Monthly Archives: February 2009

dog on a stick?

Help! My dog is impaled on a stick!
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Not really. She’s just been doing this today.
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She’s fine. More than fine. She’s loves this snow. She likes to run in it, eat it, roll in it….
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(notice the back paws in the air. we call this particular move “the yippy skippy.”)

Me, I’m ready for spring, a little warm sunshine, some nice cool breezes. Aren’t you?

And since our blue skies have now disappeared, I leave you with something else blue:
jay

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Learn-A-Word Wednesday: froward \FROH-werd\

adjective:
not easily managed; contrary

The mule is a froward animal.

c. 1300, Old English fromweard “turned from or away,” from from + -weard. The opposite of toward, it was Latin pervertus in early translations of the Psalms, and also meant “about to depart, departing,” and “doomed to die.”

I like this word, the opposite of toward. But it does sound like you’re drunk and really meant to say “forward.”

Besides the mule being a froward animal, you could say the kindergartener is a froward animal.
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(This is what getting ready for school looks like most of the time.)
Or my dog. Or the hubs.

Come to think of it, I am surrounded by froward animals. Are you?

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come out, come out

The other night I was trying to sleep, between the dog’s attempt at dumping me on the floor and the hubs’ rollover/hog-more-than-half move, when I heard the Kid enter the room. She is supposed to stay in her bed (until 7am), but there she was, all dark and silent lurking.

“Kid, go back to bed,” I sighed to the darkness, knowing she’s there, hearing her breathing, from somewhere.

Silence.

I don’t sleep with my contacts in so I couldn’t see past my eyelashes even if the lights were on. But I knew she was there. I got up, went to the bathroom, and gave her some to time show herself. Still nothing. No surrendering.

I kinda figured she slid in next to the hubs since she knew I wanted her out. But when I squinted over that direction, no Kid.

Hm. Floor? Under the bed? Where is that Kid? I considered the options while I got back in the bed. Then I heard a thunk. Coming from the dog’s crate. The giant dog crate which the dog sleeps in once every full moon or so for twenty minutes must always have available as her “special safe place” according to the hubs. “Be the dog,” he always says. And what a lovely place it is! Plastic box big enough for an orangutan with side slits, metal grate door, and dog fur-covered, smelly old pillow on the dirty inside floor. Dog heaven.
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“Kid? Get out of there and go back to your bed!” I whispered as loud as I could while still technically whispering.

“It’s more comfortable here!”

So I left her there. I’m pretty sure there’s no harm there. CPS don’t call me. She liked it in there. Her choice.

We sure could have saved a lot of money spent on her trundle bed if I’d known her preference for plastic kennels. Although we’d probably have to spend it on additional flea collars.

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science fair and our experiment

It’s February and I’ve learned that that means Science Fair! But as a parent of a kindergartener, I am less than excited about “conducting a science experiment” with a 5 year old. Really, we’re only just getting over all those science experiments from a couple of years ago. Experiments done by my child alone, like what a combination of sprinkles and food coloring looks like on the kitchen counter at 4am.

Plus, I am not really the science-y type. The only experiment I’ve conducted in the past decade has been to see how long my armpit hair will grow from November to March (pretty long, in case you’re wondering).

The hubs, however, is the real scientist with a real science degree. We even have a current experiment going on right now!

This is our French dutch oven (is that right? French Dutch? I’m probably insulting them both.). See?
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It may look like a dutch oven, but really today, and for the past few weeks, it is an extra large petri dish.

Just from the photo, you might notice something odd about it. It is on the deck. It is covered.

What started as dinner by the hubs has evolved into the white elephant in the middle of the room on the deck. Maybe it’s our own Super Size Me type study except I have no idea when it started and don’t have an intern to deal with innards.

Why is it on the deck? Does it smell? No. Sometimes, we’re so white trash we store our food on the deck, well, mostly beer our fridge is too full and the leftovers so huge, we put it on the deck for the night. In winter. Never summer unless no one is visiting.

And so far, this generation of raccoons has not figured out how to open the thing. Ultimately, that might become the experiment: how long will it take a raccoon to open it?

Can you guess what is inside? I’m too scared to open it. I might need one of those nuclear reactor suits to even peek in that thing.

If you don’t hear from me again, it’s because I went in with no backup.

Are you conducting any experiments? Officially or otherwise?

[In case you're wondering, the hubs and I have not discussed this pot at all. No one has nagged, no one has inferred. It's like that rule whoever sees the dog poop has to pick it up, so I see nothing. La, la, la....]

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this just in: island road rage has arrived!

Our island is generally reluctant in the face of change. Ask anyone who lived here when “the roundabout” was installed or the McDonald’s showed up or the main road got paved or…

And we do have our share of domestic violence.

So, I guess it was just a matter of time before road rage appeared. This morning I read about an actual incident of road rage here on our little green rock.

Road rage is a weird concept here, unless of course you’re trying to make the ferry. I’m not sure what the appropriate saint medal would be for protection if you don’t drive 50mph in a school zone dawdle in front of a soccer mom trying to get the 9:40am ferry to hit the downtown Nordstrom sale and be back before school lets out. But I’m pretty sure you’d need some kind of protection.

That’s why it’s so weird that two guys pull over and break out in a fist fight on a Monday night. Burned out from another wild President’s Day weekend?

Well, they obviously failed to read this sign:
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Some do-gooder person put a bunch of these up around here more than a year ago.

And this is the first account of road rage I’ve heard of, so they must be working, yes?

It was probably too dark to read it last night.

Are you raging lately? The only rage I feel could be aimed at the public schools for having a 5-day weekend….
;-)

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tail or no tail?

I’m feeling sorry for a certain someone. No, not the Kid. She’s got it made in the shade, as far as I can tell.

I’m talking about him, this Spotted Towhee.

Notice anything? He’s supposed to look like this:

Well, he’s not supposed to look like we jabbed a spear up his privates, but he IS supposed to have a tail. A long, jaunty one, like this. (I promise this guy has legs, too. You just can’t see them.)

I guess the first one is molting? I’m not the birdchick, so I can’t say for sure. I read they molt once a year. But it didn’t sound like they’d lose all their tail feathers.

Or, maybe he had a close call with a neighbor’s cat?

I still feel sorry for him. Even if he is kinda defensive about it.

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Happy Valentine’s Day!

Have a cookie! I’ve had too many.

And I had to share this. Have you seen these? I nabbed it at the Kid’s Valentine’s party at school (two days ago! ask me how sick of Valentine’s I am).

Can you read it? It says “Email me.” Next year, I’m sure they’ll have “txt me” or “ill txt u” or “u r gr8″ or…what?

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