It’s not that fostering a dog is a full-time occupation — although dealing with the politics of a canine pack can be as consuming as (though much more honest and direct than) dealing with human politics.<\/p>\n
I have Robbie — normally the bully of the bunch, but this time remaining blessedly aloof. Clearly he believes introduction of a new female is a problem to be worked out solely by the girls.<\/p>\n
There’s Nadja. She’s low dog on the totem pole, but those few privileges she can claim for her own are hers<\/i>, by damn. She’ll even head Robbie away from the Costco bed I fished out of a dumpster a few months ago. Woe betide any mere new<\/i> dog who so much as looks in that direction.<\/p>\n
Finally, we come to Princess Ava Prettypaws and the new girl, Sweetie. Both are cattle dogs (Ava, having no idea she’s a mix, considers herself a privileged purebred). Both expect to be the one at “Mom’s” knee at all times. Neither is willing to accept that Mom has two knees.<\/p>\n
I intended to discourage Sweetie from bonding with me, given that she’s here only temporarily. I had intended to kennel her much of the time and not integrate her with the pack. But turns out she’s one of those dogs who laughs — laughs!<\/i> — at wire mesh and simple latches. She chewed her way out and integrated herself with the pack on her first morning here. Now my job is just to keep things civilized.<\/p>\n
Jake MacGregor’s expression, “Keep your dog pants on!” is having at least some effect. <\/p>\n
—–<\/p>\n
No, it’s not that fostering a dog is a full-time occupation, but between that and finally (almost) finishing the living room a year after I intended to feels<\/i> like full-time work. Who knew that climbing up and down a few ladder steps for painting and wallpapering could be as hard on the body as scaling serious mountains?<\/p>\n
My thighs know. They remind me with grievous wails every time I sit down or stand up. Climbing stairs? Please. Do not even mention<\/i> climbing stairs. My thighs will have a nervous breakdown.<\/p>\n
—–<\/p>\n
So you’ll have to forgive me for having nothing witty to add about the dangers of high unemployment in Europe<\/a>. I can’t even rouse any verbal indignation over the IRS trying to claim the right to revoke the passports<\/a> of allegedly delinquent taxpayers. Oh yes, I seethe inside. But even the fact that the wretched provision is (so typically!) buried as usual in some big old must-pass transportation bill<\/a> can’t draw a loud snarl from me at the moment.<\/p>\n I’m too tired even to bleat.<\/p>\n —–<\/p>\n After dragging butt through a short morning dog walk I did stop at the local greasy spoon and have an enormous, completely disgusting anti-health-food breakfast. That helped. <\/p>\n But really, only Tahiti can guarantee a full recovery. So. Who’s offering? Anybody? Anybody?<\/p>\n —–<\/p>\n And about finishing that living room …<\/p>\n If you’ve hung out in these parts for a while, you may recall that last spring I tore up the really-not-too-bad living-room carpet that came with the house. Expecting to find beauteous oak, I discovered … ghosts of builders past<\/a>.<\/p>\n You guys offered some lively suggestions about what to do with that weird old floor. I have to tell you, I took none of them. I thought seriously about all those clever things, I really did. But in the end, I decided the problems were just too large. Discovering that the nice family trying to keep the local flooring shoppe alive<\/a> were having a huge sale, I opted for the easy way out. A couple of months ago, I bought laminate and now I’ve saved up my pennies to get the shoppe to install it. <\/p>\n