Tag: life with dogs

In which there is re-breakfast


5:45A, Harley: Breakfast! Breakfast!
Me to Spousling: You feed him. It’s Saturday.
Spousling: *grumbles, but dutifully rolls out of bed.*

7:00A, Harley: Morning! Breakfast!
The Daughter: Oh, FINE. *feeds him*

Quiet ensues, while Harley ponders how good a day it’s been so far, and who hasn’t fed him yet.

7:40A, Harley, downstairs: *Bark! Barkbarkbark! Bark bark!*
Me: FINE. *drags self out of bed, thinking it is 8:40 and is sadly disappointed once my eyes focus.*
Harley: I haven’t eaten a THING. EVER. I’m STARVING.
The Daughter: I fed him.
Me: Dad fed him.
Harley, rushing up the stairs: These dog lips haven’t touched food since last night. I’m STARVING.

I stumble downstairs.

Harley: SCORE! *happily races me downstairs and watches me make coffee, knowing that breakfast appears once coffee is underway.*

Needless to say, he is sadly disappointed.

And now housework, report cards, and writing–in no particular order.

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Up way too early this morning, seeing that school hasn’t begun, and I blame a dog.

Nothing like waking to warm breath panting on your neck, accompanied by anxious little whines.

He didn’t even want his breakfast.

So I’m running around doing the morning chores (pool, garden) and about ready to move on to the walk. And then there will be some cleaning and writing.

All of my good intentions yesterday vanished in a puff of SYTYCD and I must recalibrate and make up for it.

I’m still working through Jane Vandenburgh’s Architecture of the Novel which I am enjoying and parsing slowly. It may be one of those things I have to reread. All I know, is that I read four or five pages (or a section) and I’m excited to write.

Not a bad thing at all.

In other news, the Middle Child won a three-day all expense paid trip to Texas (My response? That’s a prize?!) which will, however, put him in contact with many people across the nation who could very well want to hire him. The award also looks good on his resume. Not a Bad Thing, despite Texas. I don’t know what they’re doing with the dogs during this time, but I suspect they may be here.

With luck, I should be back at school by then, and the Spousling home.

And yes, that return home next week of his? Not so fast. It’ll be the week after.

By then I should be ready to stuff Harley in his arms and run far far away. Even if it is only to school.

Meanwhile, the Slug has worked with two prescription fires this week and fought free of the razor wire that she found with her shins. My suggestion that she add shin guards to her olive green pants was not received well.

The Eldest Child wants a motorcycle now. (Like mountain climbing and snowboarding/skiing in avalanche country and surfing aren’t enough. At least those activities are limited to two days a week. A motorcycle would increase his danger factor to 100% of the year.)

I should give him Harley.

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It’s 6:21A. Do you know where your dog is?


Why yes, yes I do.

Right beside me on the floor, peacefully dozing. He has done his job for the day.

He got me up at 5:42A.

No, he wasn’t hungry, although we went through the motions. The dog has developed a discriminating palate in his older years (as opposed to the early ones, where if something was on the floor or ground, it must be edible) and it is now difficult to convince him that his regular food is not poison.

So yeah, I caved and bought a new bag of food, which he will eat–as long as I pretend it’s a treat and scatter some on the floor. What to do with the old food in storage outside? Hmm.

I’m hoping it’s more about the antibiotics he’s on in regards to his appetite. I also wish dogs understood summer vacation.

He met his first rabbit in SB, for Bun needed care, too. They actually nosed and sniffed each other through the cage several times, which was amusing. When Harley would finally bark, Bun would dive for the other side of the hutch which was enclosed on three sides. The funniest thing was when Harley would search exterior of the hutch on that side for the bunny to reappear.

Who knew that rabbits did magic on their own?

Harley jumped up to the wall behind the hutch and above and made sure Bun had really truly disappeared. It was a trick, but how…?

Writing? Not so much. I’m slogging through this as though it’s the middle and not the beginning. Again. Wish I had a magic trick up my sleeve for making words appear on the page. Or, maybe, for gluing my butt in the chair and not avoiding the hard stuff.

I think I will try a G+ hangout this morning and see who, if anyone shows up to write.

ETA: So the Slug has found a new way to torture me on FB. Little announcements like these (while disguised as complaints about the length of her work day) do the trick nicely: “On the upside I made some serious OT, worked 3 fires, used drip torches to do a burnout, and got some great fire experience.”

This is not what a mom wants to hear. I do not know what drip torches are, but based on the fact that they apparently allow one to play with fire, I am not as thrilled as she is. All the years I spent teaching her to stay away from fire is wasted.

Where is that monsoon summer I requested for the Tacoma area?

2 comments » | the stories I could tell

I need a wind-up key


Because otherwise this morning is going to be all about half-asleep at my desk.

I don’t have time for that. This morning I’m off to Santa Barbara with a very expensive dog at my side. A trip to the vet makes you realize just how expensive an animal is. I’m pretty sure Harley’s antibiotics cost more than mine.

So, still dealing with that issue, now with added bonus: a yeast infection in both ears. Lovely. Our first ear infection together.

I’m struggling with motivation around here. It’s difficult to pull myself together enough to write, and the usual chores face the same angst. I should not have to angst over the vacuuming, you know? The kibble Harley has decided to reject are like tiny bombs waiting for my bare feet. Not quite up to the kids’ booby-trapped Lego-in-the-dark standard, but close.

There won’t be any distractions (other than the dogs) for the next couple of days, and hopefully that’ll increase my output. If nothing else, I’ll have hangouts on Google+ which will make me focus. Speaking of which, I love the hangouts aspect of Google+. Google may become our new overlords, but they’re doing it with style. Unlike certain other social media giants. (FB, I’m looking at you. U r doing it all wrong. That ‘you can tweak your account only if you can find where we hid it’ stuff? Yeah,
no. This is why I only use you to discover what my children are doing. As soon as I can convert them to Google+, you are out of my life.)

Now, off to discover some conviction at the bottom of a second cup of coffee. Wish me luck. Sometimes I don’t find it until I’ve emptied the pot.

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Dog Wars, 1


Dog: WTF is this?
Me: Kibble.
Dog: Where’s my garnish?
Me: The garnish left with the Other Dog.
Dog: But I liked hers the best! That’s why I always tried to steal it–not that you ever let me. *mourns*
Me: *drops token treat into bowl*
Dog: *devours treat, leaves kibble*
Dog: You’re trying to kill me, right?
Me: You’re a dog. You eat dog food. Eat.
Dog: Not without my garnish.
Me: Don’t make me pour kibble in the Other Dog’s dish to trick you.
Dog: *mournfully stares into dish* I’m going into a decline.
Me: You’ll recover once I get the leash.
Dog: You never loved me as much as Other Dog.
Me: Face massage!
Dog: *submits and wriggles all over*
Dog: But I’m still not eating that poison without my garnish.

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Rewriting sucks.

The final wordcount tally is always far less than you believe it should be.

Me: Only one page?!
Ragtag novel, looking smug: It could have been even less. *wink* Wait til tomorrow.

The on-going saga of Harley and the big bad bed. Meaning mine, of course.

Harley: Woof! Bark! Bark! Woof! (Translation: I can’t get on the bed. Elevator up!)
Me to Eldest Child: I need to build steps so he can climb up on his own.
Eldest child: *runs out to garage and returns with a plastic crate and a pillow* Here. Use this. Harley! *pats pillow invitingly* Up! Up!
Harley: *tips head sideways* Woof! Bark! Bark! (Translation: No food, no way.)
Eldest Child: Come on! Up! Up!
Harley: *leaps onto bed with no help*
Me: You FAKER!
Harley: *jumps down, leaps up, repeats thrice for good measure.*
Me: (You don’t want to know what I said.)
Eldest Child: Well, never mind then.

6A, this morning

Harley: *whinewhinewhinewhine*
Harley: *whinewhinewhinewhine*
Me: *sits up and pats the pillow on the crate* Up. Up.
Harley: *leaps, avoiding crate and pillow completely*
Me: Oh, thank god. *collapses in a heap for another 45 minutes or until the beast decides he has to have breakfast or he will DIE. DIE, I SAY.*

Still, it was better than the night before last.

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So not bushy-tailed


Dear Dog,

Although you clearly pulled a shoulder muscle in that midnight accident (*ahem* by falling off the bed), that does not mean you get to abandon the same bed voluntarily five times the following night.

Why not, you ask with those big mournful eyes?

Because I am your token elevator. And, dognabit, I am tired of waking to the music of your little whines to rejoin us on the bed after you’ve verified, that yes, you can leap off without additional injury.


And for the record, it does not further your case to have you crashed out and snoring beside me while I down caffeine by the vat just to keep my eyes open.

No love,

Your dog-tired mommy

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One of these things is not like the other.


Harley has taken to barking in the mornings–after breakfast and before I leave. This is his signal that he wants to play: he barks at the chunk of rawhide, I finally give up and growl at him, he grabs the rawhide and runs away.

We make at least four or five circumnavigations of the downstairs before I collapse and slurp more coffee.

And then he barks again.

I am tired of this game. Sadly, he is not. Which means I will most likely play it tomorrow and the day after and the day after that.

Tonight’s writing was tough still. What I did discover is that I can delete bits here and there–mostly stuff I tell and then immediately show. Didn’t I fix this tendency some years back? And yet, what’s old is new again.

Stupid habits.

Negative word count for tonight, which is good, albeit frustrating. 700 words shrank to 600. In a frigging hour.

And I achieved success at having two characters talk at cross-purposes. First time I’ve ever intentionally done it, too.

I also have a character arc for this scene.

You don’t have to scream and faint dead away. Miracles do happen.

Just usually to someone else. (Shush. I know.)

Comments Off on One of these things is not like the other. | this and that, writing



Maybe I should knit lace only in the mornings.

Or, say, daylight hours. And after I’ve had coffee.

Also, between Harley barking at god knows what last night, (he let the coyote on the next block where its next meal was waiting the night before) and resuming the food wars by stealing Zoey’s breakfast three! times this morning, I’m very cranky.

Although the latter would not be an issue if Zoey would just eat instead of staring at her food suspiciously.

I suppose Harley’s preparing for the next coyote offering.

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Yesterday was


a bit much.

I spent too much time baking–apple cranberry pie and pumpkin biscotti, and too much time with the rub for the pork roast, even though the cheesy potatoes went quickly. And then I had to make the Chinese salad dressing from scratch because we’d finished the bottle with our last salad. Each one of these in isolation was not too much, but throw them all together and I think I spent three and a half hours in the kitchen before cleaning it up, and then another hour after dinner cleaning again.

Today the china goes away.

The rest of yesterday was spent nursing Zoey. The pain from cramping muscles was less of an issue, but she was lethargic and not drinking. I managed to get water into her via turkey baster (not too successful) and then switched to dribbling water onto her gums via the Eldest’s sinus rinse bottle. Got at least 1/2 a cup into her that way, maybe a cup over the entire day.

Last night, I didn’t hear her cry out, although the Eldest Child claims she woke a few times. And this morning, we carried her downstairs and outside, where she stood–wobbling, mind you–to pee, and then sniffed about still wobbling. Plus, she wolfed down some breakfast this morning.

She’s perkier, which is good, because yesterday I was thinking we were going to lose her. So I think we’re on the downhill side of recovery now.

Other than piling all the large Christmas stuff on the folding table, that’s the sum total of my accomplishments for yesterday. Which means no exercise and no writing.

Today’s another day, and while my family is rolling their eyes and heavy sighing at my determination to take down Christmas (yeah, early–because we usually leave it all up until Epiphany but I’ve got a bunch of writers appearing on my doorstep Saturday morningish, and I got back to school tomorrow. So.) the Slug has agreed to climb up in the rafters and take down all the boxes.

At some point, I’m thinking we’re going to have move all that stuff down, but as long as I have slaves kids, it can just stay up there.

For now the Slug’s time on the Wii is up and we’re starting. I can pretty much trust that she’s not going to come looking for me, so it’s off to work. Writing can happen during a break time.

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