Psycho Bitch Neighbor

And, yes, by bitch I mean female dog...A couple of days ago, Mark and I were running a couple errands when my cell phone rang. It was Thor, very upset. It took several scary moments before he could tell me what was going on (in the meantime I was running worst case scenarios involving bleeding, choking, tooth damage, knife wounds, broken bones, and so on. All you moms know what I am talking about here...)

Apparently, the psycho bitch next door jumped over her gate and then jumped into our yard. Abe ran up to her, and then Mojo went all protective and Mojo and the next door dog started fighting. Zach had seen the psycho bitch run past his window, and ran out there to break it up. He got Mojo dragged off the neighbor, and then spent another minute trying to get Abe away from her. Abe is really reeeaaallllly ssssllllooooowwwww about figuring out when another dog wants to play and when that dog wants to rip his spleen out...

Mojo has a big scratch across his nose,
but otherwise he's okay. The neighbor's psycho bitch also seems to be okay. The neighbor is disgusted with his beast, and is considering getting rid of her, because she's a big pain in the butt regularly.

Also, this really is not a good photo of Mojo. He really doesn't look this moronic in real life, but the dogs were so worked up at midnight New Year's Eve and I couldn't get any good photos of them...

Hey! We got your winter right here!

We had a little taste of winter right here in Tucson. Snow in the mountains.

Frost on the car.

Fog in town (although it was beautiful and sunny, if a tad chilly, in my part of town.)

The Catalinas don't even look like themselves...

Tick.

(That's one of the nicknames I have for Tess.)

Tess is in a class where most of her classmates are the oldest in their families. Tess is the youngest. I am surprised at what a difference this makes...

Tess is the most cynical and sarcastic kid there, I think. I mean, she's really a good and nice kid, but she can be really pretty cynical at times. She has a t shirt that has two guys on the front -- one guy says "movie quote" and the other guy says "ha ha. another movie quote." We all find this quite humorous. (Tess picked this shirt out herself.)

The kids in her class don't get it. Tess was slightly bemused by this. She also comes home and is incredulous that the kids in her class have never heard of some of the bands she listens to most (which in fairness to her classmates, are far from top 40 types. They tend to be slightly obscure bands Zach finds.)

Much of it, I am sure, is because she has brothers who are 4 and 6 years older than her. Some of it, though, must stem from her personality and world view, which tends, I think like mine, to the skeptical and insatiably curious. So she is always looking for the fake and the angle, and looking to avoid being made the fool (she hates that, just like I do), and always trying to figure out how they do that. And she's smart, and quick to understand things.

Now she is motivated to learn things that the other kids don't know, like "vini vidi vici," which apparently no one else in the class has ever heard. This morning she asked Mom how to say something in Norwegian, I think with the view to stump her friends at school again...

Christmas is far too near.

I have made no plans. I have decorated nothing. I don't have time for Christmas.

I have to get busy and get some of this stuff done...I did make two batches of strawberry/blackberry freezer jam, so I have gifts for the teachers and staff at Tess's school, and I have quite a few presents purchased (actually I need to get them out of my closet and figure out who is getting what...and who has the short end of the stick gift wise, so I can get them something more if necessary.)

The dogs will be getting the giant beef bones again this year, but I cannot buy them until closer to the time, because they will find them and eat them, wrappers and all. Rawhides are not worthy -- Mojo will eat a four inch rawhide bone in under twenty minutes, and it only takes Abe about an hour. But even the iron jaws of Mojo are no match for a smoked cow femur ( I was tempted to say bovine there, just to try to bump up my blog's readability ...Junior high. Bah.).

Maybe we can manage to drag the lights out and start getting festive around here...Hard to top last year though, when we had a bright green blow mold alien wearing a Santa hat on the roof. Perhaps it's the blow mold gargoyles' turn. I wonder how they look in fuzzy red and white...

I am knocking wood

crossing my fingers. and toes. not walking under ladders. tossing salt over my shoulder. Praying to the fickle gods of stress and cruelty to just leave me alone. Pick on somebody else. Please.

Mark -- goes to Kuwait for a couple months. I never realize how much I talk to my husband until he is not available by phone. I think I must call him at least once at a day when he's at work, and when the guys in the lab only have to stick me once to draw blood, he's the one I call to share the good news with...(I was always an easy blood draw until I started to need bi-monthly draws. Suddenly nobody can get a blood sample without three or four sticks...)

Abe -- must have surgery because of his bum knee. He was my one remaining shot at a pet that isn't a special needs pet. The one chance to not spend insanely ridiculous amounts of money on a dog. (Or a guinea pig, which is worse, really. Guinea pigs are only happy to acknowledge you when you rattle a lettuce bag or open the refrigerator.)

Mojo -- not responding to his treatment for valley fever. New meds for Mo.

Dad -- comes to visit and gets exhausted, we think, and has a health scare.

Now...Zach has pneumonia. Pneumonia. Why? I don't know. Where did he get it? Got me. I actually called the paramedics at 1 am because he was said he couldn't breathe. He was in quite a lot of pain. Then I spent all day today getting him to urgent care and getting his chest x-rayed and getting his antibiotics and cough med with codeine. (which is interesting...he mumbles about quadrants and inappropriate -- I couldn't catch anything but those words, and then later he asked me "who and where am I?" Zach stoned. Tomorrow he will hate that feeling, control freak that he is. Tonight he just wants to not cough and to sleep.)

Enough already. I don't need any other injuries, or sicknesses, or complications. I just want to sew with my mom. Make some pajama pants and boxer shorts for the kids. Make a couple of flannel quilts. Finish Mom's pajama bottoms.

Instead I will probably be calling the fire department because the Suburban is on fire. Or one of the stupid palm trees in my yard will fall on me.

I feel like I have an invisible target on the top of my head, and those fickle gods of fate are using me for target practice.

Oh well. At least life is not boring...

Your Sunflower Moment for Today.

I am a Sunflower What Flower Are You?

There is not a day that goes by that you can't find something good about the world and your fellow human.

Okay. Last time my sunflower moment was laughing at the stars on Dancing with the Stars. Probably not the most sunflowery of moments. First try and all that...

Something good about the world and your fellow human...The world? Easy. Something good about the world is that is not in fact encased in lava.

Fellow human. Fellow human...people. People. People who need people are the luckiest ...Sorry. It's a weird family thing. Words trigger song lyrics...

People. Something good about people. How about...they don't all have horrible body odor? ...still not so great...hmmm...Something good about people. Being serious for a moment -- every year at this time people start organizing toy drives, and rounding up food and clothes and toys and necessities for people who are struggling. They give up their time and money to feed and clothe and care about complete strangers.

That is something really good about my fellow human. And a reminder that I want to bring some food to our church's food pantry.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

The turkey is in the oven, the cranberry-orange relish is tarting up the fridge, and I have everything I need for stuffing.

Family are here and on their way.

What more could anyone need?

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

Chicken diaster.

Yesterday we pulled a whole chicken out of the freezer for supper last night, but we were going to Target, so we put it in the oven to keep it away from Mojo. (After the bread incident, we were taking no chances.)

So the chicken did not defrost completely. We used the microwave to thaw it some more, then I put butter and Greek Garlic seasoning on it, and threw it in the oven. Pretty soon the house was filling with the scent of garlicky goodness.

The first problem came when the chicken seemed to be done, but then we noticed the juices running from the center were still rather bloody...After some exploration, we pulled the heart and gizzard and stuff from inside it. Apparently it was frozen to the side of the cavity and we missed it when we were prepping the chicken.

So the chicken was not done. We tossed it back in the oven, and threw some Pillsbury rolls in too. We got a salad, peas, and broccoli ready to go, plus couscous.

Sounds like it's turning out to be a decent meal, right? Ha.

The rolls were supposed to be in at 400, but the chicken was at 325. The skin of the chicken looked crispy delicious, but cutting into it, I hit undercooked portions. And while trying to disassemble the chicken, I realized all the good knives are in Alaska in Mark's apartment.

I am buying myself a good new knife this week. Before I make Thanksgiving dinner for eight.

Because cutting poultry with an dullish knife is no fun at all.

So I tossed the chicken carcass onto the platter and put the whole thing in the microwave for ten minutes. That seemed to do the trick -- we were no longer serving raw though garlicky good chicken. I still was not having any fun cutting up the chicken. I am getting a new knife tomorrow.

In the meantime, Mom got the rolls out of the oven. They stuck to the bottom of the pan. They never ever ever stick for me. Stupid rolls. Stupid pan.

Finally we got everything and everyone to the table. Whew. Things are looking up, right? Again with the HA.

Zach missed the plate when he was dishing himself up some couscous. Thor dumped way too much ranch dressing on his broccoli. Then he knocked the spoon from the couscous on the floor.

We had banana splits for dessert. The first banana Mom cut open looked a little bloody. Really weird -- like there was blood in it. We didn't eat that banana.

I was cutting another banana for my split, and cut my thumb, just a little bit, but it hurt. I think I got banana in the cut. I was concerned I would soon start turning yellow and having a thick peel-like skin.

Mom was putting caramel on her split, and because it was a brand new just-opened bottle, it was a lot runnier than she was expecting, and she ended up with more than she wanted. Drowned ice cream in caramel.

By the time the meal was over, neither of us had any desire at all to deal with the chicken carcass, so we threw it in a stock pot and put in the in garage refrigerator. But that means we have to deal with it today.

Sigh. Yuck.

Mojo ate the bread...

I was ridiculously irrationally mad at Mojo for eating the loaf of stale bread Abe had been carrying around (the previous posts for today explain why Abe had his loaf).

I thumped Mojo on the head, not hard. It's great. I can be all annoyed at Mojo, give him a thump on the head, and he interprets it as a pat. Because his skull is thick and rock-hard. And because I thump him on the side all the time.

So I can give Moj a thump on the head, and feel better, let loose the dogs of frustration, and not harm my dog's psyche.

Abe had his first Valium tonight. I came around the corner and Mojo was standing there with Abe's recently operated-on knee in his mouth. I hate this, because I love watching them play. It's like a steel cage match. It's the clash of the titans. It's like All Star Wrestling (this really cheesy wrestling in the 70's -- the grandfather of the professional wrestling of today. Vern Gonya. Completely fake and proud of it.)

The Valium seems to be working, but it's 11 pm so Abe would be sleeping anyway. We are trying to "help" the dogs play in a way that won't thrash Abe's knee. Not the easiest thing...

I am the meanest person ever.

Abe and Mojo wanted to play, and were starting to wrestle around a little bit. I immediately dropped the laundry I was folding, rushed over to them, and hurled Abe into his cage.

The top item on my to-do list is to get Abe's Valium prescription filled. This is making me so sad. He is such a sweet dog, and so happy and full of energy.

And I am the mean ogre who is going to drug him into insensibility and lock him in the cage any time he moves. This is going to be a very very very long two months...and I am worried about how Abe will be affected by this.

When he can finally run free again, will he be scared to? Will being leashed and caged for two months -- even though it is for his own good -- change him? Will he lose that happy hyper attitude?

It's affecting Mojo as well -- he didn't eat all his breakfast this morning. That never happens. Never. Mojo is food-obsessed.

It would be so much easier if Mark was not in the Persian Gulf region (hi, honey!). He could wrestle with Mojo while I walk Abe...right now, Mojo is not getting the exercise he needs, so I am going to have to start walking the dogs. But separately, at least at first, since I like my shoulders in their sockets. I am crazy that way, I know.

And perhaps the kidlets can walk Abe while I play with Mojo. Now if I can just figure out how to encourage the dogs to do that play thing where they are both laying on the floor biting each other's heads, instead of the usual clash of the titans fighting they do...

I will need Valium before this is all over....I guess I will just have to settle for Tequila and beer.

Although I keep forgetting to buy the good stuff...all we have in the fridge right now is Miller Lite. That is not beer. That is a bubbly water and alcohol poseur. Tecate, Fat Tire, Dos X's, Belgian, Mexican, microbrews. That's beer. American mass market beers are not worthy.