Pedagogic Piñata

Tomorrow is my doctor appointment with Dr. Crabby. He wanted me to lose 20 lbs since my last appointment. I've hit 30 lbs since I last saw him for a total of 51 lbs since June 15th, surgery date. Dr. C probably won't bat an eye at the loss though I've been productive (and proud) by primarily consuming medical grade, whey protein isolate along with meat protein.


I'm rooting through samples I ordered prior to surgery and am attempting to use them as much as possible before purchasing more protein. Otherwise I look like a protein sample hoarder on top of already suspecting myself of being any kind of random thing hoarder. Occasionally I'll add a piece of lettuce to my menu. I've also been adding spinach back into my morning protein drink which works well. Today's drink was Bariatric Advantage chocolate sans spinach which tasted much the way baby barf smells. I'm grateful this was only a sample and not a $80.00 jug.


I've eaten a few tomatoes that tasted like heaven or candy or chocolate cake or the best thing I've eaten in years; tiny, home-grown lovelies. I ate a nectarine, and the peaches this year are out of this world, flavor-filled. Take my word for it. Go buy a peach and hoard it all to yourself. You'll be glad you did.

Bella 08/30/10

Bella and I went to obedience school last Saturday where we learned a few things though not in a timely enough fashion for my brother-in-law who is 100% positive that I'm an idiot, and that Bella is a idiot, and that we are jointly taking idiot lessons for one hour every weekend because nothing Bella's doing is well-behaved enough for him (aka Cesar Millan) and I'm not a pack leader and doing things wrong, doncha know?


On Saturday I learned that these trainers use a lot of treats to get dogs to do what the trainers want them to do. Which got me to thinking and wondering if that's how I treated my own kids (when they were puppies) (which I'm sure it was) and if this is how I was treated by my mom, which I'm not so sure of because I don't remember a thing from my childhood except falling off a bike a bajillion times, my friend Becky who's mom ran a hair salon out of their house, my sister diving off the bed probably to get to a meal and ripping open her thigh.  (Some people will do anything for attention.), attending Bascom Avenue Elementary school as a kindergartner before the powers that be mowed my alma mater down and replaced it with San Jose City College, and those scummy little Porter kids who ate pill bugs for shits and giggles.


I'm not sure this is the best way to train anything -- by stuffing it's belly full of treats to get it to function -- lord knows it never worked on me! 


I'm glad we moved out of that 'hood with which I grew to the ripe ole age of 5, though I'm not sure how old I was when I finally stopped stuffing feeding myself full of treats for doing good (any?) deeds. I believe it was somewhere around June 15th, 2010.

Help Us Gain Endorsement of the American Cancer Society

We are attempting to gain the endorsement of the American Cancer Society and need your help.

Please submit an online request so that the American Cancer Society will endorse HR 4662 (Lymphedema Diagnosis and Treatment Cost Saving Act of 2010) at both of these links below:

http://www.cancer.org/Aboutus/HowWeHelpYou/app/contact-us.aspx; 

https://secure3.convio.net/acscan/site/SSurvey?SURVEY_ID=1520&ACTION_REQUIRED=URI_ACTION_USER_REQUESTS. 

Still life in Baja, with bandages & tequila, 2008

Hug the World

I visited my oncologist. My CA125 is within normal range - thank Jesus. (For the non-believers, please pronounce that name as HeySuze). 

Before the doctor entered the room, I tried to visualize the number 19, thinking that if I could visualize this number, that's the number the doctor would come back with. Crazy ass cancer patient! Visualizing numbers -- I kind of doubt that really works in the scheme but I'll try just about anything. The doctor entered and said something about "better results." He said the CA was 29. So see visualizing the #19 worked halfway! Then he said that "Whenever you mess with the peritoneum, it screws up the CA125." Out of relief I started to cry for a brief second (as opposed to a long second) I asked him for a hug. We have not hugged until that moment though I'm trying to get lovin from anywhere I can - hugs help you live longer and not smoking and exercising and owning a puppy and not eating crap except occasionally See's candies.


The moral of this story is don't mess with your peritoneum which should not be confused with the perineum because I was confusing them I was wondering what kind of surgery the weight loss surgeon had performed where he would have messed with my perineum? I felt temporarily creeped out and wondered if wls would still have the same effect with a messy perineum?


Needless to say, I don't have to order that big coffin yet, and I will be around longer barring unforeseen circumstances like the proverbial mack truck that everyone always talks about whenever you find yourself having to make yet another crucial decision. A mack truck was discussed when I decided to have a tubal ligation right after the Caesarean where I gave birth to twins. (What if they (twins?) get hit by a Mack truck?) I've been looking over my shoulder ever since. Lucky me, I get to deal with life instead.

When the Student is Ready

Hannah's first day of big school. I sure hope all those cuss words I taught her pay off in spades during recess.


It's hot as heck out here in California for about the first time this summer -- In  the high 90s.  At night, Bella's luxuriating in her fake pool. Last night she stuck her head under water for the first time and seemed to be swimming. She kept repeating this behavior. 


I want to take her to the beach (after she has her next round of shots) and she how she performs in the waves. Maybe I'll get her up on a surfboard and she can set sail to Tahiti were a Tahitian can train her to stop barking.


Happy first day of big girl school, Hannah!

Brooding Over Barks

Gosh it's slow at work. Is it slow for you too? Is it the heat? Or just the recession or depression or what? So freaking slow at work that I'm cruising foodgawker, occasionally tossing dog toys in-between reading interesting recipes that I'm never going to cook. Four ingredient brownies!? And I'm going to make this soup though not today because it's a gahjillion degrees in the shade here in the forest (gump).

I'm still "training" Bella and training, if you could call it that, is going okay. I say okay (because who's idea was this?) because she's really training me. I want her to stop barking after one bark so now instead of barking, she howls. Howling is pleasant -- especially at 5:30 am.

Just yesterday Bella took a huge bite out of the carpeting at work so I'll be hand-stitching that back together soon. I bought her a huge plastic (made in China with poisons) pot that a person might put underneath a planted pot if they didn't want water to run down onto their neighbor living in the apartment below, and filled this plastic pan-pot with water so Bella now has a built-in, corgi-sized. She started dunking (and mudding) in my sister's bird bath, and now Bella's the proud owner of her own "pool." Hopefully the plastic Chinese poisons don't leach out and cause paralysis which will cause her to stop breathing in the middle of a romp. Last night she went outside in the dark and took a refreshing dip. Then she came back into the house, and refreshingly dripped all over the carpeting and the comforter (at least I hope that was water).

Remembah that Dr. Crabby suggested (or he'd kill me) that I lose 20 lbs this month. I'm down 23 lbs. I'm hoping to add another 5 lbs to the loss column before seeing him on the 1st. I'm sure he'll still chastise me because I ate some fruit (shsssh!)

Tomorrow I visit oncology to learn the results of the CA125 test. If the numbers are still high, I'll start the scan process, and if the numbers are in the normal range, I'll be grateful, thankful and elated, and most importantly not dead anytime soon, yet still thinner and healthier and won't have to buy one of those double-wide coffins from Costco or Wal-screwtheiremployees. I haven't given the test results much thought though. I spend more time thinking about Ceasar Milan and how he just pokes his dogs in the butt while making a funny noise with his tongue to get them to stop barking. This is really kind of cool when you think about it. The not brooding over test results, and brooding over the practical. We can't do a thing about test results but listen to them when they are reported. We can't change test results with any amount of brooding. Yet we can brood over barking because we can change a bark (or not) depending on if you're a decent pack leader. This is what life is all about. Living & barking for each day, concentrating on changing a dog bark rather than worrying about test results. (but then ask me tomorrow how I feel. I may be singing a completely different tune.)

A few years ago when I owned other dogs and lived with living family members, my neighbor came marching up the road with a pitchfork. At the time, another neighbor who lives close by owned several Jack Russell terrorists who barked incessantly, day and night. Well, ole pitchfork Larry came a-callin and demanded to know if "those are your dogs!!?" while I was out for a walk back when I could walk (which btw, I can now - thank you very much). I guess he was going to stab the barking dogs with his pitchfork until he discovered that the barking dogs belonged to one of his mountain buddies. I dunno. Maybe he was going to stab the owner or me. Though that day I lucked out and dodged a prong. In jest, however, I've taken to calling him "PL" though whenever Bella starts her Hound of the Baskervilles impression, I cringe thinking that at any moment Bella could become shish kadog instead of a sweet, well-trained corgi that she's turning into.

Animal Planet

A note to a good friend about whether he should get a corgi puppy?


If memory serves, owning this corgi puppy has been similar to giving birth and raising twins -- only I'm 54 years old and tired.

The puppy is wonderful, cute, adorable, and sweet; all those great things. She's intelligent. She's an attention-getter. Everywhere I go, I hear "I don't think I've ever seen a corgi puppy before." (No exaggeration - everywhere). Men and women, boys and girls gather 'round. Even if I appear to be counseling in depth with a person who believes they are dying of cancer, people come up and want to pet her. 

She brings tons of joy, lots of frustration, and I'm being tested to the very core. The Queen Mum has corgis (I bet her dogs don't eat poop). 

This corgi is Pembroke Welsh Corgi. There are also Cardigan Corgis who have longer fur/hair. 

A friend of mine said just the other evening, "I'll bet you attract Mr. Right with Bella!" I said, "That would be okay as long as he's wealthy, and is a dog trainer." Somehow, unless you're first name is Ceasar, those two things are probably mutually exclusive

The big thing now-a-days is crate training so you need a crate, and if the puppy is small you get a small crate but this means eventually you need a larger crate. Then you spend money on chew toys or she chews your leg or your dirty clothes or your couch. Your most prized possessions are held ransom for cheap squeaky toys made in China. Even if you buy the most expensive toy with the loudest squeak, the puppy will still bite into your hand or your arm until she sees a blood pumper. She's not satisfied until she sees you really cry and the bed clothes stained. I use freecycle.org for crates and toys that I don't need, and that I do need. It's a yahoo group. Saves money and stress. Just ask for what you want. Someone is going to respond. You can also give away your old shoes and other useless junk. Sometimes I stare at my belongings and a few moments go by and I've got ten giveaway ads. The only inconvenience is waiting for people to pick up the crap you no longer want. The trade-off is not too bad.

At the beginning of lunch today I drove to Redwood Estates and picked up a free copy of a dog whisperer book that I'll read (for free). A local dog trainer contacted me and sent me literature. Hopefully this literature will give me even more understanding and help with training methods. I have a larger crate for work, a smaller one for home, a leash, a halter for the leash, obedience training classes each Sat. Dogs have to be house-trained. They still poop on your carpet and they will pee standing right next to an open door. I mean, come on!

Yesterday I said to my sister, "This dog is nasty. If she were a stripper, she'd be the kind of stripper who wore no clothes to the strip joint. She'd give it away for free and not even bat an eyelash."

Dogs are gross. You have to be prepared for gross.

If you have a group of dedicated family members, get a corgi. Otherwise, I recommend a stuffed animal and watching Animal Planet on Discovery.

Pants on Fire

 
Let's Take the Long Way Home: A Memoir of Friendship by Gail Caldwell


I decided to get a bound edition of this new book instead of the Kindle edition where I can hog the digital version to myself. My mom is having her hip replaced at the end of August. This is one of the books I'll give her to read. She was going to send me a list of books. She's been slacking.


Years ago when I read Caroline Knapp's Drinking: A Love Story, I loved the book. Her story reminded me of my own addiction to food though I never lost my car keys trying to find my way back home from an eating binge. I never really binged (in public) (except maybe that time crawling behind the See's candy counter when Lib worked there.) There seem to be many similarities inside the mind of an addict. Hidden habits, hidden wrappers, hidden booze bottles though liver disease does not hide for long and neither does fat.


Bella's sleeping at my feet at work (some of the day). There's an overturned produce semi-truck on Highway 17 blocking all lanes so the usual drone of traffic has come to a halt. We could drive down there and help pick up produce so they can right side the truck though Dr. Crabby doesn't really want me eating produce yet. I heard it was cabbage. Yummy! Oh, well.


I have to confess that my last appointment was very odd (with Dr. Crabby). He asked me what I was eating and my response was somewhat automatic because as a lifetime dieter, I suddenly felt defensive and under pressure being asked "what have you been eating?" Much like the kid with whipped cream smeared face when his mom is hollering at him "what are you eating now?" and he says, "Nothing."


Rather than tell Dr. Crabby the truth (which I couldn't even remember), I blurted out "cottage cheese and applesauce" whereby Dr. Crabby immediately chastised me for eating applesauce. Not supposed to eat it. I'd not eaten any applesauce in months, maybe 6 months, possibly a year. It's not something I typically eat even on this new weight-loss venture I've undertaker undertaken. 


Just the day before the appointment my sister and I were discussing what I could be eating to change-up the foods I was consuming -- soft foods. She mentioned cottage cheese and applesauce. That morning at the doctor, when he said, "What are you eating?" my response came rapid fire, "cottage cheese and applesauce." WTF? Once you've made a statement like that, you can't take it back by saying "Oops, I was wrong. I've been eating totally according to your mandate." Then I got the surgeon's lecture, and had to sit with my brain wondering why I'd say "cottage cheese and applesauce"? One amusing thing is I was relaying this story to a friend of mine and she told me that once someone asked her if she had children and she replied, "Yes, a little girl" when in fact, she had only given birth to a son. Totally bizarre behavior. Why do we do this? I guess this make us liars or merely borderline personality disorder.


Over this past weekend, Bella and I attended puppy training classes where I found out I'm doing everything wrong though my brother-in-law already tells me I'm doing everything wrong with regard to Bella. He's a cat owner, hasn't owned a dog since I've known him for 35 years. I'm waiting for him to write the book. Maybe I'll put his dog training book on my mom's post-hip surgery "to read" list.

Driving Me Crazy

After obedience school on Saturday, I decided to teach Bella how to drive. She's a great driver, a huge help when I want to use my cell phone and smoke ciggies while driving.


I met one of my cancery friends for a monthly support chat where nearly every person walking into Peet's interrupted my friend's statements of suffering to ask if they could pet Bella while exclaiming "I don't think I've ever seen a corgi puppy!" My friend pleaded that next time we need to find someplace else to meet if I'm going to be supportive. The same thing happened on Sunday when I met Eric and my sister for coffee in Scotts Valley. Afterward, my sister and I went to the Art & Whine festival where we played with dogs and people said "I don't think I've ever seen a corgi puppy!" The festival came to a halt when we drove away.


Now no one will go to coffee with me anymore except Bella. She never pays.

The Road Gourmand

Bailey, Bebe and Bella

The past two nights my downstairs roomie and I have been walking our dogs. This walk is the furthest walk Bella has walked in her short life, nearly a mile round trip. (Also the farthest I've walked in a couple of years what with hip and knee pain abating.)

In the forest we have paved (sort of) roads though in the photo you can see the deterioration in the condition of the asphalt. Weeds are beginning to overtake the roads in many areas. With lack of funding from the county, the employees aren't working here to whack those weeds. This winter should prove interesting what with rain-soaked scotch-broom taking up much of the road space.

My experience while living in these mountains is that many dog-owning mountain folk don't cotton to the idea of "picking up" after their dogs. Consequently, mountain roadsides are often lined with (what I'm assuming is) dog poop. So much so that these piles have turned into a sort of roadside directional decor. This way only ---> the guides seem to read, leading us to the future, telling us the way to go. (I mean, if we stare at them long enough.)

I had read an article about why dogs eat poop and the article explained that dogs do(o) this because poop closely resembles the first food they eat, foods regurgitated by their mothers, though in this article, they list 20 reasons why dogs eat poop. YumMe!  Most dogs grow out of the habit, and what with the millions of doggie-type snack foods available, Bella seems to be following suit while I'm earning my Ph.D. in why dogs eat poo.

The article mentions that one way to discourage poop-eating behavior in dogs (or I suppose, anyone) is to spray feces with hot pepper spray and/or lemon juice, this spraying in lieu of actually picking up after your dog.

As the dogs, PK, and I came to the end of the first half of our walk, I remembered that while I was growing up my mom used lemon pepper on a lot of foods she prepared. While growing up I didn't think my mom was intentionally trying to deter us from eating her cooking with the use of these spices though last night while on the walk, I was momentarily stunned, definitely taking paws pause for cause.

Brief Confession

Hannah, Bella and me earlier this week. Bella isn't much of a poser.

I met some friends for lunch on Sunday at Aldo's in Santa Cruz. The weather was beautiful for the poet visiting California from Indiana though it certainly could have been better, maybe a bit more sun instead of clouds. I'll not complain too much. It's been colder this summer than normal but I know so many folks are suffering due to really high heat. Earlier today my compression hose were sticking to my knees. I know your suffering.

I brought Bella with me to lunch. We were eating outside, there were other dogs sitting quietly by their owners. Bella was pretty mellow and sat on everyone's lap. She gets a lot of attention when I take her out (and consequently so do I) though for now she refuses to walk with a leash. It's more of a drag. I say to her, "wanna go for a drag?" And we sound like cool, hip beatnik smokers from the 60s. Dog training starts this Saturday.

I have such a good time with her even though I've bitched like a lunatic about her. If I'd gotten her soon after my breakup, I would not have even processed grief similar to when a person substitutes a new person for an existing relationship. Grief goes by the wayside. Bella would have allowed me to sail through my grief as if I'd pre-planned a new relationship though our relationship would have been inauthentic.

We went to the vet this morning. I had a dog-poop sample in my purse. Jealous?

I've temporarily fateaued at a 40 lbs weight-loss though I feel fantastic. No regrets whatsoever; do not miss food. I'm relieved of cravings for the time being (and have been since surgery). I *do* get thirsty for water though I carry a metal (aka green) water bottle with me everywhere, sometimes I am forced to share my water with the dog.

I confess that earlier today I ate 3 tiny home-grown tomatoes. They came from a neighbor's garden and tasted delicious. Don't tell Dr. Crabby.

Three Year Old Dylan Has Lymphedema

Somewhere along the blog line in one of my posts, I used the phrase "famous people with lymphedema" hence/thus/so I was contacted by Heather Ferguson, a mother of a 3 year old son who was born with lymphedema (I feel your pain, Heather and Dylan) to help get more awareness and the word out about HR 4662, the Lymphedema Diagnosis and Treatment Cost Saving Act of 2010.

I'm sad that celebrities who have lymphedema aren't out (of the enormous lymphedema closet) because lymphedema-y people could certainly use famous-people support and famous-people money-raising capabilities. Guess we have to rally from the ground up on this lymphedema issue. I totally consider myself ground-up.

Below is Heather's brief story:

My name is Heather Ferguson and I have a three year old little boy named Dylan who was born with primary lymphedema, which is the result of missing or impaired lymph nodes and/or lymph vessels. Millions of Americans suffer from lymphedema.  The majority of these individuals have lymphedema resulting from cancer or cancer treatment.   This secondary lymphedema occurs when lymph vessels are damaged or lymph nodes are removed. 

Like so many other lymphedema sufferers, I have had to fight our insurance company for coverage of my son’s compression garments.  In 2009 I worked with my State Representative, Tricia Cotham, and we passed a mandate requiring all insurers in North Carolina to cover lymphedema treatment beginning January 1, 2010.  (You can read more about how I achieved that at www.lymphnotes.com/story.php/id/475/)  Then late last year I sought out my Congressman, Larry Kissell.  After meeting with him and sharing my personal saga he soon decided to become the sponsor of The Lymphedema Diagnosis and Treatment Cost Saving Act of 2010, HR 4662.

Specific goals of the bill are: 

• to provide diagnosis and treatment of individuals with and at risk for lymphedema according to current medical treatment standards, including manual lymph drainage, compression bandages, garments, devices, and exercise;
• to enhance quality of lymphedema patient care by providing therapist qualification requirements; to provide for lymphedema patient education in the procedures for self-treatment so as to transfer the treatment from the clinical to the home setting;
• to encourage patient self-treatment plan adherence by providing necessary medical supplies for use at home; to expand patient access to qualified lymphedema therapy by extending coverage to qualified, trained lymphedema therapists who may practice under a qualified physician, physical therapist or occupational therapist; 
• to reduce total healthcare costs through avoidance of periodic infections, pain and disabilities resulting from this medical condition.

As the mother of a child with lymphedema I cannot begin to express the relief I would feel knowing my son could not be denied the treatment coverage he needs to live an otherwise healthy and normal life.  If passed, this legislation will be life changing, and in some cases even life-saving, to lymphedema sufferers nation-wide, and will ensure that no (insured) American is ever denied the lymphedema treatment coverage they so desperately need and deserve. 

Please visit Lymphedema Treatment Act for more information and to learn how you can help by writing your Congressional Representative, and feel free to contact me with questions.  I also send periodic email updates about the progress of HR 4662 and I’d be delighted to add you to my contact list.

Heather Ferguson

hmffATearthlink.net  (please substitute the AT for @). 

Here is a sample letter to use to contact your congressional representative. (Many thanks to Big Leg Woman) for compiling and posting the sample along with links to finding senate and house members of congress.) 

We especially need constituents in California so please help by writing a letter to your congress person. If you contact me, I'll send you something you can cuss & paste.

Thanks again for helping us, Lymphedema-y people. And many thanks to Heather, a celebrity in her own right for fighting this fight, and her son, Dylan who hopefully isn't in for a life of frustration and suffering with lymphedema. At least when this bill passes, their suffering will lessen somewhat.

Back by Popular Demand

I discovered an old, interesting photo of me from about 1999 or the year 2000.  I thought I'd already posted all my "chubby" photos in my "chubby" essay. As you can see, Greg was alive, pre-cancer diagnosis though if he'd had a colonoscopy at this time, they may have found that he had polyps and this might have prevented his death from colon cancer. Of course, this is only my suspicion since he's dead. This insight is all water under the cancer bridge. Bet you didn't know that there's a cancer bridge. If anyone offers to sell you that bridge, run away.

Looking a bit chubby...just a bit

Also found some faxes I'd sent to my sister when I went on my second trip to Germany and Italy with my X. I loved that trip for the most part except for my X's friend, Satan. Now -- since the end of our relationship a year ago, and many months of wondering, thinking, analyzing, my X having a friend like Satan should have been on the redflag list. Actually, come to think of it, having a friend like Satan is on the redflag list though I overlooked this because I loved the X so much that his Satany friends didn't matter.

Though now they really don't matter. haha

Bella (Lugosi) and me earlier this week.

Under My Skin

"Don't you know little fool, you'll never win

Why not use your mentality, come on step up to reality."

Cole Porter

Last night I got home from work later than usual because Hannah had come to work and I definitely wanted to see her before I left work for the day. 


Hannah celebrated her 5th birthday last week. I didn't make it to the party because I didn't discuss with anyone *where* the party was being held, only what time it would occur (12:00). I automatically assumed the party would take place at the blue ball park which Hannah had been going on about for months. Her personal birthday party plan, she'd said like an event planner for the stars would take place at the blue Ball park, with a pony cake and a pinata and that was good enough for me. Though the party venue turned out NOT to be at the BBP where I sat in my car for nearly an hour while the dog slept in a crate in the back seat. And passersby looked at me like I was some kind of park pervert, sitting in my car on a sunny Sunday afternoon with a sleeping dog.


Needless to say, I missed the birthday celebration (and the magician and ten screaming girls)  cupcakes and celebratory food stuffs. Something tells me that my forty-five minute respite in the BBP parking lot was a good way to spend my time. Though I still have to get a present for Hannah and I wanted to get her a camera because she is bossy. She said, "A pink one!" I wish buying a digital camera for a 5 year old were that easy - just buy the pink one. Who cares if it takes decent photos. Hannah's pretty adept at using my camera already which is why I wanted to buy her one of her own. She's grown tired of posing. Hannah also wants new underwear. I said "My size?" and she looked at me incredulously, saying, "no." But I just thought that would make the gift that much more special for her.


Upon arrival at home last night, I decided that I needed to find Bella another home. She's too much work. She's exhausting me! When I parked the car, I noticed the hanging plants (and what remained of my garden) in desperate need of water. The plants in the pots hung like microwaved bacon in the late afternoon heat. 


I hadn't eaten most of the day because something felt icky in my stomach (whatever I ate the night before - most likely). Though I still needed to eat some protein. The plants needed attention big time. Bella starts barking at the hose. Then she barks at water. (She barks at the paper shredder. She barks at the hair dryer. She barks at the vacuum. She barks at the Dust-buster.) She barks at me. I'm completely surrounded by the beauty and quietude of the redwoods, red tail hawks soaring above. I'm surrounded by a barking puppy that I've decided I'm too old to take care of even though I love her and she's worth all the effort (what effort?). I'm watering, dragging the hose around the garden to the assorted potted bacon, apologizing to other parts of the garden for ignoring it's needs because all I have time to do is make protein shakes and ask the puppy if she needs to go outside to pee, and when I ask her, she barks at me. I'm on the verge of tears thinking about how much work it took me (and how incompetent I felt as a young mother raising twins) and here I am at age 54, raising (?) a puppy that will probably grow as ungrateful as those kids.


While watering potted jerky, Bella continued to bark at the hose, the water. She became completely soaked, attacking the water, and then got muddy and filthy. I thought she had to have a bath before I sat down to finally take a load off. As far as a bath goes, Bella hates the kitchen sink too. She barks at shampoo and she claws at my chest. She's scared of the water in the sink but not scared of the water from the hose. I was completely soaked when we finished while her ears did not get cleaned.


Finally got to make my protein shake. Vanilla with 4 frozen strawberries -- not supposed to eat any fruit though so remember to call the food-cops. Recall that Doctor Crabby told me I had to lose 20 lbs before the next appointment which is Sept 1st? I've already dropped 7 lbs since the appointment last Wednesday because all I have time to do is ask the puppy if she wants to go outside to pee, and make protein shakes, and cry about ungrateful people which I actually think burns a lot of calories. Thankfully Bella does not bark at the protein shake mixer and this lack of barking at my one household appliance has me totally perplexed though I try not to think about it much. To a dog, making a protein shake isn't a traumatic event.


I forgot to mention the flies. I walked into the swarm bedroom, aka the fly-nasium, Flies R Us where there were a minimum of 50 flies buzzing joyfully around the window which meant something dead or dying was in my room or maybe my house was sold out from underneath me and the Flyberts moved in while I was at work.


I quickly got the dustflybuster and bussed them to the nearest exit door which is the same door with which I say to Bella, "Bella, want to go outside?" She bounces outside for 5 minutes, and bounces back inside just in time to pee under my bed. 


So with Bella nipping at my creepy toes, we went on a hunt to find out what had died.


And the only thing that died was the urge I felt early in the evening to give her away.