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?