Who's Your Dirtbunny?

To the dismay of certain someones, we have been out of greenies for quite some time. The Amazing Dirtbunny has made a trip to the dog bakery which, despite its name, is not a place where they bake dogs, and has stocked up on some faves:




We have your greenies, your little chicken thingies, and your wheat-free non-itchy cookies in the cheese flavor and the apple flavor.

Some of us are ever hopeful:






Others of us say, if you ain't giving me one now,

Then leave me alone, Dirt-bitch.

That Yarn Bandit has quite a mouth on him.

P.S. I'm still sick. Day 25. My doctor says I need to be patient and give the antibiotics a chance to work. Fuck that. I want my lungs back. Did I quit smoking for nothing?

Dirtbunny's Cold, Day 21

The Man is going off to visit his people this weekend, so it's just me and The Boys and my bronchitis. I have asked Yarn Bandit very nicely to let me know when he has to go so I can take him outside. I'm not going to try to do very much. Maybe a little laundry if I can manage the stairs without coughing until my lungs turn inside out. Maybe I'll make soup (five minutes of chopping followed by occasional stirring). Maybe I'll finish The Man's red sweater, or his self-striping socks, or maybe I'll work on the secret project. Maybe I'll just go back to bed. I haven't decided yet. The heat is set at 72 degrees in here, so I know I have to reprogram the thermostat but, aside from that and taking the dogs into the yard from time to time, I don't HAVE to do anything.

We all know I'm not good with leisure time and I'm not good at taking care of myself when I'm sick, and I'm especially not good at these things when stuff is piling up (lots of laundry, balance the checkbook, lots of cooking and baking I could do but don't have to do). We'll just have to see how things work out.

Dirtbunny's Cold, Day 18

In Bunny's family, you aren't really sick unless you have a fever of more than 103 or some sort of major organ failure. I guess that means I'm not really sick. Bunny's doctor disagrees. My cold has now settled into the bronchial tubes and turned into a full-blown bronchial infection. I have new cough syrup that is especially helpful for sleeping about 17 hours a day, and I have an inhaler, and I have stopped pretending that everything is just fine.

This weekend, Bunny's brother Aaron the super genius was in town and in order to trick him into thinking that Bunny is not the wuss that she is, we went for a nice hike with The Boys. I had a wonderful time until I forgot how to walk, at which point I fell down, and the delightful outing came to an abrupt end. I thought I was well enough to spend a little time exerting myself. I was wrong.

The scrapes and bruises from the fall are healing nicely and don't even hurt very much any more. But the cold was not helped by the fresh air and exercise. I shoulda stood in bed.

Dirtbunny's Cold, Day 11

Around here, colds go to eleven. Coughcoughcough.

Dirtbunny's Cold, Day 8

I am still sick. I'm a lot better than I was, but I'm not exactly well yet. I was going to sit outside to enjoy the outdoors for a little while, but something happened and now I can't.

1. It's a little chilly right now.
2. Kirby found a dead bird in the yard and tried to eat it.

Dead creatures in the yard are always, ALWAYS upsetting. I usually shriek for The Man to come handle it and try really hard not to throw up. The Man, of course, always disposes of the corpse with dispatch and aplomb and without making any remarks about gender roles or feminism, because he is a good guy.

This time, however, my BFF Kirby had the vile thing in his mouth. IN HIS MOUTH. I am disgusted and appalled. He is unclean, and I am not sure what sort of ritual cleansing he needs for me to get over this, because a bath would only take care of the outside. Can I wash his mouth out with soap? That doesn't seem humane. And yet I am thoroughly and completely grossed out.

Whine

Dirtbunny is sick. I have a cold. Last night we were at the throat-is-so-sore-can't-fall-asleep-so-it-really-doesn't-matter-that-Kirby-is-hogging-the-bed-and-kicking-me-in-the-boobs-constantly stage. Now I am at the nose-is-raw-from-all-the-blowing stage. I have taken to my bed. Fortunately for me, our cable reception was bad enough to interfere with football, so we moved the TV into the bedroom (where the reception is better) last week until the cable company can be bothered to get out here and re-run the cable (that they installed badly about four years ago). That means I have about three hundred channels and a stack of DVR recordings to watch. Guess what? There's nothing on, which really isn't much of a surprise. The Boys are competing for Most Snuggly Beagle. Kirby won by determinedly muscling Tiki out of position. Nobody comes between Kirby and his Dirtbunny. Tiki growled for a while, and now has stalked off to sulk in his dog bed. There's enough room and love for two beagles, but Tiki doesn't see things that way. The wireless connection works back here, so I think I'm going to watch some Netflix on Demand if I can find something that meets the following criteria: entertaining, decent sound (because they don't offer captions and I rely heavily on captions), not very challenging, and not likely to interfere with my secret project knitting (i.e., can watch and count at the same time). That last one might be tough. I'm not sure about counting in any fashion today. If it turns out I can't count (oooooh. THAT was an interesting typo!) then I'll switch to a non-counting something.

By the way. The Bean is here as of Sunday morning. I can't wait to get over my leetle virus so I can go meet her.

More from the belly of the beast

Remember this?

This morning, Mister Itchy produced this on the Sunday Style section:

Two more one-inch chunks of plastic football and one half-inch chunk of rubbery whoknowswhat. Also a big wad of grass tangled up in two circular stitch markers which decency prevents me from showing you. You're welcome.

I take responsibility for the stitch markers. Those happened on my watch. But the football was there when we adopted him 2 1/2 years ago. How much more of it can there possibly be in there?

Culprits

This is not what I was going to do when I took a half-day off to handle some bidness and play in the sunshine, and this is not what I was going to write about, but I am obviously not in control of my own life anymore. Here goes.



Bunny gets home early from work and goes back to her room to change into play clothes and finds this:

That's not the best photo, but if it were in focus, you would see that it is smears of someone's crusty eye boogers and dried-up drool puddles on Bunny's pillowcase. Bunny did not do this herself.

Also on the bed was this:

Do you see, knitters, which book it is? Do you see? (Note to non-knitters: this is a special book. Correction. This was a special book) How bad is it?

It's bad. I don't know for sure who is responsible for what, but I have my theories:

Don't you dare say he's cute! He's not cute. He's the devil. El Diablo!

You may now return to the top and take the poll.

Plus, this just in:

Hello out there! Bunny quit smoking! Does anyone besides The Bean's mom care?

This is not an April Fool's Joke

Today Dirtbunny has six months smoke-free. For reals.

Smoking is fun and at least used to be cool, but it was probably going to catch up with me eventually. It doesn't always kill you, but I'm not a lucky person.