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.
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!
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!
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.
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.
For anyone who might be in the market, I have just one tip about buying a house. It's very simple. I'll even put it in bold, and all caps.
NEVER BUY A HOUSE THAT HAS WALLPAPER ON THE CEILING. NEVER.
NEVER, EVER, EVER EVER.
No matter how pretty the house is, or how perfect it is otherwise. Run away. Do not buy it, simply run away. Such wallpaper is the work of the devil. It will cause you to invent swear words at an alarming rate. It will not only defy gravity butall laws of decorating decency, and mock you as it stays in place despite your hacking at it with a scraper and dousing it with vinegar and water.
This is even more the case when the previous owner who did this work (now known colloquially as "fucknut" or "jerkface" or "asshat") put a fresh coat of polyfill down before putting the wallpaper up, WITHOUT ANY PRIMER so now it just becomes on sticky, gooey, annoying, piss-off.
For now, I'll get back to my margarita breakfast (yes, really) before the dogs are successful at drinking it on me (yes, they've tried), and back to stripping wallpaper off the ceiling and helping Dave with the re-plastering job, which, when it is done, dried, and sanded, we will paint and prime like normal people.
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.
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.
I won't pretend our lives are exciting and full of jet-setting weekends, but here's the recap:
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.
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!
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.
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.
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!
I've complained before about the amount of pet hair in our house. It's ridiculous, almost unbelievable. We have dog hair tumbleweeds rolling across our floors no matter how often we sweep, vacuum, or mop them. It's bad enough that I think the hair tumbleweeds get some secret pleasure torturing me and jumping out just when I think I've gotten them all. To make it worse they seem to all congregate together and know just when we have people over to give the impression that we've never heard of this new fangled thing called "cleaning" or we're trying to re-enact a prairie field in the dirty thirties.
I have, however, thought of a genius way to make some moulah out of our hair tumbleweeds. [Well actually Dave thought of it, but I'm claiming it as my own.]
I think we should use collect the excess hair from the dogs to make Santa Claus beards for mall Santas. The hair is soft, and it's probably long enough to be able to make a pretty decent fake beard. Any stray black or golden hairs could be ones that just hadn't turned white yet, making our dear mall Santa look more authentic, maybe even a bit younger. Santa can blame the dog smell on reindeer, cause really, could you tell the smell difference between reindeer and dog? I think it'd add a great touch of authenticity really.
I have no idea how much a real-looking Santa beard would go for but I am sincerely hoping it'll be enough to help us out with our early retirement plan (which so far is made up of us crossing our fingers when buying lottery tickets). I figure each dog could churn out six beards each per season, maybe eight in the spring (ie now) cause of all the extra shedding. Anyone know how much a deluxe Santa beard goes for nowadays? I have high hopes.
Last year when I was articling I barely made enough money to get by. I'm a pro at the "just past its best" section of the grocery store and for months I bought only what I absolutely needed. The only splurges that whole year were a pair of running shoes and a suit I needed for work.
This year, things are better financially - I have a job that pays pretty well and I've actually been able to save for the wedding and stuff. Mortgage payments are cheaper than rent.
I really wanted to take clinics at the running room last year but money and the time to do it both got in the way. I would have had to get downtown and get out of work at a decent hour, both of which would've been hurdles for me.
Now, I have a job with pretty decent hours (and by those I mean pretty amazing hours compared to most lawyers) and am no longer afraid that buying the regular produce (ie not the stuff that's starting to go bad) will wreck my budget. It's a good feeling.
Other than the couch and chair I bought, there really haven't been any big splurges on my part. It's all been things we really needed for the house.
I have to say I've always been a gadget kid, especially when it came to sports. When I was 12 going on 13 my parents got me my first 10 speed bike. Growing up with my dad being big into cycling I wanted to be good at it and wanted to get a little computer that would tell me how far I'd gone, how fast I was going and how long it had taken me (incidentally having a dad who was into cycling also meant seeing lotsa dudes walking around in cycling shorts at our house when I was little which is a whole other story entirely).
I saved up all the loonies I could and paid the $22.99 (all in change, I'm sure the cashier loved me) it cost at Canadian Tire and installed it on my first "real" bike. I biked more than 1000km that summer and to this day remember the exact spot where the sporty little yellow odometer's digits turned to 1000km. I felt like I'd won the Tour de France and raced home to brag to everyone.
I'm more than twice as old as I was then but the gadget vibe is still strong. This week I bought a Garmin Forerunner 301. For the uninitiated this gadget is a heart rate monitor and GPS (oooh!) system that tells you how far you've gone, and what route you take, and your heart rate and speed, download it all to your computer, and about a gagillion other features I have yet to figure out. It has yet to make me breakfast, but I'm guessing that's about the only thing it can't do.
Figuring this sucker out has not been a cake walk. First, getting a satellite signal (wherein I stand outside by the road, holding the little watch part to the sky like a complete moron) was hard, but eventually got one. Then, installing the software on my computer so it'd recognize the unit was an experience that nearly led me throwing the new gadget and my laptop out an upstairs window. Luckily Dave came to the rescue and everything is working as it should.
67
Yesterday was the first day I had it all up and running and so I crudely put in some information in it, leashed up the dogs, and took it out. All was going great until I realized that spending my lunch with the gadget to the sky meant I had only eaten a bowl of cereal in the morning, 4 triscuits, some light frulano cheese, an apple, and an orange all day and it was now 5:30pm. This meant that 3k into my run I started to bonk and ended up walking with the dogs the rest of the route.
Hopefully after a glass of milk and a banana this morning I'll be good to go and figure out how the sucker works. If only there weren't wet snowflakes falling I'd be so much more motivated to go!
[UPDATE: I went 6.67km this morning in 46 minutes, burning 496 calories with an average heart rate of 164... can't wait to run in NICE weather!]
I can't take credit but got a chuckle out of these so I thought I'd share:
Collie + Lhasa Apso
Collapso, a dog that folds up for easy transport
Spitz + Chow Chow
Spitz-Chow, a dog that throws up a lot
Bloodhound + Borzoi
Bloody Bore, a dog that's not much fun (ah if only our Borzoi weren't... um "tutored")
Pointer + Setter
Poinsetter, a traditional Christmas pet
Kerry Blue Terrier + Skye Terrier
Blue Skye, a dog for visionaries
Great Pyrenees + Dachshund
Pyradachs, a puzzling breed
Pekingnese + Lhasa Apso
Peekasso, an abstract dog
Irish Water Spaniel + English Springer Spaniel
Irish Springer, a dog fresh and clean as a whistle
Labrador Retriever + Curly Coated Retriever
Lab Coat Retriever, the choice of research scientists
Newfoundland + Basset Hound
Newfound Asset Hound, a dog for financial advisors
Terrier + Bulldog
Terribull, a dog that makes awful mistakes
Bloodhound + Labrador
Blabador, a dog that barks incessantly
Malamute + Pointer
Moot Point, owned by....oh, well, it doesn't matter anyway
Collie + Malamute
Commute, a dog that travels to work
Deerhound + Terrier
Derriere, a dog that's true to the end
Bull Terrier + Shitzu
Bull Shitzu, a gregarious but unreliable breed
Of late, it seems that Scarlett has made peace with the dogs. While she's still fully in control (and swats at will when they irritate her), it's like she's decided that since we have yet to get rid of the dogs, they're probably staying so she decided to get used to it. Just after this picture was taken Scarlett went up to Daedalus and licked his forehead.
I still think she was saying "what a filthy thing you are, [sigh] here let me clean you up" but it certainly seemed to be out of affection. I doth anthropomorphize too much.
We went out for Thai food on Friday night, and MMMM was it good. So good, in fact that I just enjoyed leftover green curry veggies & tofu with jasmine rice for dinner. Is there anything more delightful than mango sticky rice? I drank jasmine tea by the gallon.
What a GORGEOUS weekend! It was so nice to have a taste of spring.
Saturday the weather was just amazing. It was about 15 degrees but the sky was perfect blue with high whispy clouds and a light springey breeze. We rallied the dogs and drove to Cobourg (where I grew up) to visit my parents. We all went for a walk along the harbour, out the pier, across the beach, and through the downtown. I had hoped to get some adorable treat jars for dog and cat treats but sadly, no luck.
It was so sunny, that on the ride home I decided I simply had to get a new pair of sunglasses. So, for $20 I now have sporty sunglasses which do a much better job than the other $20 pair I have which aren't that dark and have a nasty habit of pulling out my hair.
Looking back I really wish I'd gone for a rollerblade late Saturday when we got home. I really got hooked on blading to work last year in Ottawa and can't wait to get at it again. I still really stink at it but am getting better.
I even got 2 runs in with the dogs, about 5.2 km on Saturday, and 4.8km on Sunday. I felt good after both and am seriously hoping I can stay on track and get going on the weights in an effort to cure my comfy bum. I'm starting the Running Room 10k clinic on Tuesday night and am really looking forward to it.
I'm starting to get pretty excited about spring. The dose of spring weather we had the last 2 days (which I gather will be short lived, they're forcasting rain/snow and temperatures hovering around 0).
I'm looking forward to seeing the fruits of me planting a whack of tulips, hyacinths and daffodils bulbs in OUR garden this fall. I'm getting nerdy about gardening this summer, having our own yard and I'd really like to have a nice garden out front, with mint growing in it for mojitos.
I'm also looking forward to more hours of light in the evening and firing up the BBQ we inherited from my grandmother. She insists she's too afraid to use it (lest it explode) so she gave it to us. It just needs a good cleaning after sitting idle for a few years. I might even give it a fresh coat of BBQ paint to make it look all new and shiney.
The only downside of the glimpse we had of spring is that the zoo has started shedding MORE than they were before. As if that were even possible! It's a good thing my spring cleaning instinct has kicked in.
SCARLETT:
Can you find the cat in this picture? 
She wasn't impressed when I lifted the blanket... she got totally miffed I had found her. It's like when little kids cover their eyes with their hands to 'hide' so you don't know where they are. 
RHETT:
Doesn't like to pass up any opportunity he can to nap and be near food, cat toys and sunshine. This morning he manages to get all four within a span of a couple of feet. 
I think the orchid in the terrarium is the only plant in the house he hasn't figured out how to munch on.
PROMETHEUS:
When it comes to intellect, he's definitely the omega dog. The dogs, when left to their own devices long enough seem to always find a way over to the neighbours' yard through the cedar hedges, no matter how many of them we've tried to block off. We're off to Home Depot in a bit to get some mesh to put along the length of the fence, and hopefully that will put an end to their adventures.
This morning they wandered over there again. Daedalus was smart enough to come back over, but, since the trip back over required Prometheus to do more than come straight through at one point, it became an intellectual challenge of olympic proportions for Prometheus. He couldn't figure out "enter bushes at point A, exit bushes on the other side at point B". 
Eventually we gave up trying to coax him and Dave went through the bushes himself, to show him how it was done. This is the same dog who dove into a river after seeing a chocolate lab do it and stood, neck deep in rushing, freezing water, completely clueless and terrified as to what he should do to get out of a "neck deep in rushing water" situation. It took some coaxing to get him out of that mess as well. 
He's since found some laundry to lie on. 
DAEDALUS:
Made it through the bushes the first time he was called. We think he's just smart enough to get himself in trouble (but not much more). 
If we let him, he'd definitely choose the life of a lap dog. As it is, given how heavy, big, and bony he is, the hardwood floor seemed like a pretty good place for him to pass out this morning. 
I'll be the first to tell ya that our dogs are, well, quirky. To that end Daedalus (again Russian dog, Greek name) has recently developed a fear of stairs. Not just any stairs, but the ones he's been going up and down daily since August. Seriously.
I've spent this week stripping a gajillion layers of paint off a door, and doing a ton of other 'housey' things which have led me to move things out of the way to the upstairs landing. From our upstairs hall there are 3 stairs down, a landing with a 90 degree turn, a bunch more stairs, another landing and one more stair down to the front hall in our house.
Now, to be fair these dogs have trouble with hardwood floors. They're HUGE (90 lbs) and have a pretty high centre of gravity, so stairs can be tricky. Every so often we hear a big pile of kerthumps when they come down the stairs, but when we rush over to investigate the kerthumping they just look at us like "what? what are you doing here? What's all the fuss?" and move on like nothing's happened and we're the idiots for making sure they're okay.
Daedalus, though, has decided that when there is ANYTHING on the landing he can't go down the stairs. Putting ONE object on the landing made "go downstairs" an irretrievably different process, like the simple command "go downstairs" had been turned into "solve an algebra equation" or "write a memo explaining secured transactions."
This new-found fear is accompanied with a great deal of whining and whimpering, pacing (accompanied with some sad eyes), louder whining and whimpering and, just once, a frustrated bark. Anyone hearing the whining would think that we had stopped feeding him weeks ago and he was finally on his last legs(admittedly our dogs actually LOOK like we've stopped feeding them weeks ago, it's just the breed though, they're borzoi. Rest assured they eat by the bucket full).
Now I'm not a total meanie - I get up and hold his collar and let him do the walking past the landing and all is well, as if the combingation of me touching his collar and his whining, pacing, whipering, sad eyes and bark had now magically turned the stairs, once again, into the same old stairs he had always known.
I think he knows I'm blogging about him because he just farted. I swear our dogs are like that campfire scene from blazing saddles when they want to be.
