Tag Archives: doggies

All I need…

1 Aug

They say Sagittarians are brutally honest people. Hmmm hmmm. Well, I wasn’t so honest about sneaking Sparky into my condo on weekends. And for this, my sun sign got the best of me and forced me to man up, confess, and beg my landlord for mercy.

When I discussed the matter with Harold, my landlord, he completely understood my situation but reminded me that I chose to rent a place that didn’t allow pets. But he’d think about it.

He called me later and told me he’d allow me to have Sparky there on weekends provided I pay $1000 more in deposit and $150 per more in rent. I told him I’d have to rethink this a bit, I mean, seriously, $150 more per month for my little 8 pound yorkie?

Then he called again. Guess his lawyer (who calls a lawyer about stuff like this anyway?) said it would be a bad investment for him and that Harold should deny my request.

Here we go again. Gotta move. Again. So not looking forward to that – I have accumulated a lot of stuff since getting my own place. And with the packing and moving we did for the cabin in May still fresh in my memory, I started thinking I’d have to consider not letting Sparky stay with me. Oh, not to mention breaking my lease would cost me a shit ton if we couldn’t sort this out.

Isn’t he the cutest motherflippin dog?

So I wrote a 5 page letter to Harold and his wife. Complete with my sob story and pictures of me with Sparky, and candids of Sparky lying in the sun and frollicking in the grass. And I reminded Harold that he asked me to rent that condo because he knows that I would keep it pristine. You know, it’s “the devil you know” angle.

It worked! He wrote back “Dear Sparky’s Mommy”, and agreed to let me have Sparky stay and even reduced the monthly rent add-on to just $50!

I’m glad I don’t have to repeat the whole moving experience. At least for now. And it turns out, which cracks me the fuck up, that Sparky, who whimpers to get me to help him up on the couch, can actually jump up on my bed when I’m not there.

That little stinker.

I heart this boy with all my love…

I’ll be picking him up for a long weekend with me tomorrow and whereas in the past, I’d worry about him when I’d leave him alone, this weekend, I’ll know he’s happy as a clam all burrowed in my pillows.

All I need right now is the warmth of his breath and the softness of his touch to make me smile.

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One last night…

8 Mar

It’s been 9 months since the hubby and I split. We didn’t however split our financial expenses until this week. We spent the last month negotiating who would pay for what and finally agreed. So now he’s got his own checking account, his own credit cards and his share of our obligations. It’s time. It’s our time to move on.

It was a bittersweet meet-n-greet on Tuesday to finalize that. We spent 30 minutes making sure we captured everything, then the next hour drinking cocktails and talking about the future.

We chatted about the new people in our life, gossiped a little about people we know, and then we talked about Buddy. This is our 16-year old Yorkie. I’ve had both of our dogs for the last 4 weekends and I’ve noticed such a marked change in Buddy that we talked again about euthanasia. It wasn’t a new conversation, but it hurts every time to talk about it. The selfish parts of us don’t want to let him go. The pragmatic side knows he’s just hanging on to this life. He doesn’t eat his dog food anymore, he can’t keep his dog treats down, and he doesn’t know where he is. Our vet told us that when his quality of life diminishes to the point where he no longer wants to be with us, that’s when it’s time to make that appointment.

My sweet little Buddy

It’s time. It’s his time to move on. To be greeted by Spike and Nikki, our other beloved pets who will surely be waiting with tails wagging and big doggie smiles to greet and welcome Buddy to the meadow.

With heavy hearts, we set the date with the vet. It’ll be tomorrow, Friday. I’m meeting the ex in a few hours to take Buddy and Sparticus to my place for one last night together. I want to be strong and not some weepy girl, but I am just a puddle of tears about all the change that’s going on.

I don’t have a pithy point to this post. No earth shattering self-realization. No correlation between what I’m experiencing and my past life. I’m just putting computer ink on computer post paper.

For my sweet little Buddy – you are loved and cherished and I thank you with all my heart for the 16 devoted years you loved me.

For my dog loving friends – a few quotes to remind us all why dogs are so revered…

My little dog – a heartbeat at my feet.  ~Edith Wharton

Happiness is a warm puppy.  ~Charles M. Schulz

Whoever said you can’t buy happiness forgot little puppies.  ~Gene Hill

I have agoraphobia…

2 Mar

I might as well be as I’m afraid to leave the house on weekends. Wait, what? Did I just expose a phobia to you?

No, I’m lying. Sorta. You see, this is the fourth weekend IN A ROW that I’ve got custody of the kids. And by kids, I mean my yorkies.

Let me explain… I love and miss my dogglies and when they aren’t here I want them cuddled on my lap, and yet, when they are here, I’m completely housebound. It’s like this… I signed a lease for this condo with a NO PETS clause.

Which means, I’m sneaking my ankle biters into this condo and crossing my fingers and closing their muzzles so he doesn’t find out.

Which means, I’m afraid to leave them here unattended. I picture a constantly yapping pair of pooches scratching the paint off the front door, their tiny little paw-nails gauging grooves into the wood.

Let’s not even fathom the likelihood that OG (that’s old guy, aka Buddy) will pee all over the hardwood floor, his urine acids seeping into the grooves.

So this means, for the fourth weekend in a row, I’m housebound. In a small condo, just busting to get out.

There are however two upsides:

1) The Rockstar stays with me and shares the doggie doody duty.

2) I get to cuddle my three boys (2 yorkies, 1 human – all boys) whenever and as often as I want.

So I’m not actually complaining, but I do have a new pair of L.A.M.B. stilettos that are itching for a night out on the town. I do, after all, have some priorities.

I can’t sleep…

10 Jan

Well not enough at any rate. Either I’m too busy mind-fucking myself or the dogs are restless, or I’m drenched in night sweats. Whatevs, the end result is: I can’t sleep.

The other night Sparky seemed mad at me, which is ridonkulous because I bought all sorts of delish doggy treats for our week up the cabin, spoiling this doggly with tasty bits of bacon-y, cheese-y, meat-y morsels and tons of mommy-lap-time.

So I was a bit miffed that he slept at the end of the bed. All night. No midnight cuddle with me and the next morning, he seemed mad and sad again. I took him out for his morning ablutions (read: pee and poo outside please) and he was walking sideways, like a crab. Sorta. Back hunched upward, his head angled to the right.

I figured puppy probably swallowed a snausage whole and it was blocking his happiness. If you catch his my drift…

So no more treats today little fella until it passes.

Except by nighttime, he was still in a bad way. He started whimpering every time one of us attempted to pick him up or once when we tried to kiss his head. My inner dialogue was at war.

Rational me: He’s fine, it’ll pass. Pun intended.

Freaked-out me: OMG, did he eat a chicken bone, or what if it really WAS a full snausage and it won’t digest? Could he die from being constipated?

Rational me: You didn’t have chicken for dinner plus he drank water, he’ll be fine.

Freaked-out me: This is serious. He could DIE! And in DEAD SPARKY.

Sparky kept getting up, whimpering, trying to find a more comfy position and by 2:30am, I convinced Rational Me that he WAS gonna die if I didn’t do something.

I called the local vet – who was Rational, but because she can’t see him, she doesn’t know what’s going on. She agreed to meet us at the hospital.

We bundled up both puppies in a blanket and got there at about 3:30am. Her big concern was his bladder, which would be seriously bad news. She needed to check to see if he was blocked. Guess how? Yerp, a catheter. Which freaked me the eff out and apparently was inserted 8″ into his “you know whatsee”. I didn’t even know he had 8″ available…

Dribble dribble, good news, his bladder is just fine. Rolling my eyes, I knew this – I have pictures to prove said prowess.

Anyhoohaw, turns out Sparky hurt his back, maybe from all that sitting up and begging or who knows, from all the belly scratches resulting in rapid hind leg movement. Either way, it was worth the emergency trip to the vet to find out a couple muscle relaxers would restore my puppy’s vitality.

As we climbed back into bed at 4am, all of us exhausted, I kept thinking (yes, thinking): I love my dogs: flaws, paws, pee and all. And I really need to get more sleep. And I need to clean the fridge. And the bathroom cabinet. Oh, and I need to re-do my nails. Maybe I should try counting sheep?

2011 in review…

31 Dec

If this was 2011, what the fuck will 2012 have in store?

Fuckety McMutherfucker. Yes, I just said that. And it fits the year in review.

Started out 2011 proclaiming I will rock my inner Xena, not taking shit anymore and fighting with some badass gladiator heels to boot.

I had drinks with a dildo model, started questioning everything, shared a shockingly funny story involving a big ole black dong, got my stilettos posted on a vodka website, went to a charity ski event and table top danced with a hot, young actor, found out some guys think it’s perfectly okay to share erectile dysfunction over morning coffee, told everyone how I got my brother arrested, and how my friend has a dominatrix in the family.

And that was all BEFORE I ran away from home in June.

Since then, I put BoldlyMocking on hiatus and created this blog, as a way to share my rebirth.

So since I left, here’s what’s been going on:

  1. I crashed with Juli for a week
  2. I realized I didn’t just leave my husband, I left my dogs
  3. I started dating the Rockstar
  4. I moved into a room in someone’s house, without a kitchen mind you
  5. I started paying attention to everyday sounds, like traffic, and wind
  6. I realized I didn’t mind killing my own spiders, but I still don’t like it
  7. I decided I was spiritual, if you can call reading my Sagittarius horoscope spiritual
  8. I realized I hate night sweats, and errratic visits from Aunt Flo
  9. I saw my doctor about sharp pains in my head and realized I wasn’t actually crazy
  10. I got lost on a hike and realized it was okay
  11. I decided I didn’t hate cigars
  12. I wanted an urban lifestyle
  13. I decided the urban lifestyle came with drawbacks and homeless people
  14. I moved into a suburban 790 sq foot condo with out-dated appliances
  15. I defended myself against the friends who judged me unfairly
  16. I found out the hubby is dating (and she’s an ‘older-shorter-fluffy-36D-girl’)
  17. I bought some risque “stuff” online and my neighbors received it
  18. I started to find myself despite the chaos
  19. I realized the hubby is still not ready to talk to me not to mention see my face
  20. I decided I quite like that the Rockstar is living on a sailboat in the SF Bay
  21. I moved into a 790 sq foot condo with fanfuckingtastic appliances

Thanksgiving and Christmas were special to me this year. Both were relaxed events, unlike the past and as I laid my head on my Mom’s lap on Christmas night, I felt a sense of peace and calm I can’t remember ever feeling.

I’m still scared. Having been married to the hubby for almost a quarter of a century, every experience feels bittersweet. Even now as I type this, I think back to 1:45p today, when the Rockstar and I were on our way to the cabin and we passed the hubby and his girlfriend. Picture slow-mo heads turning and eyebrows raised.

If I had one word to describe 2011 it would have to be REMARKABLE.

Tip toeing away…

17 Oct

Maybe they won't notice...

“Marriages don’t die with a bang. They quietly tip toe away and are gone before you know they left. Marriages die slowly under the gradually rising wave of distracted indifference.” I read this in Psychology Today and it’s very true. I just didn’t know how distracted I was and didn’t notice it tip-toeing away.

So anyhoohaw… last Thursday I went to the hubby’s house to pick up the dogs for a nice long weekend at the cabin with The Rockstar. (It was fabulous by the way! So much relaxing, hot tubbing, and cuddling with the furries!!) Now, the hubby warned me in advance that his new “roommate” was going to be moving in. You see, to offset some of my “living on my own” expenses, we both agreed that he’d have to rent the Guest Room at the house.

So he did. Rent the room that is. To a 28 year old woman. I met her. She’s shorter than me (I’d hate it if she were taller), about my size (which means she’s very thin) with long blonde curly hair. Did I mention that she’s 28 years old?

It got me thinking about how I feel about some woman living in my house (ok, technically it IS my house (half anyway) even though I don’t live there anymore). I mean, this woman is using my desk, playing with my dogs, and she’s got stuff in the kitchen too. So yeah, not sure how I feel about this new “situation.”

Speaking of stuff in the kitchen…

Last night I went back to the house to drop the dogs off. I told the hubby I’d be there around 5:30p. He asked me to text him when I was a couple exits away, so he could leave and not see me.

Yes, folks – the hubby doesn’t talk to me on the phone. Hasn’t seen me since I left 4 months ago. We talk via text and email. It works for now.

So I pull into the drive and I can see the kitchen lights on, the hubby leaning on the kitchen island counter with a glass of wine, and a bottle on the island.

I think to myself “Oh, wow. He must be ready to face me.

I gird my loins, check my lipstick (I am vain after all), grab the dogs, and walk in the front door.

I’m literally one foot in the doorway and call out “Hi There!” and I get no response.

What? Did he disappear?

Instead, I hear “Ohhhhh, hi Sparky” from the kitchen. From the new “roommate”.

Who, just as obvious, was drinking a bottle of wine in the kitchen with the ghost of my hubby.

I lifted my foot back out the door, closed it quietly behind me, and tip toed back to my car and left.

As I drove back to my condo I realized I wasn’t the only one who’s been tip toeing away. There appears to be a pattern here…

Narrowing it down…

9 Aug

So the biggity O tour bus started a couple weeks ago. I’ve been dragging The Rockstar with me who has been patient and courteous and objective. He’ll hate that I shared how nice he’s been, given he wants to be seen as all badass and whatnot. Whoopsies.

Anyhoohaw, we’ve checked out Jack London, Lake Merritt and a whole lotta crappy apartments. NO BUENO. The only one I was tempted to lease has a shit load of steep stairs which, given my tendency to teeter totter and fall down is NO BUENO. Plus, a bus runs down it, and so do vagrants with natty hair.

So this threw me into a tail spin. The Rockstar asked patiently “What do you want in an apartment?”

Me: Ground floor, covered parking, fireplace, patio, in unit washer/dryer, sound proof bathroom…

RS: *raising an eyebrow over the poddy comment*

Me: I think I have to give up my dream of the urban lifestyle.

RS: Lake Merritt is not really urban.

So I gots to thinking about why I wanted urban. I really want to walk out my front door and walk to a cafe – or a bar. Cuz I’m a coffeewhore and a vodkawhore – in that order usually.

There better be coffee there... Or vodka...

Hmmm – now thinking I should look at leasing an apartment in the downtown of a suburb. One that will allow me to avoid breaking a bone, lets me share custody with my dogglies, and walk to a nearby strip mall. For coffee. Or booze. Yeah, maybe that’s the plan.

You know the best part of all of this though – instead of someone telling me what I should do, I was offered the opportunity to figure it out. Of course, this plan must execute soon. I gave my landlord notice on 8/1.