I assure you, we have not lost our minds

Well, maybe a little.

See, Loki thought Fenris needed a doggie friend — someone to play with during the day, since daycamp was first to go when we re-budgeted to line up with our new financial reality. And we were thinking of adopting from the rescue that comes to our PetSmart, but they weren’t there on Saturday.

Then I thought, well, the rescue is awesome, but they probably keep dogs until they’re adopted out, whereas the puppy prison … doesn’t. If we rescued a dog from the pound, we’d be actually saving an actual life. So we went.

And oh, gods, was that a hard, hard thing. So many sad dogs. So many dogs that were shaking with fear. So many dogs that you know won’t be adopted, and will die. I cried the entire time we were there.

Choosing was painful. There was a Husky with ice-blue eyes; a German Shorthaired Pointer mix like the dog I grew up with, so bouncy and happy; an American Foxhound mix, all gangly legs and wagging tail; and this wee German Shepherd mix, calm and perky-eared and wagging her little nub of a tail.

We went back and forth, and dithered, and went back to look at this one or that one. A nice-looking couple were playing with the Pointer through the cage bars, and I tried to encourage them. “Pointers are great. This dog would be awesome for you!” They tried not to make eye contact with me; I’m sure they thought I was nuts.

Finally, we decided to meet the Shepherd, so they brought her out and we took her to the big, enclosed pens they’ve set up so you can get acquainted. And she was awesome! Alternately spazzy and content to just lie on your feet.

So we filled in some paperwork and handed over some money and arranged to pick her up yesterday after her spay surgery. Loki drove her home, and she made it the nearly whole way home before yacking on his seats.

Now she’s installed in the house, and she’s got to be sort-of quarantined for a week or so, so we got her a big crate to hang out in. She doesn’t seem to mind, much, although she likes the outdoors better. But it’s just until her surgery wound heals, and then she and Fenris can start down the path to BFF-hood.

We still need a name for her. We’re considering Spike (Adora Belle or Speigel, doesn’t matter), or Freya/Freyja, or Sabine, but nothing’s stuck yet.

And now I think we’re done adopting new animals for a good long while, because oh, man, are the first few days rough, and I’m not going through that again anytime soon.

But I’m glad we’ve adopted this one!

little miss

Say hello:


I’m wrecked from an evening of cat- and dog-wrangling, so you’ll get the full skinny tomorrow.

In the meantime, she needs a name. Suggestions?

cats and dogs

It really freaks me out when our pets are ill, so when I hadn’t seen Fenris pee or drink water for 12 hours, we got him into the vet at the Petsmart where he has training and daycamp. We missed half his training session, but his health’s more important than learning to stay amid distractions.

There was nothing obviously wrong with him, although they tested for giardia and gave him a worm treatment, but the worst bit (from his point of view) was having his anal glands expressed, poor boy. That can’t have felt good. On the plus side, when we got home, he had a nice long pee and a poop, so well done Fenris. A few days of antibiotics and hopefully he’ll be good.

While we were there, we ran into the woman who runs the rescue from whom we got Carrot, and she’s still got his brother. She’s really concerned, because her house isn’t really equipped for cats, and wants him to go to a good home. He’s more overall orange than Carrot, less white, and just as adorable. You totally want a new kitten, don’t you?

rough weekend

I almost want to go back to work just so things will be less crazed, I tell you.

So Friday, I came home to shower & change before heading off to the Low Men show. I got showered and I was starting to look for my cache of earplugs when it sounded like an earthquake is happening in the kitchen — either that, or Agnes had knocked my big stainless steel bowls off the top cabinets. Except … the crashing keept on happening. I trotted downstairs to find …

cat-food box [click to embiggen]So we built this box to put the cats’ food and water in, to stop Fenris eating their food and slobbering in their water, and also to give them a safe place to eat, where he couldn’t bug them. We used nice, heavy birch plywood, supported by 2x2s and capped with quarter-round moulding to soften the top edges, with mesh for the sides so they could keep an eye on things while they eat, and cut out a nice archway for an entrance. (Our jigsaw skillz were not equal to a spiffy gothic arch or that box’d look a lot cooler.) (Eventually it’ll be painted or stained and it’ll look even better. Also, I need to sweep the floor.)

Anyway, I came downstairs to find … Fenris’ head stuck in the cats’ food box … bucking like a horse … stainless-steel bowls banging against the mesh … and he’d dragged the whole lot into the living room. There was cat food and water everywhere but I couldn’t stop laughing, poor dog.

I got him untangled, wet-vac’d the water, scooped up the food, righted the box and finished getting ready for the show.

Doug Motherfuckin' Preston [click to embiggen]And the show was pretty awesome. The space was better for sound than you’d expect for a room with that much brick, and despite the strange decorations, was a fairly cool place to see a show. I did my usual band-girlfriend/photographer thing, although looking at the results, I again find myself wanting a better camera, something of the nice & chunky DSLR variety. (Although I’m addicted to my S5 IS‘s flip-out LCD and I’m boycotting DSLRs until someone realizes what a kickass thing that is and adds it to a camera with interchangeable lenses. Ahem.)

After many drinks and a band I didn’t especially want to hear, Loki & I bolted for the Waffle House, where he tried to soak up all the alcohol with an omelette and a waffle (naturally) and I filled in the cracks left by a too-long-ago lunch with a cheese and egg biscuit (a little falling-apart-ish but tasty nonetheless. A++, would nom again).

When we got home, though, it was muggy and warm in the house, and a check of the thermostat told the sorry tale: it was 86 degrees upstairs, and only a couple degrees cooler downstairs. Loki and I both got only a few hours’ sweaty sleep, and I called our home-warranty place at 9:30 Saturday morning, begging them to send someone to sort out our air conditioning.

An hour later, the a/c company called & said they’d have someone out between noon and two. I thanked them and went back to sitting on the library couch, reading and drinking diet Dr Pepper and trying not to move too much. Around one, I took Fenris to the vet to get a bordatella vaccine blown up his nose (which he promptly sneezed back all over the vet tech, heh), and came home to find … that there was still no a/c guy there fixing our shit.

So let me condense the next 7 hours of hell for you: every couple of hours, someone would call saying the guy had been held up, and would be there in the next couple of hours. What this really means is we were tethered to the fucking house — the roasting, muggy, awful house — watching the thermostat climb to 96° with 55% humidity (downstairs. upstairs it was closer to 100) and not being able to leave because of the expected imminent arrival of Mr A/C Guy.

Around 8:00 we sent Fenris for a sleepover at his daycamp place, just in case the a/c wasn’t actually going to get fixed that night, because the only hotel I could find that allowed dogs had a 25lb. weight limit, and as we discovered earlier at the vet, Fenris is now weighing in at a svelte 67.8 pounds.

Finally, at 9, the A/C guy called to say he was on his way. Rejoice! There was also a monsoon blowing in, and I was just praying he’d get there before the skies opened up. (He did.) Anyway, about fifteen minutes later, he’d swapped out the broken thingamajig (what? I was delirious at that point) and there was cold air pouring out the vents, ohmahgaaaah.

So we thanked A/C Guy (with a check) and decided to order a pizza, so as not to fill the house with heat from cooking while it was still over 90. An hour later, I got a call from the pizza place — one of our drivers has broken down, your pizza will be late, and here’s some free future pizza and some soda please don’t kill me. (I didn’t have the energy to kill anyone, lucky him.)

Anyway. Once it dropped below 90 upstairs I went to bed. I even got a few hours’ sleep, yay!

And today is Fenris’ graduation from Beginner Dog Training (they take their final exam, walk around the store to great acclaim, then get ice cream), preceded by his first day of Intermediate Dog Training (because that was the only time available), and then Shadowrun. And my friends will just have to deal with our messy house, because I will only have the energy to clear off the gaming table, and to hell with everything else.

Right. Can I go back to work now?

bitchy whiny post

I am fully sick of this wrist and it’s been a whole 36 hours, gah.

I’m sick of explaining about it. I’m going to make up cards to hand out, except none will have the real story: “I started flailing when the hot wax hit my nipples, and whacked my wrist on the St Andrews cross” or “I broke it myself during the black mass as an offering to satan”. Or maybe “Overenthusiastic masturbation”. I’m pretty annoyed and inclined to want to make people feel uncomfortable.

I’m sick if vicodin. It’s almost not worth it — I get about 10 minutes’ actual pain relief, preceded by 3-4 hours of dizziness and nausea.

I’m sick of being unable to open jars, wash my one good hand hand easily, apply deodorant, sleep more than 4 hours at a go, put on a damn shirt, cut up food or carry more than one thing at a time — if I so much as bump the fingers, shooting pain ensues.

On the plus side, I’ve got my sweetie, who’s not only helping me in every possible way, he’s also dealing with The Puppy, who’s turning out to be a handful and a half.

Ah, well, it could be worse, right? I could’ve broken both of them.

meet Fenris

Fenris [click to embiggen]

Yep, we caved.

He arrived yesterday via Continental air cargo, more calm than I expected him to be, but he was well happy to see a friendly face.

He’s been trying to make friends with the cats since we got him home, but they’re not having any. (Windle & Ix will get close but hiss; Perdita will only approach him if he’s definitely asleep; and Agnes has barricaded herself under the spare room bed. Pretty sure she’s never talking to us again …)

He’s about 24 pounds at nearly-12 weeks, and oh my goodness, what a sweetie! A couple more pics can be found here.