A 'shwa moment

We're used to comments from strangers when we're out walking the dogs. They're tall, gangly, furry, and not exactly a common breed. It's not uncommon for someone to make a joke about us "getting saddles so we can ride them" or suggesting we "get a cart so they can pull us around." One lady along the riverfront came up and asked us if they were dogs. We haven't decided what else they could be, but said yeah, they're dogs all right. One kid told us they were pandas and once we were told they were llamas but we didn't take that to heart too much.

This morning, though we had one we hadn't heard. Dave was walking the dogs home from the park early this morning when he came across an older gentleman, probably in his sixties or seventies, standing outside his house with a young girl beside him, probably a granddaughter. She was about two or three years old.

As they were going past, the old man yelled to Dave in a friendly voice "with dogs like those, you must have the world by the ass!" Right in front of the little girl.

Unsure of how to respond to such a comment muttered a puzzled "thanks," and walked home.

So, leave a note and define what having the world by the ass means. I'm frankly not sure.

Doggone Crazy, I think

There are so many stories that go along with my trips to ikea (oddly, I know), so after spending the weekend shopping for things to pull a look together for the house, I'm kinda pooped so here's just one of the things I needed (pronounced "gave in to commercialism full strength, unabashedly, and pitifully") to get was these hooks for the dog leashes.

See? How could I say no? They MATCHED THEIR LEASHES AND COLLARS. It was totally destiny.


Now don't the dogs look happier now? It must be so much less stressful for them to know your leash is hanging on a dog bum that matches your collar and leash, isn't it boys!


(I think that's a yes, in case you're wondering. It certainly isn't a "for the love of God woman, we know you have cookies in your hand, will you just put that stupid flashey thing down and FORK THEM OVER! NOW!" No, they're definitely not saying that.)

Ode to Clucky

The sound of one thing in particular has always reminded me of home, our home, here in the 'shwa. Surely there are sounds I associate with my parents' home, like the sound of rain hitting the sunroom windows in a storm, or the yahoos across the street living with their parents into their late twenties, playing with their souped up honda civics or screaming obscenities at their parents. There are sounds I associate with work, like my heels as I run between courts, cells, and the crown's office. But one sound makes me smile, occasionally wince, and occasionally laugh and always reminds me of home, our home.

After a long day at work, in the middle of the night, it echoes through the hall, or in the bedroom. It often catches me by surprise, but has been a source of entertainment to be sure.

Now, it's suddenly gone silent. I'm of course thinking of Clucky, our rubber chicken dog toy.

Somehow, the squeaker has finally met its match after more than two years of use. To be fair, it's been two years of heavy use - two dogs chewing on it and openly playing tug of war over it, and both Dave and I stepping on it.

The worst interactions I've had with Clucky (so named because it rhymes with...) is the unexpected one, the one where you getting up in the middle of the night, sneak out of bed slowly to not wake up your partner, tiptoe across the floor, squinting to make sure you aren't stepping on any one of the four animals and, when you finally think you're in the clear, slinking quickly into the bathroom, only to step on laundry, that suddenly emits this loud SQUEEEEAAAAAAKKKKKKKK that pierces the silence. The wheeze that follows sounds like Clucky's laughing at you.

The sound itself is enough to cause heart attacks, if not for the person who stepped on Clucky, then for the partner who, until that moment, had been quietly sleeping in bed.

And so, a new, mute phase of Clucky's life has begun. The dogs seem less interested in Clucky then before, there seems to be less "hey that's mine" or "give it back" going on than there was before, no one is vying for sole chewing rights on Clucky. Instead of its vigorous squeak-wheeze-squeak, it's been straight wheezing when the dogs play with Clucky.

It looks like life is going to get a bit more peaceful in the house - for both the chicken, and us.

Lazy Saturday in the 'shwa

The dogs love sleeping next to each other - sleeps like this are occasionally interrupted by the occasional dream with them growling at each other (I presume), and seconds later, after some big sighs, they fall asleep again as though it never happened.

Discovery

We may have hardwood floor in the kitchen! We won't know until we completely destroy the current flooring! If it's there it's buried under two layers of linoleum (which includes uber sticky glue), two layers of plywood, and lord knows what else. This may take some digging. Anyone want to have a tile party? Hardwood refinishing party? Any takers? No? Shucks.


Not even the dog can feign interest.


(Yes, the floors look that dirty 30 seconds after they've been swept. Animal hair everywhere here)


News item of the day? Also? Now THIS is a HIGH rise.

In case of fire

I've often worried what would happen if we had a fire, and the thing I worry about the most isn't our worldly possessions, but getting the animals out safely. As much as the dogs drive me nuts on occasion, and the cats are fond of a wake-up routine that makes sleeping in practically impossible I'd be awful to lose them. I've been keeping an eye out for those "in case of fire save my ___ cats and _____ dogs," but haven't found one.

Tonight, though, I think I've eased my worry when I found a way to guarantee they'll all come running quickly so we can leave the house safely without incident if we ever had a fire.


All I have to do is touch the lid of these jars on the kitchen counter, and all four animals come running in a symphony of nails clacking on hardwood, meowing and talking and, excited snorting (and in Rhett's case belly swaying). I think Dave thought I was a bit looney for wanting treat jars for the animals (that had to be pretty too!) but I think for the fire safety aspect they're a necessity. The animals all come running with the urgency that would be appropriate for a "house on fire" situation the second they hear a lid pop.

Perfect!

Wherein I give in to peer pressure.

I thought about doing it earlier, but shrugged it off. Now, I've decided to do it, cause while I really couldn't care too much about peer pressure when I was a kid (I watched Street Legal anyway). Apparently at the ripe age of 28 it matters to me. Leslie's doing it, Sara and Scott are doing it, so I guess I'll do it too.

NaBloPoMo here I come! (Late as always!) (National Blog Posting Month - where you must post to your blog daily for a month. Not the foggiest idea how I'll manage it, but if you're a friend send me topics, otherwise I'll post embarrassing stories about you. Yes, you.)

I was lucky enough to have a short day at work today, so I spent a good part of the afternoon at the dog park. I felt bad only being able to take the dogs to the small park the other night, so I figured I owed them some good time at Harmony Valley Conservation Area.

Leaving for the park always seems to involve a chaos of details. Do I have enough bags? Cell phone? Debit card and license? Keys? Leaches (where the hell are the freaking leashes?!)? Shoes, and, if I'm feeling generous, dog cookies. As soon as I ask "who wants to go to the park" our two big dogs whip themselves into a frenzy. I'm sure sharks who have been starved for days aren't this excited about a bucket of fish guts being dumped into the ocean as our dogs when we say "park!"Publish

As always, I am a major contributor to that frenzy, and ask the same question involving those four magic letters over and over again. I'm usually punished by getting licks to the face (ew!) or a drippy nose. I'm quite convinced their heads are in fact made of cement - it sure feels like it when their head collides with mine as I'm trying to do up my shoes.

Tonight felt especially chaotic because they didn't get a full walk in after their run yesterday. I said the p-word too early in the game, before having found a blanket for the back seat of my car. We usually take Dave's car to the park which conveniently is a shaggin' wagon with plastic in the back, so it doesn't matter if it gets dirty. But since he's away, my sedan was our only driving option.

I spent a while Saturday cleaning out that car, vacuuming it until it gleamed, and there was no garbage all over the place, no pop cans on the floor. It's actually the cleanest it's been since a few weeks after I bought it.

When I couldn't find the blanket we usually use, I just said "ah it'll be fine" and locked the door and loaded up the dogs.

Mistake.

The whole trail toward the big field was just one sucking pile of mud. Mud so viscose it was slippery. Mud in the forest as well. Mud, mud mud mud mud. Black mud and sandy mud, on our white dogs. Needless to say all car cleaning progress was lost in the back seat.

Our dogs (borzoi) need one really good run every day - after about 20 minutes of sprinting and running at each other like rams they settle down and walk most of the rest of the way.

On the way home I decided to pick up a few things at the grocery store (including milk bones) and when I got back Daedalus was stretched across the length of the back seat, and Prometheus was sitting in the passenger seat, looking at me like "hey where are we going next!"

I shooed him into the back seat, much to the disappointed yelp of his brother, and looked at the now muddy prints on the passenger seat. Crap. So much for a clean car.

So now, I'm going to busy myself and forget I'm all lonely by becoming the whirling dervish of house cleaning and maybe even get some furniture re-positioned if I get a chance!

Round two with Toothless Mary

The three regular readers of this blog may or may not recall our earlier incident wherein another dog owner we've decided to name Toothless Mary, has the unendingly annoying habit of walking her dog on a 40 foot rope so that anyone around will be tripped by it or have their pants ruined. I happened to have been a victim a few weeks ago.

So tonight, while I discussed the finer points of making lawyers cry with Sara, lawyer extraordinaire, Dave went to the dog park with our dogs, nicknamed by us Captains Wanderpants and Spazzo respectively. No, that's really not their names, but it's more fun for the purposes of the story.

Wanderpants, as his name suggests, has a habit of buggering off despite clear instruction to the contrary. This includes the low toned "get back here!" which I think he hears to mean "waah wah wah whaaah wah" just like the teacher in Charlie Brown. Borzoi as a breed really could give a rat's ass about what you think. They're not like the lab in temperament who are only too thrilled to take the opportunity to please their owner. It's like training cats. Most things you say to them are taken as "suggestions." (Yes, we should put more effort into it, Yes they're worth it, Yes, we're bad dog owners.)

The dog park itself is basically a conservation area with trails through it, so you're traveling around different meadows, with trees on one side or all around you. The whole idea of the park is to get them both socialization and exercise. They really need to get a good run in every day, and the park is perfect for it.

Unfortunately, Wanderpants has been especially wanterpants-ey of late. He often sees a chipmunk, squirrel, or a leaf wafting on the wind that he finds particularly interesting and will bolt after it. They're sighthounds, that's what they do. His brother Spazzo is less wanderpants inclined.

So, tonight at the park Wanderpants starts with this "chase possibly inanimate object into deep recesses of the dog park forest" routine and Dave yells "GET BACK HERE" after him.

No response.

Dave decides a new trick to yell "SIT" given the underwhelming success "get back here" seems to garnish.

All of a sudden a light bright enough to illuminate the deep recesses of hell must have gone off in Wanderpants' brain and this 100 lb dog who normally takes a few seconds to hover his bum to the ground because of the length of his legs throws bum to ground so fast he skids on the forest floor several feet, and leaves are stuck to his bum fur. Victory!

Dave then goes into the forest, comes out with a leashed dog and on they continue.

Up ahead though is our nemesis, Toothless Mary. (dun dun dun!) She again has her husky on a 40 foot rope trailing behind, just waiting to trip unsuspecting people and ruin their pants. We're both avid non-smokers, so when he sees her light one up he decides not to catch up to the group, and just walks behind with Wanderpants on the leash, and Spazzo playing with the other dogs.

Dave oh so passive aggressively decides to position the leashed Wanderpants so that he frequently is stepping on Toothless Mary's rope, which she is bothering to hold this time. (Before she'd just left it to dangle rather uselessly.) Now, every few feet Wanderpants steps on the rope, jerking it back in her arm.

The dirty looks Toothless Mary shot at him, combined with the hilarity of the "sit" incident will leave a smile on his face for at least the next 24 hours.

Can't... keep.... secrets!

I know I really shouldn't say anything too soon.

But I've always been a wee bit impulsive, and that's overridden any superstitions I may have.

And Dave? He barely had my birthday present in the house 10 minutes last week before he was dying for me to open it. (are you gonna open it? c'mon, open it! who cares if your birthday isn't until tomorrow! open it! it's so cool! I can't wait! you gotta open it!)

The bottom line is I'm really just not good at keeping secrets. I'm an open book kinda person - there really are few things that I just won't come out and say.

So, I'll come out in say it. Kinda. Perhaps a bit of back story is helpful.

In an impulsive moment I think it's fair to say we've managed to completely change our lives. I've read about it, and am pretty sure you'd have to be nuts not to think it'll change your life.

This will be both a shock to those who know me, and to those who don't.

The funny part is that while I suck at keeping secrets, I'm a planner. I have a grocery list (usually) and keep notes of things I need to get done. I don't do things on impulse (normally).

We already have a pretty full house. I don't think it's be unreasonable to say that we also have pretty full lives.

We hadn't planned on adding to our full household until we bought a bigger house and had a bit more room. It wasn't part of the plan just yet. We're happy with life as it is - the two of us, two big dogs, and two attention-demanding cats, our jobs, and friends.

Actually, I kinda glossed over that part a bit. Our dogs are huge. Freaking huge. While they weigh just under 100 lbs, that little fact betrays them. Some labs weigh 100 lbs, but they really aren't that big. Our guys though? They're tall and lanky (an irony not lost on their short and stubby owners). That means when they lie down on their sides they can take up to 16 square feet (I've measured! Take that, impulsive side!). Not to mention the shedding of long white hairs EVERYWHERE.

On top of that, we have the two cats. Scarlett is a princess and is pretty much the boss of the house. While I should give her credit for adapting to life with giant dogs and another cat, she isn't the queen of "I love change." Rhett loves everyone and everything, such that he bites things like plants and toothpaste tubes just to get closer to them. Both think the cosiest place to sleep is not their cat beds, but on top of their owners. Have I mentioned Rhett weighs 15 lbs? (despite being restricted to a diet of vet-approved diet cat food for nearly a year)

All of this in a house that's under 1000 square feet. Probably closer to 900. Most city apartments are around this size. But, life is good, and, somehow, it's all worked out just fine. (serendipity, baby)

How would they react to a new addition to our household? How would we manage? We've been barely married a month, and right away have decided to disrupt the peace by adding to our family. It's obviously not a decision I want to take back, but it's a bit of a leap of faith.

And no, I'm not taking about renovations (though I have to admit I'm still dying to re-do our kitchen and blow out a window to make a back patio).

I can't keep it a secret anymore.



Meet the newest member of our household.







We've (I've) named him Hairy McWigglebutt. He's a Roomba - a robotic vacuum. Hairy because of the trail of hair that gets stuck in his wheels, and McWigglebutt because his rear end tends to wiggle when he's going along a straight surface.

It was starting to get to be a short trip to the looneybin when I'd sweep the floors thoroughly and methodically, top floor to bottom, only to find that 30 seconds later I'd see dust bunnies of hair come hopping through, and the next day anyone coming to visit could be forgiven for thinking that the thought of owning a broom and using it had never crossed our tiny brains.

So, when we didn't get one for the wedding, I decided to hit ebay and bought one on impulse. After much delay at customs, he arrived on Thursday night, spent a day charging, and unleashed him Saturday morning.

We hadn't swept in more than a week at that point (no judging required, thanks) and just let him rip. We sat while Hairy vacuumed our house. What a glorious concept.

This past weekend he went upstairs and down, and we were thoroughly impressed with the results. If there existed a true, gritty test for a robotic vacuum, our house is it. I think the dogs lose a pound of hair alone every week, not to mention the dirt tracked in from the park.

Hairy's presence has been met with both indifference and annoyance from the four-legged part of our house. The cats mostly stayed away, unsure what to do with this dinner plate sized noisy (but not too noisy) monstrosity bonking off various surfaces.

The dogs were innately curious about and afraid of Hairy at the same time. A few times it would bonk into their legs haphazardly and they'd jump - not in pain but in total surprise. Each time it was more hilarious, until the dogs couldn't be bothered to be either curious or upset about it, and just lay there until it got too close for comfort and they got up and moved to another location.



The floors here no longer feel like they're made of hair and sand. It's freaking awesome, and as high as my expectations were they've totally been met.

I, on the other hand, am completely in love. I can't wait to get the one that actually washes the floors, the Scooba. Our plan is to name her Sally.

Dog park drama

Dear Toothless Mary (of dog park fame),

I'm really sorry I don't know your real name, and I'm also a little bit sorry I picked such a mean-spirited moniker to apply to you, but it's really stuck since we first saw you at the dog park and neither Dave nor I can call you anything else at this point, even if we did know your real name.

First, I love the way I can usually smell you before I see you. Sometimes a wee nip in the evenings is no big deal but last I checked dog walking really isn't what you'd call a conventional drinking activity. Kudos for thinking outside the box on that one! Maybe you could drink peppermint schnapps like my grade 12 teacher so people will think it's scope!

I'll get to the point of this letter. Sure your dog is cute, but walking an active husky on a 40 foot rope? Not such a great idea. I get that huskies run away. Heck, any dog can run away, but attaching a 40 foot rope to your dog? That's not a solution. All it does is get caught on things, get dragged through the mud (you'll notice it's been a wee bit rainy of late).

Also? It really wouldn't stop the dog from running away from you because you rarely have the other end of the rope. See, a fail safe system would involve you holding the end of the rope. It's kinda like kite flying - useless unless you're still holding the string. The only way you could get him if he ran away would be to hope he got less than a 39 foot lead on you.

And, beyond not really being a solution, I'll tell you it's not exactly safe. Since you sport the combination of boozey and toothless that leads me to approach you with stereotypes (totally not fair, I agree), I'd be happy to explain why to you.

You'll notice the dog park we both use is full of both people and dogs. And, funny enough, as a fairly social place, both tend to congregate together.

You'll also notice that, since dogs are pack animals, and people are social too, it can lead to problems when one of those dogs is on a 40 foot rope. Dogs, when they congregate together do things like run around their owners. And the other dogs. This is where I take issue with the "dog + 40 foot rope" combination.

After an incident the other night I have to say a pattern is emerging.

This summer, I saw you and your dog + rope combo standing around in a group of people with their dogs. I kept walking with our dogs but witnessed something that bothered me. Your dog was running around with his rope up getting caught around a little girl's feet, causing her to fall and leaving some rope marks on her ankle. Now, in the scheme of things that's really not THAT bad, and, since I wasn't her parent I didn't say anything because I kinda figured it was her parents' job.

But last night? Come on. It was the same freaking thing! Only I was the victim! When your dog ran around the group we was standing in, wrapping the rope of a running husky around my legs. Now, there was no blood, but I have to say the rope of a running husky around one's ankle? Not a pleasant experience. The mud that's now all over my pants? Well they weren't good pants, because I knew I was going to the dog park in them, but seriously! I now have to launder them and hope the mud comes out because you think it's appropriate to have your dog run around on a big giant rope.

And, I have to say it kinda got my goat that you didn't bother to say "oh I'm sorry" or anything.

You're the owner. If your dog isn't socialized enough to stick around you, then perhaps you should invest in a leash and walk the dog in the park that way, or, you should not bring your dog to the park. There has to be some solution between "dog running away" and "injuring other park users."

So, I really didn't say anything last time, but next time? Not sure I'll keep it to myself.

Sincerely,

Cranky vonMuddypants

Fall dog walking

We're regulars at Harmony Valley Conservation Area, the unofficial off-leash park in Oshawa. The dogs absolutely love it there, and so do we. It has fantastic trails, streams, and beautiful forests and fields to walk through and there are always lots of other dogs and their owners. Dogs their size need lots of room to run and it provides just that. The other night I went sans Dave and decided to snap a few pictures.

One of the side benefits of going is that it makes us more aware of the seasons changing. I really think that too often we spend too much time inside, or going from house to car to building so that we're insulated from the world around us.


We've of course noticed it getting much cooler in the evenings (but apparently not cool enough to get rid of the mosquitoes yet!), but it's much more than that. The summer brought lots of dragonflies, fireflies, flying grasshoppers, and other insects, along the trails. In the evenings of late those have all but disappeared, and instead we are greeted with the sounds of geese honking overhead, bats swooping insects out of the air and us having to save numerous toads from an unpleasant and goobery fate by keeping the dogs moving (leeeeave ittt!). The ambient noise there is now punctuated by the song of the crickets, and, because they're sighthounds, when they see the crickets jump they love trying to snap them out of the air. I can't say they've been too successful, luckily for the crickets, but it's fun to watch.

Tidbits from the 'shwa

• I think I have shoes for the wedding! Yay!

• Dave said at Crappy Tire that we should pose for a photo he'd have called Oshawa Gothic. We were standing in Canadian Tire, having bought a shovel for the garden, a push broom, a bag of grass seed and a sprinkler. Yay for marrying a BFA kid who makes jokes like that.

• Oh, and if you were wondering, getting a zit right where you got stitches on your chin as a kid? Freaking hurts! Especially if you're a whiner!

• Though they were 2 hours and 46 minutes late (not that I was counting) on Friday two dudes came and fixed our AC. AAANNND within 5 minutes they could tell it WAS NOT the freaking thermostat, as we'd suspected all along! Take that stupid Bruno the mute, balding German from the other AC place! To put it in words poor, slow, Bruno would understand, I'll just say "eet iees NOT de shermoshtat. you vere vrong!" Dave put a stop on the cheque he wrote to Bruno and the other guys. Hah! Take that, completely incompetent air conditioning dudes!
  

• We ordered flowers for the wedding and finally finished up and mailed the invites. Sorry Dave, too late to back out now!

• Two large dogs having diarrhea (called No Fun Bum or NFB in our house) on different days this week meant hours of gastrointestinal fun for all. Don't worry, details are ot forthcoming, I'll just say it was highly gross and not something we ever hope to repeat (for their sakes and ours) and move on. We used so much bleach to clean the floor today it smells like we have an indoor pool in here. Sadly, we do not. But! We have air conditioning! And it works!
  

• While out running errands today we were cut off by a guy in another car I named Hairy McRomanNose. I thought about calling the police, but really, I think the universe had already punished the guy enough.

• I got a new pair of running shoes and running capris (they were cute! and on sale!) and took both for a spin tonight. I didn't go far or fast (4k in 30 min) but it was still good to go out. And now, I'm gonna plunk myself into the tub and use a little of the Uplifting Mandarin bubble bath from The Body Shop we were given cause it's the closest thing I can afford to a slice of heaven.
  

Oh and Rhett? He's so very tired and enjoying the new ikea basket:

Ding Ding, we have the wedding ring(s)!

This weekend was a wedding-filled one. We attended the first of seven (or is it eight... either way, way too many weddings) this year of friends' of ours. It took place at this historic mansion about an hour north of here. The ceremony itself was outside, and beautifully done. The front verandah at the mansion was probably bigger than our house, and was absolutely beautiful. I felt like we were in some sort of social in the deep south, but managed to restrain myself from breaking out the deep southern accent which I would've butchered mercilessly. The bride was absolutely ravishing, and the groom's look when he saw her would've melted hearts of stone. Luckily my giant honking sunglasses hid any of my teary moments (yeah I'm a complete sap). We took a tonne of pictures and I can't wait to share them with the bride and groom, but, lucky them, they're off on a 3 week honeymoon in Italy! Sure makes "we're heading to Montreal for a couple of nights" sound chintzy, eh?

There was one guest, who I am sure is a very nice and a lovely person, who looked like an 80s prom explosion happened, and she was covered in the results. Her dress was a lovely shade of fuscia (which actually was a pretty colour) but it was off the shoulder with a ruffled edge which, if you stretched it out end to end would probably be enough fabric to mummify her. It was tight through the bodice then had a basque waistline where it got all puffy in the skirt and mercifully ended at the knee. I say this not to disparage her (or anyone, really), but am always fascinated by other peoples' outfit choices. If the threat had been "wear this or I'll steal your car" I'd probably have chosen to take my chances with the insurance company.*

Dave wore a pink checked shirt with his new black striped suit, and I wore a pinkey-plumey sleeveless dress. Never in a million years did I think I'd see Dave in a white and pink checked shirt (and a tie that also had shades of pink on it) but it looked great on him and he chose very wisely.

Saturday morning we managed to pick out wedding rings for ourselves which was kinda nice, and Sunday was spent figuring out the wording for the invitation and finalizing a guest list. Man are weddings expensive, especially caterers! I barely slept worrying about it. Whose idea was this wedding thing anyway? And inviting people? Yeah that adds to the whole stress thing.

When we weren't doing wedding crap we were walking the dogs, and later, tending to one who thought it would be a great idea to eat a toad. Don't worry, the toad was rescued from a goobery mouth unharmed (but probably more than a bit shocked), and the dog learned a lesson** that toads secrete a poison which caused him to be very sick. The next 3 hours he was ralphing all over the car and our house, and the stench was unbearable. Apparently he also left a mess in the backyard similar to the one the electrician left in our bathroom. Same dog t-boned his brother running full speed and got a nose bleed so it was a messy day overall.

___________________________________________________________
*there are people who would have said this about the dress I wore. I'm okay with that.
**well he should have but probably didn't

The weekend in point form

I won't pretend our lives are exciting and full of jet-setting weekends, but here's the recap:

• Friday night bachelorette party in the city. The honouree was gorgeous in her "bride to be" tiara. I'm officially afraid of what my girls will be doing to me shortly. My sister's evil laugh doesn't give me any reassurance.
  

• We inherited an electric lawnmower for when the push mower just won't cut it. If only we had a working plug outside!

• Shared a wicked good Thai dinner out in Toronto with friend Saturday we hadn't seen in WAY too long. Remembered why there's no way I could live in Toronto, if only for the road rage I get driving down Yonge to Eglington. Dinner was followed by an evening of drinks (well only a Guinness for me cause I was driving) and much needed catching up at a pub with the best service known to human kind. Poor Ottawa lost. Late in the evening a drunk dude sat down with us (well much to my friend's chagrin, I invited him 'cause I'm all about having random drunk dude stories). He told un-funny jokes but he did make me bust out laughing when he winked at me and stuck his tongue out. Ew. The Firkin pub at Eglington and Yonge has the best service I think I've ever had at a restaurant.
  

• Dave spent Saturday night at a Bachelor party, the drunken debauchery we encountered on the way home reminded me of some younger days when I was "that guy." The blackmail photos are fantastic and the "I love you mans" and toasts to their women were abound. I even got called beautiful. Man I love beer goggles. Poor Dave passed out mid sentence on the way home. :)

• Dog park Saturday I was disappointed the tadpoles hadn't spouted legs yet. Every spring when I was a kid we caught tadpoles (and fed them raw hamburg which, looking back, probably wasn't good for them) and watched them grow legs and turn into frogs. Apparently they still fascinate me cause I had to run to catch up to Dave and the dogs after staring at them in the water.

• Saw a beautiful black swallowtail butterfly at the park too after the dog nearly stepped on and ate it. Yeah they're even clumsier than I am.
  

• We bought two rose bushes but the debate rages on as to where we should plant them. (doncha wish your life was as exciting as ours?)
  

• We now have a weeding tool, but have yet to use it on the dandelions on our lawn. There are only a few, so it's not that bad but any removal I suspect will be futile because our odd neighbour who is NEVER home (we've seen three times since moving here) has a lawn that's mostly yellow with a few patches of green, so it's safe to say we'll never win this battle. I'm just glad she hasn't sprayed any pesticides. I still say dandelions are pretty but some suburbs conformity has come over me and I feel the need to take them out.
  

• We looked at wedding bands. Think I've got mine picked out and Dave's narrowed his choices down to about five. We were delightfully surprised to find some that didn't look like they were mass produced.
  

• I seem to have remarkable wallpaper karma because it's coming off amazingly easy. Even better than that, the walls underneath (old lathe and plaster) hasn't been too bad a surprise. We were expecting the worst knowing that lots of people use wallpaper to hide really bad flaws in walls. Ours definitely have flaws, but the wallpaper isn't hiding anything too bad so far. Plus, it's coming off remarkably well with just vinegar and water.
  

Shave and a haircut

Not for me, for the dogs (though I'm in need of both)

Before:After:

I kinda think they look like overgrown jack russell terriers with their summer haircuts. Hopefully they won't hate me as much after a run now.

How tired was Prometheus after a 7k run this morning?

So tired he couldn't keep his tongue in his mouth he was panting so hard. Both dogs are still sleeping 4 hours later. I think we'll be giving them their summer haircut (aka shave) sooner than we had planned. It's getting too hot to run winter dogs already!

Easter Weekend Part II

For anyone who hasn't been there, I know Windsor gets a bad wrap. I openly joke (having lived there for 3 years) that it's the armpit of Ontario. It does have its rough edges but I do have a certain fondness for it. I love how diverse it is. It's apparently 4th most ethnically diverse city in Canada. There are amazing ethnic grocers, great restaurants, and there's a cool variety of faces and languages, all things that are sorely lacking in the 'shwa.

Friday night we went out with friends to play pool, Saturday night we danced like fools at the Loop - a bar that always seems to have a great and fun crowd. It's the kind of place where goth people dance with preppie dressed people, and it's no big deal to see boys hitting on other boys. No one seems to blink, and the music is usually great too.

Friday night we had wicked perogies (pierogy, peroggy, pyrogy, however you want to spell it) for dinner from the Ukrainian Church. I could have eaten them by the pound, and after eating some I walked like I had eaten several pounds. It's a good thing we live four hours away, otherwise I'd actually start looking like a perogy pretty soon, oil pouring out my sweat glands, all round and doughy. Heck, I'm already pretty pasty coloured and fairly round.

Saturday we enjoyed a great lunch with great company. I love reconnecting with friends and catching up on stories. Both Saturday and Sunday nights we were treated to delicious family Easter dinners.

We spent some of Saturday afternoon at the mall shopping for summer clothes, after realizing how much warmer things are there. We were boiling in jeans and long sleeved shirts.

Sunday was an anniversary of sorts for us - we had our first date in Windsor two years ago that day, so while we were walking the dogs along the river we stopped by and took a picture. I know, it's very fromage.

The drive home Sunday night was fairly uneventful; we passed a grass fire along the side of the highway, undoubtedly caused by someone who smokes and thinks the world is their ashtray so it's okay to just throw a butt out the window. It takes something like 14 years for a butt to break down where it falls, and they aren't exactly good for the environment (amazing I know, given how good they are for your lungs). When I run the world that kind of crap will be strictly enforced by making the offenders pick every single butt up off the ground in a 1km square area. With their teeth.

The drive home was also made more interesting because we had less room after picking up our new-to-us Christmas tree from Dave's aunt. Space normally reserved for dogs lounging in the back of the car was limited, the result of which led to Prometheus trying to figure out a way fit his 100 lb dog body onto a few inches of seat space while Daedalus lounged across most of the back seat. This is what followed:













It wasn't all dog antics; we were treated to a beautiful sunset as well.

Easter Weekend Part I: wherein Dave's brother should get a medal

After an exhausting day at work Thursday, we went for a walk with my parents and the dogs, and left with with cats for the weekend (that's right, pickup service from FREE cat-sitters!?), and we frantically packed our things and headed for Windsor for the weekend to see friends and family.

I'd tell you about the four hour drive down but I slept through about 75% of it. As soon as we were through Toronto I was out like a light until we dogs,r un, stopped in Woodstock, where I was awake long enough to run bleary eyed into the service centre, use the facilities, wash my hands (unlike some people who made ungodly noises and smells in the stall beside me and left WITHOUT WASHING! Aaaahhhh!), ate a Boston creme from Timmie's (mmm dinner) and was asleep again almost before we merged onto the highway.

When we arrived in Windsor, we made up the pull-out couch, let the dogs out, and promptly slept like the dead.

The next morning I went for a run (8k is easier sans dog), and we headed out to the P-A-R-K (because that word can't be said out loud without frenzied jumping of two 100lb dogs) where the dogs found (read "scare the living bejeebus out of") a tiny stray cat. Anyone who knows me knows what happened next.
Once the little kitten was happily situated in Dave's mom's bathroom with food and water we asked around to see if she belonged to anyone. No one we talked to knew anything of a missing cat. There was no lost report with the humane society, or the local no-kill shelter either. She had a weird collar, but no tag, and, after a car ride she didn't exactly love, we found out she had no microchip.

She wolfed down food like she hadn't eaten in weeks and it quickly became evident she was a really sweet-natured cat. She was around 8-10 months old, and completely adorable.

I knew we couldn't take her home, no matter how much I wanted to. We already have two HUGE dogs and two cats in our tiny house. But knowing that and actually not bringing her home was tough. I polled everyone I knew and, despite their best efforts, no one could find a home for her. I should admit that all weekend I kept telling Dave that I loved her and wanted to bring her home and name her George but he played the tough guy and saved me from the certain insanity that bringing another animal into our house would lead to.

Thanks to Dave's brother, this story has a happy ending. I think we've weaseled him into keeping her. He has almost as big a soft spot for animals as I do and I think she wormed her way into his heart. It's great to know she'll be cared for and loved. I'll help with vet bills to get her spayed. What an awesome guy to take her in!

Dave wasn't fond of George as a name for her and suggested we call her Gobi. She has a grey and sandy tone to her coat so I figured it was perfect. Gobi quickly learned to follow whatever human was in the bathroom and jumped in the shower with both Dave and I. She loves running water and ignored the bowl of water we gave her in exchange for a great romp in the sink whenever the tap was turned on. She drank from the tap at a fevered pace.
This is a video of her, narrated by an especially dorky me. Don't say you weren't warned about just how dorky I am.

We also took the dogs for a walk along the Detroit River. I'm completely amazed at the difference traveling a few hundred kilometers south makes in not only the weather but how far along spring is there. The grass is much greener, the tulips and daffodils are in bloom (or about to burst), the magnolia trees are flowering and it feels like summer. I'd guess they are easily 2-3 weeks ahead of things here. Friday definitely felt like an early summer day and we were really wishing we'd packed shorts and t-shirts instead of jeans and long sleeves (and coats!).

We enjoyed lunch at my favourite Thai restaurant (and I got my Thai iced coffee!) with Dave's brother and his girlfriend. Being a former regular it was nice that the owners recognized me and came over to say hello. We even managed to hit an Asian market and find tamarind candies (they're SO good). If you ever see any of these pick up a package, you won't regret it.

We're off to see my grandfather in hospital now; he was seriously hurt on the farm a couple of days ago and I've been wishing we were closer so I could visit all weekend. I come by my love of animals honestly, and it's mostly from him. I'm not ready to blog about it until I know things are going better. I'll finish blogging about the weekend later.

Dog park at dusk

The frogs in the marsh Sunday were almost deafening. This was recorded after the dogs ran through the water, which not only scared the living daylights out of the frogs but silenced half of them. I think anything as small as these frogs that can sing this loud should get a mate.

Trotting uphill

I love the way the faint vapour trails crisscross the sky like fireworks.

There were definitely signs of spring popping through the sandy soil.

Stopping for a kiss.

Efficiency, thy name is woman

We actually rented a carpet steamer Tuesday night, and got around to using it Wednesday night. We just have the basement carpet to clean, since the rest of the house is hardwood floors. The carpet was getting dingy from both "muddy dog paw" and "boys who helped us move in during a rainstorm" stains. Since we had to return it tonight, I decided while Dave was at work that I'd finish off the job.

It was easy, really, once I figured out how to work it. Yes, it really did take me a minute or two. After that, I packed the steamer and the mostly useless upholstery brush up and lugged them upstairs and out to the car.

Carpet steamers leave carpets pretty wet. So, we thought turning up our trusty little dehumidifier on Wednesday night would help things dry out by morning. It sounded fine, and, having just bought it in August, I didn't suspect a problem until we found it still making all the right noises but with no water in its little bucket this morning, despite running all night.

So, I figured no big deal, I'll just take the dehumidifier back to the big box store from whence it came after taking the carpet steamer back to the grocery store.

I thought I'd cleverly stashed the dehumidifier receipt in its box in spite of the chaos that was going on at the time. We had just combined households for the first time, in the middle of a rain storm (before this we lived 500 miles apart) and had the added fun of his dogs and my cats mingling for the first time. Apparently I hadn't done the clever stashing as planned since the only thing I found in it was some styrofoam and the cats' nail clippers, which, while a great find, wasn't the receipt I was looking for. I lugged the dehumidifier into the box and upstairs to the car.

Since it's not yet flip flop weather here yet, I went upstairs to put socks on before heading out, only to step in something wet upstairs in the bedroom. Prometheus (Yep, Russian dog, Greek name) looked up at me sheepishly as I yelled (not at him) all manner of obscenities about what this new wet liquid on my foot could be. I even asked him but, being the type of creature who eats entire bars of soap (and is also fond of eating my underwear) he had no answer for me. I even told him later that the wet goo was probably a result of his kleenex eating habits, and that kleenex was not part of the doggie food groups but got the same blank stare I got earlier. I stopped wondering and swearing long enough to wipe the goo off my foot in disgust (with a kleenex he likely ate after I left) and threw a pair of socks on, only to realize by the time I got downstairs that there was still an icky wet feeling between two of my toes.

At the grocery store I found myself being stared at by a woman in the paring space beside me who looked like she would rather eat a bowl full of cockroaches than get out of her perch in her van. Her husband (I assume) was exhaustedly slugging the boxes of pop and tv dinners they had bought into the van while she sat there with the van running, barking orders at him. She looked at me as though I had horns, and pity like she wondered what I'd done wrong not to have a pop and tv dinner slinging man of my own. It was truly a 'shwa moment. I lugged my wallet, cell phone, car keys and the big lug of a carpet steamer and its hoses into the grocery store from whence it came. Her van was still running with her in it when I returned to the car. Apparently not everyone got the whole "fossil fuels are bad for global warming" memo.

I hit anonymous big box store, lugged the humidifier in the door and explained I had no receipt but could they please take back the defective humidifier and give me a new one and I'd be happy to get out of their hair. After some deliberation and calling in some reinforcements from another department they agreed and the guy went to get a cart to bring a replacement dehumidifier out to me. When it arrived, I thanked them and grabbed the box (almost the size of my arm span but not really that heavy) from the cart and walked with it out the door to the car.

I had planned to do much more tonight but ran out of steam, hence the title not really fitting this post. Here's hoping the list in court tomorrow is short and I can spend some of the afternoon getting housey crap done before the new couch arrives Saturday!