-time with a rawhide) and it took all our energy to stop them playing — her surgery wound won’t be healed for another week or so, and we’re meant to keep her calm until then. Hah, I say. May as well try to hold back the sea with a sieve.
I’ll post some more pics soon, in between refereeing.