Bad Dog

We are back Chez Nous after a visit to the old folks' home. Yes, they got their biscotti. We all had a good time. The Boys went out and played chase in the garden. They got good and muddy and did a lot of beagley snuffling around and some chewing on cornstalks and they ate some grass and had a grand and glorious time. Tiki found some horse manure left by the neighbor's fence-breaking horses, and so he finally had something more than plain old grass to roll in. Kirby decided that the terror of staying downstairs while Bunny was upstairs outweighed the terror of going up the slippery hardwood stairs, and he was pretty good at going up all by himself by the end of the visit. Maybe he'll practice going down by himself next time.

Tiki continues to pee all over the house, but he was completely dry at the old folks' home. We are grateful that he was on his best behavior, but we wonder why he can't be good at home.

Kirby has apparently decided to become nocturnal. He slept peacefully and uneventfully at the old folks' home, but he has been keeping us up every night before and since the visit. One night, we tried to contain his midnight enthusiasm by closing him in his crate. In he went, back to bed went Bunny, and, exploiting her hearing impairment, she went back to sleep oblivious of what would happen next.

All of a sudden he was out. I have learned that I have to do the zipper just so or he can push at it and get it open, so I figured he just unzipped it. Nope. He escaped.

He dug through. I suppose his motto is never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever quit. And now we have a crate that is fine as an around-the-house hidey hole, but useless as a bona fide crate. As usual, he is remoreseless.

Update on Babe

Yes, I'm back already. I'm doing things that are fun. This is fun.

Okay. So's today Bunny and The Man, inter alia,* went to the Petsmart because YB is going to run out of food while we visit The Old Folks from the South. It's Saturday, which means that Lost Dog is at the Petsmart from 12-3. We got there at about 11:45, so they were just setting up. We bought the dog food, and we bought Kirby a blue combination collar to replace the one that someone lost, and now Kirby is properly color-coded again.

While we were there, Bunny gave The Man a medium sell on why we should foster another dog. The Man sez, as he always does, that Bunny cannot get another foster dog because The Man always ends up doing all the work. The part that The Man doesn't say is that The Man got very attached to our last foster dog and had a hard time giving her up and doesn't want to do that again.

And that reminded me about Babe. The word on Babe is that she was adopted really quickly. And that's excellent news. What it means, of course, is that Babe was adorable and very adoptable, and thus probably not enough of a pathetic loser basket case dog to come live here. So, no Babe Chez Nous, and that's really a win-win. Surely there will be someone pathetic enough for us soon enough. For now, Bunny will leave The Man alone. For now.





* More proof that I'm really a lawyer: Some Latin and a footnote.

Now what?

I am done with my job for the year. I have done my gift-shopping and wrapping. I have made my menus, done all of the food shopping that can be done in advance, stuffed The Man's stocking, finished the decorating, and put all the detritus back in the basement closet. The laundry is done. The dogs have had baths. We are fully stocked on coffee, sugar and other goodies, booze, and firewood.

The only things I have left to do are all food-related (last-minute shopping for perishables, baking goodies) and, therefore, enjoyable at least in theory although sometimes I can tire myself out and start feeling cranky and unloved. I do and do and do for you people (The Man) and this is the thanks I get! That kind of irrational crap. That usually leads to nap time and then The Man gets some peace, and it all tends to work out.

So, with basically nothing left to do except enjoy the season, I have all this time in front of me that is not crammed full of to-dos. I am at a complete loss. I have constructed this very neurotic world around myself in which my (lack of) value and (lack of) happiness is tied to the (non) recognition I get for my (so-called) accomplishments. If I don't get enough admiration and recognition, it must be because I am not accomplishing impressive-enough achievements. I have weathered a number of professional disappointments this past year, and it has been a pretty thin year for recognition, so I've been feeling really bad about myself. And now, I have time to devote to all the fun things I can think of and I have no idea what to do if it isn't achievement-oriented.

I asked The Man I sez Hey The Man, what should I do with myself? Should I finish up the two knitting projects I have left that aren't very interesting, or I should I start something new, fun, and exciting?

The Man and I have been together since 1873 and he still doesn't quite know what to make of me. This, for example, was a serious question reflective of a deep-seated fucked-up-ness in the Dirtbunny mindset.

The Man sez, do something fun, duh. Like it was an easy question. Leisure time is not so much of a problem for him.

So I am considering what I have in the stash, and I am going to choose something cool to do. Also, I put together some cookie dough that can be sliced and baked later, and I'm making more biscotti. I'm not really going to keep almond flour and candied ginger around until next December, so I might as well use it up in light of the Economy Plan, even though no one here needs any more biscotti. YB is pretty sure he'd like some, though, given how he's sniffing around the oven and licking flour off the kitchen floor. Perhaps I'll pack some up to share with, what did they call themselves? The "old folks in the South"?

Here is our Christmas tree when it was half-decorated:

Check out the serious tilt, especially of the star on top. We're a real Land of Misfit Toys around here. By the way, as I promised, GK has thoroughly checked out the tree and he is no longer askeered of it:

YB is too busy hanging out in the kitchen hoping I'll drop something to show much interest in the tree. For now.

That time of the year

But first, an update on Mister Itchy. His booboo is benign and does not have to be removed. It is going away on its own, albeit in a crusty, draining sort of way. Poor baby.


And now, back to the regular post. It's a difficult time of year for Dirtbunny. Dirtbunny wants to go all out for the holidays, and believe me, she can shop, spend, cook, bake, and decorate out the wazoo. But our little household is only two humans, one beagle who can't have treats and doesn't understand toys, and one beagle who already has a zillion toys and is too fat for lots of treats. Plus, Bunny is 1.8 billion dollars in debt. And she has a job where they actually expect her to show up for work every now and then. Time, funds, and the ability to consume goods is limited. Bunny must draw lines and set priorities. This is not easy, because Bunny is an all-or-nothing sort of person. Seriously, I could easily bake a thousand cookies no problem. And who would eat them? I would. Let me assure you that 1,000 cookies is not good for Bunnies.


What food items are essential for Christmas? Well, the unanimous vote here is that the Candied Fruit Slices (a shortbread cookie with candied cherries) is absolutely required. Sugar Cookies, cut in the shape of airplanes, frosted with icing colored "Air Superiority Blue," and decorated with sprinkles make The Man very, very happy. I tend to want our family recipe for fruit cake (dates, pecans, candied cherries, and candied pineapple, with just enough batter to hold it together in a loaf), only I doctor it up by soaking it in booze. The problem is that the recipe makes something like 17 loaves, and I only want a slice or two. I'm probably not making that this year.


After much internal debate, I have made my famous almond-ginger biscotti, from a recipe published in The Washington Post maybe ten years ago. These are the quintessential biscotti as far as I'm concerned, and there's nothing particularly Christmas-y about them except that I only make them in December for some reason.

There are many more options. Many more. Chocolate spritz, chocolate butter cookies, pfeffernusen, gingerbread cookies, sugar cookies decorated in a non-Air Force theme, whole Cook's Illustrated Holiday Baking Issues full of cookies, and today the Post's annual Christmas cookie food section came out. But three kinds of cookies is enough for two people. I'll draw the line this year and not feel too deprived.

Another dilemma is the Buche de Noel. It takes about half a day to put together. A nice almond-orange spongecake baked in a sheet pan. A chocolate Italian meringue for the filling, then enriched with cocoa for the frosting. It is a big production, and it is fucking fabulous. There is nothing I can get from the Fresh Fields or Balducci's that will compare. But do I really want to expend the effort? I can't decide.

We have a tree. It's out on the deck waiting for the humans to care enough to bring it in. Kirby doesn't like it. We don't normally have a Christmas tree on the deck, see, therefore this is something different, ergo it is scary. Once it's inside and up, he'll adjust. He liked last year's tree. Yarn Bandit will probably mark it. He's been unusually leaky lately. Yesterday, he protested our trip to the grocery store without him by getting leaky on the kitchen rug and destroying The Man's newest New Republic. He's very naughty and may spend the rest of 2007 in his crate.

However, when he chose to wreak havoc and mayhem on the humans' toys, he FOR ONCE chose something belonging to The Man, and not Dirtbunny. The Man was quite put out. Ha ha ha, sez Bunny. Let's see how easy it is for you to remember not to leave your books and magazines lying about when you get up for a minute.

Mister Itchy

GK is an allergy dog. He is very itchy all the time, which he expresses through the obsessive licking of his paws. If a dog licks his paws enough, his saliva will stain his fur a rusty color and you will wonder if he's irritated himself bloody. We've been giving Prince Kirbsky his pills, and we've been giving him his medicated baths. We tried soothing him with aloe gel, but he thought that was delicious and only wanted to lick more. Sometimes we wrap him in a towel so he can't get at his paws, and he understands that this means he's not supposed to lick, and he tries, he really does, but he's just so itchy and he can't help himself. Most of the time I feel sorry for him, but sometimes, the sloshing liquid sound of him licking and licking and licking and licking and licking and licking and licking and licking grosses me out and I wonder if he'd rather just be put out of his misery.

So we went to the vet for another "for the love of Mike can't you people do anything about this" visit. After considering our options, we are putting him on a food trial to see if he has a food allergy. Now he gets special prescription hypoallergenic food. So this is what he gets, and nothing else. No licking the bowl after the humans have ice cream. No bits of bread crust or bran muffin. No cheese. No rawhide, no greenies, no pig ear, nothing from the dog bakery. (It's a bakery for dogs, not a place where they bake dogs.)


But hey! That was last week! And we go to the vet every week! So what is this week's dog problem?




That is this week's dog problem. That is not supposed to be there. If it were on me, I imagine it would hurt. But it's on GK, and he only complains if Bunny goes out without him. He isn't acting as though it hurts. It's getting a little bigger every day, and sometimes it looks more purple than pink. It is freaking me out, for sure.

So the vet aspirated it with a big needle (again, we assume that hurt, but GK showed no evidence that it hurt) and took some fluid from it, and she made some slides from the juice and sent the slides to the lab so we can find out what it is. Oh, it's coming off, you can believe that! But if we know what it is, that will tell the vet how aggressively she has to treat it and how much tissue she needs to remove. I'm hoping that it's simply a little ingrown hair or infected booboo and not any of the scary things that the vet suggested. But I get to wait a while to find out, and then I get to go back to the vet to have it treated.

As for Friend Tiki, he got his vaccinations and he got weighed. He's been on a diet for ever so long, and he lost two pounds, but his weight has held steady for several months now, despite the fact that we are starving him, sez Tiki. He's trimmer and firmer, and has lost a fair amount of his dewlap, but he seems to want to weigh 28 pounds.

Snow Day

We were supposed to get a light dusting of snow, maybe 1-2 inches. Instead, we got four inches. Me, I love snow. It's pretty and I'm not afraid of it. Not so much everyone else here in Suburbia. We don't normally get a lot of snow in a year, and we don't do a good job of managing snow removal, and none of us can drive in good weather, so........

But we were only going to get 1-2 inches. At 5:30 pm yesterday, when The Man and I had finished our work at home day, The Man sez he's going to the dry cleaners to pick up his shirts. I sez, since you're going out anyway and the chicken I got out of the freezer for dinner is still frozen solid, why dontcha pick up some dinner as well. So The Man clears the front walkway and moseys down to the car without a jacket because this is only going to take ten minutes and the streets are barely even wet.

The Man gets home at 9:30. He has been out there without a coat and with a nearly-dead cellphone battery and there are four inches of snow on the ground. The Man was in an accident when he encountered someone coming at him in the wrong lane, and then while dealing with the aftermath of that, he got rear-ended. At the very, very end of it all, after the other drivers had long gone and The Man is getting ready to come home, he gets hassled by the fuzz for allegedly leaving the scene of the accident, although that ended up coming to nothing. No one is hurt, happily, and the car is drivable, although it's parked on the flat part of the road down the block and I haven't seen it.

The Man is not a happy boy. Today, we decided to stay home. He's going to deal with the insurance company, and I'm going to try to, what's that word? neuter? oh, nurture him. This is not one of Bunny's strong points, but he needs it so I'm gonna give it a go. Crap, I guess I'm going to have to be good all day.

I still love snow:

Bunny's Latest Quandary

This is Babe:


This is Babe's blurb from the Lost Dog Rescue website:

Like a baby, our Babe is soft and sweet and instantly lovable. This gentle girl can be a little shy at first, but her innate friendliness soon warms her to you. She enjoys the company of people and being petted. Babe is even housetrained already. She's a quiet and unassuming dog, so Babe probably would prefer a home that isn't very busy. This sweetie does enjoy a nice walk, though. She's good on a leash, except when she sees some furry little critter scamper by, then it's back to beagle basics: She wants to chase it! This girl is pleasant company and a grateful friend. She's such a good Babe, and she would love to be yours for life.

Bunny thinks she's in love again. Housebroken and shy and gentle and looking for a forever home. And looking for a foster home. She sounds perfect.

The Man, The Man, Wonderful The Man

I mentioned a few weeks ago that we were having trouble with the heat. This has continued off and on. We got all fancy this year and one of our many expenditures was to buy new programmable thermostats. This was a great idea. Only, when the one in the main part of the house was installed, the handyman dude connected the A/C but not the heat. That cost us a visit from the heating guy. In the sunroom, everything was connected fine, but I had forgotten how to program the damn thing, so we froze until I remembered.

But there is another problem. The furnace for the sunroom automatically shuts off if the doohickey comes out of the slot. Gravity wants the doohickey to come out of the slot. When that happens, a big old contraption comes off and slams to the floor with a nice Kirby-startling bang, and then it gets cold. We spent most of the morning fighting with it. Then, an interesting thing happened:


The Man is not known for his handyman skills. It's not that he can't; he just prefers not to. However, he got sick of repeatedly tinkering with the furnace, and all of a sudden, he was doing what you see above. I was going to call the heating guy again. But The Man decided to take a good look. Before I knew it, he had diagnosed the problem and found a solution. He thwarted gravity and we have heat. Also, he built me a nice fire in the fireplace.

Meanwhile, we noticed that Kirby was missing. Then we found him:


One loud bang too many, I suppose. After an hour or so, he came out on his own.

Sleepy

We are all having a hard time getting up in the morning. The bed is nice and snuggly and warm.
Tiki has been sleeping through morning cuddle time and then acting as if he's been ripped off when we leave for work. Here he is in his dog bed with one of the beagle blankets. Looks harmless, doesn't he?



Once or twice a week, Kirby stays in the bed with me instead of going to his dog bed. He likes being under the covers with his head on the pillow. Last night, we slept nose to nose. Honestly, he's less of a cover hog and quieter at night when he's under the covers than he is on top of the covers. Here is a face of pure contentment, with extra tongue and left ear sticking up.

Neither of the humans look that good in the morning.

Bunny Never Learns

By now you've seen evidence as to how the Yarn Bandit got his name. It all started about six weeks after we got him. I had noticed an affinity for my yarn, but had no clue about his boldness. That day, Bunny's parents and grandmother were visiting, and we were examining Bunny's stash of sock yarn. Sometimes Bunny takes requests, see. Anyhow, I dumped the sock yarn stash on the floor, and us five human adults were poking through it. This is nice, ooh I like that, cool make me some with this, blah blah blah. Then I noticed that, six feet away, YB has pulled two skeins out of the stash and is chewing them.

Consider this for a moment. He snuck into a scrum of five human adults, each with a brain much larger than his, and made off with two of the items they were examining, and none of us noticed.

Bunny is supposed to be careful with her yarn, but sometimes she forgets that putting it away is not always enough. She must also zip all zippers and put it up high somewhere not adjacent to something he can climb. Also, she must not assume that he won't climb a chair just because he never has climbed that particular chair before.

The worst episode was when Bunny came home to find Kirby Tattletale sitting next to a strange-looking brown cord stretched down the hall. When Bad Stuff happens, Kirby Tattletale likes to call attention to it. He probably hopes we'll give YB back. So's I investigate because it doesn't look like yarn at first, but sure enough, YB has climbed into a chair he never bothered with before, attacked a beagle blanket that Bunny was knitting for him, and dragged it out of the bedroom, down the hall, into the living room, past the treadmill, through the dining room, into the kitchen, and then made another living-treadmill-dining-kitchen circle before giving up. It appeared that the yarn had snagged on something under the fridge and broke.

That night, he had the poops all over the place. At least six poop piles throughout the house. The next day we went to the vet. He stayed for a while, got some x-rays, came home. There was a suspicious distension in his belly. Hmmmmm. I wonder what it could be. Then he woke us up howling in pain, settled down, howled some more, then started barfing up.....wait for it........brown yarn from the beagle blanket. The Man, thinking quickly, grabbed it and pulled it out, hand over hand, as YB tried very hard to swallow it back down. All told, there was at least six yards of yarn in there, all in one piece. (It was barf-soaked. I didn't stretch it out to measure it.) And we followed up with the vet (sez the vet, or maybe it was one of Fred's humans, you'd think he'd stop eating after the first few inches when he realized it didn't taste very good), and everything turned out fine, and Bunny made a solemn oath that she would not leave attractive nuisances in the form of yarn where YB could get at them.

And mostly she has, but she forgets. Such as this time. And that brings us up to today.

Bunny came home from work and did something she usually doesn't. She left the house. First she went to Glutton Place to get her last-minute Thanksgiving perishables. This was bad for beagles, but she came back. Then she and The Man both left again to visit Fred's humans on some secret knitting project related business. (Aside: one item of business involves trading in extra yarn of some colors to get more of the other color. I assume that the yarn store wants its yarn back in unchewed condition, but I haven't actually asked, so maybe it's just me. Ooops. I may have telegraphed too much.) Leaving twice in one night is apparently an unpardonable offense. That's right. Tiki got into the yarn I was going to trade in. Chewed it all nicely. Also, he got into my sock drawer, removed a pair of socks, and chewed them.

The yarn is my fault. I packed it up, but left the bag where he could get at it instead of putting it up high. How I envy knitters who can leave their projects out in baskets, or display their lovely stash in bowls on tables. However, the sock drawer is new. That is not my fault. He has never shown any interest in it before, and now I really do have to get that drawer pull fixed properly so I can open and close it easily instead of just leaving it partly open all the time. All least it was cheap white gym socks and not nice handknit socks.

The Man remembers the Night of the Many Poops and The Morning When Tiki Howled, and he doesn't understand why Bunny can't just put her toys away when she's done playing. Bunny is sorry, The Man. Bunny is not trying to hurt Tiki.

The Tubby One

This little monster made a puddle on Bunny's fancy new rug last night. As punishment, I am humiliating him behind his back to post two old photos in which he looks extra-large.


Photo Number One:


Photo Number Two:

Dude loves his nap time, that's for sure.

Bunny's Weekend To-Do List

It is 2 hours to football and Bunny is working on her weekend to-do list. This is a special weekend, because she has only one more non-knitting task to do in the next 2 hours and it is an easy one. Knitting tasks can cause Bunny some angst but, let's face it, they are optional in a way that, say, paying bills is not.

Because Bunny is a wee bit compulsive, she has her to-do list in several places:

1. A master running to-do list of everything she needs to get done at some point. Includes such varied tasks as "renovate heating/cooling system," "finish mitten," and "watch 2 Netflix." In other words, there are chores and there are "chores." There are things that I want to do but may not accomplish in my lifetime, and there are things that, if I don't do ("pay bills"), I may end up living in a box.
2. A list of monthly goals. Most of these are precatory. For example, is it realistic for me to think I am going to knit three pairs of socks, one pair of mittens, work on a secret project, knit half a sweater, do another foot of the beagle blanket, paint the house, plants bulbs, build a closet shelving system, read ten books, save a million dollars, and lose 234 pounds in a month? Maybe not.
3. A list of weekly goals. Here is where she starts to get a little more realistic. For example, I probably can do four repeats of the Monkey pattern on my Monkey sock and knit the thumb gusset on a mitten in a week.
4. A list of daily goals. I pretty much ignore this one. Take out the trash. Make dinner. Pack lunch. Clean pile of mail off bookcase. Whatever.
5. The knitting-related to-do list that creates the most pressure is more of a visual list than mere words:

Yup. There are all the projects I want to get something done on in the next few days. Pick something off the pile, work it for a while, pack it up, and move on to the next one. Sometimes, I find a surprise in the pile:







Look! Bunny's car keys!

Big doings here Chez Nous. But first, a beagle update. The plumber came this morning to replace a leaky outdoor spigot. He worked outside, but came into the house to greet us and get instructions. A STRANGER IN THE HOUSE. GK is not happy. Here’s our little turtle with his worried eyebrows hiding out under Bunny’s desk.

And now for the big news. Among the many things we bought in 2007 was a new big bed to replace the fifteen year old mushy foam mattress. We love the new bed. In the summertime, when keeping warm is not at a premium, we bought new big sheets but not new blankets. Sheets that fit are a priority. Blankets and a bedspread that go all the way to the floor are not.

But now it’s getting cold, and the three male members of the household are bed-hogging cover hogs. Bunny’s ass was getting cold every night. So Bunny bought upgraded bedcovers: a cotton thermal blanket, a snuggly wool blanket, a big puffy down comforter, and (really important) a pretty comforter cover that is machine washable so the dogs can get doggy all over it without ruining the comforter. And some more pillows and pillow cases. Bunny’s upgraded bed is now her biggest pleasure in life except for beagles. So comfy in there. The Boys love it. GK loves it so much that yesterday, for the first time ever in the 20 months we’ve had him, he jumped up on the bed under his own beagle power. What a big brave boy!

How does this square with the Economy Plan? It doesn’t. However, Bunny spent the whole weekend in a mall and did not buy any stinky stuff. None. That’s right. In a mall with Macy’s, Nordstrom, Crabtree & Evelyn, L’Occitaine, Sephora, two Aveda stores, Trade Secret, Bath & Body Works, The Body Shop, and something else I’m forgetting, Bunny came home with precisely the following:

1. Tinted lip balm that I thought was a lipstick
2. Lip gloss to replace the one that is running out
3. One scented candle for the hotel room (I can’t remember if this counts as stinky stuff or not but it was for the hotel room because I hate hotel smells)
4. One bottle of eye makeup remover to replace the horrid bottle of really oily stuff that made my eyes all goopy and was completely unacceptable
5. One bottle of perfume to replace the one that is almost gone
   

No trips to the bookstore or any of the kitchen stores. No CDs or DVDs. No shoes. No pajamas. No handbags or wallets. No new jewelry, even though I lost an earring and could have bought a replacement pair with no guilt. No collection of eye pencils. There was no yarn store, so I can’t say what would have happened if there had been a yarn store, but I think I did pretty well, all things considered.

I’m really making some progress on my cabinet full of face potions and my obscure pantry items and my Things in the Freezer That Must Be Gotten Rid of. I even opened that bottle of tomato juice well before its expiration date and am in the process of drinking it before it goes bad.

Blessed Peace

The crowd out there is frightful, but the peace in here is delightful.

That, my dears, is the Saturday-afternoon view of the Price Club parking lot, or whatever Price Club is called nowadays. I don't see a space. You couldn't pay me to go over there.

'Tis busy at the mall as well, but I know what I want to buy and I do very little browsing. Get in, stand in line, get out. Remember fall 2003 through spring 2005? Those were the pink seasons. It was a good time for Bunny because pink flatters Bunny tremendously, and is rarely in style. Not that I care what's in style, but fashion affects what's available for purchase, if you're a girl. If you're a guy, you can go to Brooks Brothers and get a decent suit or decent looking dress shirt no matter what. If you're a girl, you have to stock up when they are selling stuff you can stand to wear, and hope it lasts until the next time they sell something non-horrid.

So I gots me some shirts. Lucky for me, and for the first time since I can remember during a fall season, they had green:

I bought two green shirts. Green is probly my best color. I also got a pink and a purple. I tried to find a nice tweedy pantsuit that I can kick some ass in, but everything I saw was either a velour track suit, or shiny, or sparkly, or itchy, or ugly. Oh well. New shirts, same old black pants.

Hey, maybe I should have bought every green shirt they had in my size. That's either genius or moronic. Either way, I am not going back into the mall today, and by tomorrow, I'll know better whether I am brilliant or stupid, or maybe even stuppid.

Do I miss The Boys? Ummmm, no. They are at the pet resort and spa. Don't believe me? Look it up. I have peace here without them, I know they are well cared for where they are, and no one is hogging the bed or pawing me with the Paw of Demand or waking me up in the middle of the night to go poop. On Thursday, YB was so happy to see me when I got home that he stood up on his hind legs and went after me with both Paws of Demand at once. I felt bitch-slapped. Then, at 4:30 am in the morning, GK decided he had to go real real bad. He tried to wake me up, but I'm hearing-impaired, so no luck. He was so desperate, he went over to The Man, pushed open the door, and woke The Man up. The Man responded by taking GK outside for a poop so Bunny could sleep.

Hahahahahahaha. Silly Bunny.

What really happened is that The Man dumped GK on the bed with Bunny and went back to sleep. GK sat there and trembled until the agitation woke Bunny up. Poor little guy. Trying so hard not to explode poop all over the bed. So we went out into the freezing dark pre-dawn for not just one, but a double poop. A double poop of the extra-stinky, can smell it from the end of the long retractable leash variety. Gag. And then, several pounds lighter, GK decided it was a good time to play outside. Bunny never did get back to sleep properly.

And so, no. In this moment, right now, I do not miss them. But I will be happy to see them later. If you need a beagle fix, here's another who's-in-charge short story. It takes place on one of the sofas on Bunny's lap, on a chilly day before the heat was working properly (that's another story) and The Boys are wearing their sweaters. GK is in blue, YB in red.

Bunny's Brush with "Greatness"

Dirtbunny here, reporting from an undisclosed location within 10 miles of Chez Nous. My wedding anniverserary is on Monday, and me and The Man are celebrating with an indulgent weekend at the Swank Inn. We got married on the 12th of November in 1878. We chose that day because it was the weekend closest to November 10th, which, in 1873, was our real anniverserary. Not of that, perv. Of the day we first made schmoopy eyes at each other and decided this is it, or whatever.

After work yesterday, Bunny took the tin can through the tunnel to the Swank Inn to meet The Man, who had already checked in. It was rainy, and the tin can always puts Bunny in a bad mood, and the Swank Inn is attached to a mall (this is Suburbia, people. Everything is attached to a mall), so Bunny had to hack her way through a crowd to get in, and she was dragging her wheeled bag behind her.

Finally, we are in the Swank Inn. The first thing I noticed is that they have apparently shut down the lobby cigar bar, for which we are all grateful. The second thing I noticed was a scrum of self-important people parked in the middle of the hallway, milling around, obstructing access to the elevators and preventing Bunny from going upstairs to her peaceful oasis of peace. Grr. These folks am not movin.

In these situations, one has two choices. Yield, or be yielded to. After years of yielding and observing those to whom she has yielded, Bunny has discovered the trick of being yielded to. Put a blank, oblivious look on your face, and start walking as though you can't even see what might be in your path. The seas part, baby. I'm telling you, it works, kind of like playing chicken, only without Natalie Wood waving her white scarf at the starting line (or Paula Abdul, for that matter).

Bunny was NOT IN THE MOOD. Bunny was not going to yield. So, she put on her blank, oblivious look and started walking. The seas parted, Bunny made it to the elevator, and there she savored her petty little victory.

Then The Man sez, Did you see who that was?

Bunny sez, Yes, Duh, it was a bunch of assholes blocking the path. Jerks.

Sez The Man, that was [gooberish play-by-play guy] and [retired NFL player now color guy]. We refer to them as Fox's B Team. The Skins play the Eagles on Sunday, so they must be in town to call the game. Both teams suck, so we don't rate a Joe Buck/Troy Aikman combination.

Wow! Semi-celebrities also act like obstructionist hallway-blockers, just like plain folks! Dirtbunny is not impressed. Obviously.

In case you're wondering, Bunny has had a decent night's sleep and a lot of coffee, and she's starting to relax and is in a better mood.

I wonder, though. Fox puts up its on-air folks here at Swank Inn. Where do they put the camera guys, sound guys, etc? Probly not as nice a place, I would imagine.

Ooooooo, maybe I should hang out by the pool so I can see [gooberish play-by-play guy] in his swim suit! Not.

By the way, happy birthday Mom. Nice try being coy with your daughter-in-law about your age. I tried to call your cell phone yesterday, but apparently have programmed the incorrect number into my phone. I did have a nice, brief chat with a guy whose mother is also named Kathy.

Tick tock Hurry up

Football starts in one hour and twelve minutes, and I am not going to be ready. Every weekend, the goal is the same: Finish everything so that when football starts, I can park my lard ass on the sofa and stay there until about halftime of the night game, then go to bed. Every weekend, I fail.

I am one item short of finishing yesterday's to do list, and I haven't even looked at today's to do list. I have the week's mail to go through, the bills to pay, some arbitrary knitting deadline I set for myself, a thank-you note to write, weatherstripping to put up (although I seem to remember paying someone else to do it for me), winter table linens to put out (which can't happen until I clear the dining room table), summer table linens to wash and put away, an electrical outlet plate to screw in (assuming I can find a screw), a discussion to have with The Man about what we're doing for Thanksgiving, beagle ears to clean, Kirby to bathe, a bed to make, my room to vacuum, a 4-hour movie to watch on DVD, 2 episodes of the Sopranos to watch, I was going to get a pedicure, and we need to make a run to the Petsmart. Oh, and I have to figure out who to vote for on Tuesday and I don't even know who's running yet. Plus probably some other stuff that I forgot. And we already raked the yard and mowed the grass (for the last time of the season, we hope), and we need to finish watering it, and I can't take a shower or do laundry until that's done. And I'm hungry. And now it's 1 hour and three minutes to football and I'm blogging instead of doing any of it. And this is just what I remember without actually looking at the list. The only thing I can't do that I need to do is go to the bank, which is closed. So that's out. Mercifully. But I can still feel bad for not doing that yesterday when I had the chance.

This makes The Man crazy. He thinks that weekends are for resting and gets mighty annoyed when Bunny is excessively busy during his butt time. I'm trying really really really hard not to send him out on any errands.

Bunny responds to comments, including to the commenter who was cruelly jerking her chain

Bunny is thrilled to have comments. Some of them deserve a response. A certain other comment does not deserve a response but will get one anyway.

1) Dear NACSAR fan,

Thanks for reading and thanks for commenting. Your comment means a lot because I am pretty sure I don't know any NASCAR fans, so you must be someone with whom I am not personally acquainted, and thus you haven't been driven to read by direct guilt trip. I'm not so much into NASCAR, and I could expound with a monograph detailing all of my NASCAR-related opinions, but I don't dare risk alienating you. I would never have imagined before I got them how attached I would get to The Boys. It sounds like you understand.

2) To the anonymous commenter who wanted to know how to tell The Boys apart,

It's obvious to me. They don't look anything alike. But I think all Norwegian Elkhounds at the dog park look alike and I'm sure their humans would disagree. I've posted a primer on the FAQ. Sorry it looks like it was written by a kindergartner. Maybe Santa will bring Dirtbunny a tablet and stylus for her laptop.

3) To the person who does not deserve a response,

You think you're funny but you're not. The Ghost and Mr. Chicken is a very scary movie, and it is unkind to tease the Dirtbunny.

4) To everyone who doesn't know what Bunny is talking about under number 3,

Commenter Wiseacre is referring to an old Bunny Family Legend. When Dirtbunny was a mere kitten living in Charlottesville, her family took a road trip to Richmond to the Virginia Museum. It was a long day, and when Bunny returned home, her tummy was upset, so she commenced to barfing. Then a Don Knotts movie, The Ghost and Mr. Chicken, came on the tube. As adults, we all know that any movie with Don Knotts playing a character named Mr. Chicken is probably a comedy. As a 5-year-old Dirtbunny with the pukes and coming off a long road trip, it seemed like a horror movie. Some members of the Bunny family to this day think it is High-Sterical that little Bunny could be so scared at a Don Knotts movie. Hence, scaredy dog dressed as Don Knotts.

5) To the commenter who wondered if the Laws Of Bunny Planet require Bunny to finish a Rush Limbaugh book that she started reading by accident,

I've been trying to imagine how it could come to pass that Bunny started reading a Rush Limbaugh book by accident. Finally, I arrived at this hypothetical, but let's substitute Ann Coulter just for giggles. Let's say Bunny is at the Borders. Let's say that Bunny is on a book-buying binge. She is lugging around one of those baskets, and she is loaded down with books about knitting, self-help books (because she never learns), a cookbook, maybe a novel, probably a collection of Suduko puzzles, a trashy magazine or two, a travel guide, etc. The basket is heavy, and the wire handles are cutting into her little hands. The Man should be around here somewhere performing Pack Mule duties, but he is absorbed in the history section and is ignoring Bunny. Bunny makes her way towards the cash registers and passes a stack of new-release Ann Coulters. But Bunny is clumsy. She trips over the long trailing end of her scarf and stumbles, falling and simultaneously knocking over some of the Ann Coulters. One of the Ann Coulters does a triple-lindy and falls open, face-up on the floor just before Bunny's face slams down, eyes on the page. This is the only circumstance I can imagine coming across such a book in the open, reading position. If this were to happen to me, the laws of Bunny Planet do not require me to purchase the book and read it to the end. Without mens rea, it doesn't count as reading.

That's right. Latin. I bet you thought I wasn't a real lawyer.

(Please don't ask me to remember any other Latin.)

6) To the other potty mouth,

"Douchetard?" Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?

Bad Day for Dogs

My dogs hate Halloween. We live a block from an elementary school, and they have a Halloween parade every year. First, lots of parents come and park along the street in front of the house. All the SUV door slams and ordinary street conversations get GK all flinchy. Then the parade itself starts, led by the high school marching band, which means drums and music that is not supposed to be there, followed by hundreds of costume-wearing children all happy and squealing. The parade starts pretty much in front of our house, then circles around the block, then passes back in front of the house again on the way back to the school. This means we see it twice. From Kirby's perspective, hell reigns, then goes away, and just when you think it's safe to come out from under the bed, hell comes back. Scary.

From YB's point of view, the noise is no biggie. However, when the parade circles back around, he can see it coming towards him out the window. Because "his" (really, mine) territory appears to be under attack, he has to bark to scare them away. I had my work at home day today. With Teeks carrying on, I decided to leash him and take him out on the front porch to watch it pass. Ears up, tail wagging, so cute. Thirty seconds was enough to convince him that "his" house was safe and then he wanted back in.

Then there are Jack O'lanterns. Teeks could care less. However, because Jack O'lanterns are unfamiliar objects that sit on the kitchen counter and usually aren't there, they are an object of fear to poor Kirby. He wanted nothing to do with the kitchen today.

But the worst of all is the trick or treaters. The doorbell rings and strangers come to the door and GK has no choice but to drop into a tight turtle on the sofa for the duration. With extra trembling. YB is pretty sure he smells food in that bowl and he wants some and he doesn't see why we are giving it away when there is a starving beagle in the house. He also wants to see everyone who comes to the door, because they all have food too. So there is lunging and some occasional barking and a lot of crazed tail wagging and some "Oh beagles! So cuuuuuute." We have him on the leash so he can't escape when we open the door. Little buddy's all worn out now. He has missed his evening nap with all the excitement.

I may have finally bought the perfect amount of candy. It's almost 8:30 and we have about 6 pieces left. Not enough for Bunny to risk snacking on it, but probably just enough to run out (almost) with the trick or treaters, without gobs of extra sugar for me to worry about tomorrow.

Alpha Dog

You may have gotten the impression that YB is the dominant canine around here, but you’re only partly correct. GK gets what he wants and dominates YB just fine.

For example, what does this look like to you?



Wrong. Yes, YB is snuggling in the puffy bed we bought particularly for our Favorite Boy, but GK is not merely looking out the window. GK is thinking, “I want that bed.” And soon enough we have this:

GK simply moves over and sits down. YB growls, but hustles out of the way without a fight.

Then we have some transition period in which GK spends some quality time with his butthole while YB looks to Bunny for assistance with the interloper:


Then everyone settles down. GK ends up with the good window view and comfy position, and YB ends up resting his chin on the floor.




And so it goes. Competing for the prime spot next to Dirtbunny works the same way. GK simply decides if he wants it, and if he does, he takes it, and YB yields.

This only sort of applies in food situations. YB always finishes first, then he goes to GK’s supper dish and waits. He only horns in if GK steps away from the bowl. However, GK is likely to step away from the bowl to check in on Bunny, so we supervise supper time to make sure YB isn’t overeating because he’s trying to lose weight. Treats are another matter entirely. YB will go after every crumb that GK drops, and will attempt to steal the really good stuff (i.e. pig ear) directly from GK’s mouth.

The War on Stank

I'm ensconced here behind the Baby Gate of Injustice because The Boys are clean, but damp, and a light coating of rose-scented baking soda on a damp dog might be the beginning of something interesting, but it isn't something I want to clean up after. GK has tried staring me down:

He has tried digging around and under:

He has even considered going over...

...but is handicapped by his inability/refusal to jump. Poor boy. He cannot believe how mean I am.

I said they were clean. That means we have accomplished the baths. Neither is a big fan of the bath, but they have figured out that pig ear comes after bathtime so they are compliant.

Pig ear has to be supervised because YB always finishes his first and harasses GK and tries to steal his. Sometimes being wet is so exciting that GK forgets himself and has an accident, so GK's bath is always ALWAYS followed IMMEDIATEMENT by a walk until I am satisfied that the tank is empty. As for YB, being clean is so upsetting that he feels compelled to roll around in the grass, mulch, whatever, until he can get as much of the offensive cleanliness off him as possible. He can get really desperate about it too.

And after They Boys are clean, the bathing chamber has to be cleaned too, and Bunny ends up all wet and smelling like medicated doggy shampoo and her hands are dried out and itchy. And we all need a nap.

The stinky rug is marinating in herbs. The collars are hanging in the sun to dry. The dog bedding is going in the dryer as soon as the sheets are dry. Windows are open and fresh air is circulating nicely. I made lunch AND caught up on Judge Judy without any sniffs of disapproval in the background.

Dirtbunny's Big Day

So's The Man is gone today to take care of some important business. This means that Bunny is free to do whatever she wants for twelve whole hours with her two best friends:

Did you think I was going to say someone else?

Also, it's a very good day because early poll results indicate that Bunny has TWO WHOLE READERS who are not The Man.

So whatever shall I do with myself? Lessee. Tomorrow, Bunny has some people coming over to help her with the secret knitting project. I have to get the house into a non-embarrassing state before they get here. I could try to guilt The Man into doing it tomorrow, but that would not be nice. Plus, the most embarrassing thing in the house is the one thing that The Man is not competent to handle to my standards. That embarrassing thing is eau du chien. I have started to notice a distinct smelliness around here. If I can smell it, God knows how bad it will be to my friends. Thus, I must spend at least part of the day attempting to eradicate Bad Smells from the Dogs.

Culprits:

1. The Boys themselves. Beagles are prone to stinky ears, and GK in particular has a chronic case of unspeakably foul ear gunk. Bunny cleaned beagle ears last night, but GK could probably use another go-round. Also, I think it's time for a (shhhh) B-A-T-H. GK is licking again, which means he's itchy, and YB doesn't smell as sweet at he should. Bathtime is not easy without The Man, but it's doable.

2. The Boys' stinky collars. They have never been washed and that smelly fact is now unavoidably obvious. They're wet anyway because of all the rain, so I might as well give them a soak.

First, remove the bling:

Then put them in a bowl of soapy water:

Oh gross. Look how dingy that water is. Nasty.

3. Also, the beagle blankets. Unfortunately, my camera has been unable to capture the miasma of stank rising off these things. They are in my room, people. I cannot even describe their funk to you, for which you should thank me. So these go in the laundry. As do the dog bed covers. And with those gone and the rain abating, I can open windows and get some fresh air in the bedroom.

4. This, however is the biggest job:

This is the rug on which the coffee table sits up against the legs of which YB likes to go when he's bored with pretending to be house-trained. The Man helped me move the coffee table this morning, and the rest is up to me. My guests will be in this room tomorrow, and if it smells foul to me, it will probably make them choke and gasp. So, we will scrub the bad spots with Nature's Miracle (we're out of paper towels, so that should be loads of fun because The Man took the car and I can't go get more), then I will deodorize with baking soda and an herb or spice, then I'll vacuum, and repeat as necessary. Plus open the windows. Plus figure out how to keep The Boys out of the baking soda so we don't have white powdery footprints all over the furniture. This usually involves putting up The Baby Gate of Injustice:

Bunny is so mean! What is she doing in there? Unfair to beagles!

What herb/spice shall I use this time? I've decided on a blend of cinnamon, lavender, chamomile, rose, and "sleep herbs blend" from Mountain Rose Herbs. I hope my guests don't fall asleep. More importantly, I hope the herbs can counteract the stench rising off YB's rug stains of dominance.

So far, I have accomplished exactly zero. I have, however, wasted a lot of time writing about what I'm going to do, eventually, probably. And now I'm tired and I'm going to watch TV.

Rainy Day

No sun today, so no baked beagle brains. Instead, YB watched the leaves fall.

There is good news and bad news about the Economy Plan. The good news is I have used up another trial-sized face potion, several obscure pantry items, and a handful of Things in the Freezer That Must Be Gotten Rid Of. The bad news is that I suddenly can’t tolerate several face potions that used to be no problem. I’m growing a nice, itchy, flaky rash on my forehead. I’m not sure if I have a new sensitivity to one thing, or whether it’s a sensitivity to the combination of potions. Either way, it’s a problem, because it means discontinuing the use of whatever the trigger is, and we can’t just stop, because that would be wasteful.

Also, I finished the dog sweater, which is great. The dog sweater yarn has been sitting in the stash for about a year. The problem is I used up one whole skein and parts of four other skeins, but I still have SEVEN skeins left,

...because I was math-impaired on the day I ordered this yarn online. I could easily make two additional dog sweaters and still have four skeins left. This knowledge (that I have seven leftover skeins) is far more stress-inducing than the idea that I had unused yarn in the stash that was intended for something, because now I have leftovers with no plan at all. Oh, and most of it is off-white, which is not a good color for Man mittens or socks, and there isn’t enough left for an adult-sized sweater. Every time I add leftovers to the leftover pile, I freak out a little bit. What exactly is one supposed to do with enough sock yarn to make half a sock? I can’t throw it away, obviously. Maybe I can burn it for fuel or use it to insulate the attic.

Sunday Morning

I do so love lounging in bed on Sundays with the newspaper and The Man and The Boys. It gets all snuggly under the covers and sometimes there is either (1) news or (2) something interesting to read in the newspaper, but not usually. Coffee tastes even better when you don't have to get out of bed to get it.

The Boys have different Sunday morning bed styles. This is GK:


He also likes to be all snuggly under the covers and will not get out until forcibly removed. So far, his bladder has lasted as late as 10:30 without incident, although we aren't really conducting a test. I think he'd stay under the covers until his bladder exploded.

This is YB:

He has been asleep all night and wants your attention. He will stab you with The Paw Of Demand to get it. He will put his nose under/around the edge of the paper to get at you. He has even been known to bat at the paper with The Paw of Demand. This continues until he gets off the bed and starts to wander around. This means that The Man has about 90 seconds to get YB outside before he makes a puddle. Ordinarily, The Man works on retrieving his pants and shoes while Dirtbunny follows YB around putting his collar on him so he can go out and distracting him from the leg of the coffee table. If it takes too long, GK will get out of bed to look for Bunny.

Most days, Bunny gets back in bed while YB waters the plants. When he's done, he can't wait to see Bunny again. I can usually hear him run up the driveway towards the house and then gallop down the hall to get to me. I better put my coffee mug down or it'll spill when he tries to tackle me.

On weekdays, I try to have about 15 minutes of cuddle time before I get up and get ready for work, but lately, it's been dark in the mornings and nobody wants to get up for snuggles. Me neither, but I have a 1.8 billion dollar deck to pay for

My weekend without cable

It rained here Friday night. We have been without cable since Saturday morning. I suspect these two things are related. At 10:00 Saturday, we were promised resumption of service in 2-4 hours. By 9:00 pm, we had been upgraded from an “interruption” to an “outage” and were promised service within 24 hours. [I thought I felt a disturbance in the Force. That must have been when the interruption became an outage. I’m glad the cable company explained it or we might not have noticed a difference between one type of non-service and another type of non-service.] It is now Sunday morning and no cable.

No cable Chez Nous means no DVR, no high-definition digital TV, and no internet. I am composing this post Sunday morning, but who knows when I’ll be able to post it. This means we could not watch the Wahoos beat the Turtle last night in football. The Washington Post headline was something like “Turtle loses by a whisker” but it could have said “Wahoos win by a whisker” (“Wahoos crush overrated inferior local favorite”; “Wahoos show Turtle that ability to read translates to victory on gridiron”; “Even sucky Wahoos overwhelm commuter-college Turtle”). You can see what we Wahoos are dealing with up here inside the Beltway.

Also, no cable means The Man had to watch baseball over the rabbit ears on the 13-inch TV I bought in law school for about $100. We are looking at the same with today’s Redskins and baseball games. The Man is not happy.

So what does a TV addict do when cable goes out? Why, she watches DVDs! Duh. Bunny and The Man are trying to catch up with Heroes Season 1 from Netflix before we watch the season 2 episodes we have stored on the DVR. We love this show. You have your bad-asses, your sad-sacks, your evil villains, your gangsters, your smarmy politicians, your consplosions, your sloppily predictable plot developments, and your implausibly stupid geneticists who are hanging out with the bad guy and are inexplicably unable to read all of his creepy clues to figure out that he’s the bad guy. Duh.

Closet cleaning

Although it is still in the 70s here in Suburbia, it is time to switch over to fall clothes and shoes. This means switching the contents of the upstairs closet with the basement closet, getting rid of stuff I don’t want anymore, and making sure that what I do want is clean, pressed, and mended. It is also a good time for ordinary closet cleaning, which is pretty simple here since I tend not to clutter up my closets too much. I have discovered YB’s mother lode of buried rawhides:

And with all the open closet doors today, I have fished him out of my yarn stash once and out from behind the suitcases another time. The yarn stash rawhide (don’t worry—the yarn is protected inside Ziploc bags) I’m retrieving later when he isn’t looking because it apparently spent some time underground outside....

....and is too filthy for beagles, no matter what YB thinks. The suitcase rawhide has already been given back to YB for reburial, and he has just showed up without it, so I’ll look in the sofa cushions later. If it’s in my closet, the sofa or chair cushions, or the bed, I’ll dig it out and save it for later. If it’s in The Man’s closet, it stays. I don’t go in The Man’s closet, and if he doesn’t want beagles digging around in there, then he should learn to close the door.

Hey, Bunny! Whatcha doin out there? Kirby come with?

Kirby

Back when Bunny and The Man lived in a spacious apartment with a view of the Washington Monument and the Capitol (that view is now gone, obstructed by many blocks of new condo towers), we were saving for a house. We called the savings the dog fund, because once we bought a house, we could then have a dog, someone who could love The Man unconditionally, because Dirtbunny is cold and heartless. Then we bought the house now known as Chez Nous. Then, we dithered for years before we got a dog. Eventually, friend of the family Fred would come to visit for a while when his humans went out of town. We love Fred, but he likes to get up early. As in EARLY. At 4 am, Bunny could say, "Go back to bed, Fred," and he would. But at 6 am, Fred was up, and would put his doggy snout in Bunny's face and snuffle her and breathe on her until she got up too. Also, The Man worried that he would end up doing all the doggy grunt work, such as managing puddles, picking up poop, and going out for walks.

The Man is very, very smart. Almost as smart as Dirtbunny.

Anyway, Fred's humans showed Bunny some dog rescue websites, and Bunny noticed that Lost Dog Rescue was at the Petsmart next to the Target at Seven Corners every Saturday. Bunny nagged. Bunny teased. Bunny whined. The Man, thinking of years of covering for Bunny's laziness, was resolute. Still, Bunny kept looking at the web. And then she saw Niles. He was adorable and pathetic. He even looked a little lost in his web photo.

And his little narrative was heartrending, with such schmoopie mush as "sweet little guy who must not have gotten much love because he doesn't seem to know what to do with it." Bunny was hooked. But The Man was stubborn.

For months, Bunny would look at Niles on the web and think about how sad he was and how much she loved him without even having met him. Months. Really. Like five months. Really.

Finally, Bunny and The Man had to go shopping at Target on a Saturday and Bunny sez Hey The Man, let's go next door and look at the dogs. And The Man sez OK. So we go next door and look at the doggies and who should be there but NILES! Joy joy joy!

I should mention here that not all the dogs go to all the adoption events every weekend, so it was a mighty profound coincidence that brought Bunny and Niles together on that March 25. We were meant to be together.

Niles came to live at Chez Nous that very same day. We had no dog bed, no dog food, no dog bowl, no nuthin. And he was terrified. He found a little table to hide under and he curled up into a ball and stayed there. We fished out an old blanket for him and made him a nest, we talked to him a little, we put Mozart on the stereo, we stroked him a little, but mostly, we left him alone. And he just stayed in his ball and trembled. (Later, The Man came to call that particular posture "Going Turtle.") He wouldn't eat any dinner or drink any water. He would take a lump of cheese, but otherwise, he went full-on turtle. That night, we carried his nest into the bedroom and put him on it, and he slept there like a little angel.

By Monday, I discovered that his real name was Kirby, not Niles. He was still a big turtle, but he was starting to eat a little. After supper, I put his blankie on the sofa net to me, then I put him on the blankie and he would go turtle, but I would slowly scratch his neck and ears while I watched TV. His ears are amazing. I could do it for an hour without getting tired. After a few days, he decided maybe this forever home was not such a bad place. By Tuesday, he gave me the tiniest flick of a tail wag when I got home from work. I thought I might explode from love and happiness.

Kirby has lived here for about 19 months now. He is my first dog, and I am devoted to him, as he is to me. He follows me everywhere and always wants to be near me. He is, by far, Bunny's biggest fan, and he's also Bunny's favorite boy. And The Man, as he predicted, does nearly all of the doggy scut work.