izzybella

Full-time foster dad picked her up this morning. Is it wrong that I slightly miss her? Even though she peed in the dining room right in front of me after I already took her out? I think it must mean I’m crazy.

On the plus side, I’m sleeping in tomorrow.

That is all.

I’ve only had her for about a week. So far she:

1. knocked over a soup tureen belonging to a friend. The soup went everwhere as did the broken glass. I’m trying to get her out of the way of the glass shards, while she is simultaneously trying to lick up the soup.

2. Eaten her own feces.

3. Eaten Syd’s vomit.

4. Tried to kiss my hand after eating said feces and vomit.

5. Had two (possibly three) epileptic seizures. These aren’t her fault and I wasn’t angry with her–just scared.

5. Peed in the dining room even though I had just let her out.

6. Ate some more feces, prompting me to go outside with a large trashbag and pick up six months worth of dog-poo. It was a smelly job and, yeah, I know…past due. But it was truly gross. She’s not nearly as interested in the backyard as she was before.

7. Ate a bar of soap (while bathroom counter surfing). According to poison control, this causes severe vomiting and diarrhea in humans, but they didn’t know about dogs. She was therefore rushed to the animal clinic where she got a dog biscuit and a clean bill of health.

8. ate some more vomit. Mmm…after dinner snack.

9. Stole Syd’s food and water.

10. Literally stood behind syd’s er…behind while Syd was deficating–like a kid holding his mouth to a waterhose. I mean GROSS. GROSS, GROSS, GROSS.

11. has been sweet as pie the other 65% of the time.

I’m doubting my suitability for fostering. Honestly, I have considered dogicide. Okay, not really, but when she’s not being the sweetest most adorable dog on earth, she’s eating something vile or making a mess in the house, or countersurfing and breaking something.

The vet who gave her a clean bill of health said she’d likely have some gastro-intestinal issues over the next day or two. The only gastronomical distress has come in the form of the most noxious gas fumes I have ever smelled in my 37 years of life. It’s truly disgusting. And yet…she’s cute. DAMN my dog-loving self. It’s pitiful.

Her full-time foster will be picking her up tonight or tomorrow (cross your fingers for tonight). As cute as she is, I’ll be glad to pass her back to her rightful (full-time) foster mom. After which Dad wants to go with us to see “Marley and Me.” Hopefully it’s amusing when it’s happening to someone else…

Thanks, oh great and wonderful Internet, for letting me vent. It was good of you.

So the dog I’m temporarily fostering is definitely a morning dog.  I, on the other hand, am not a morning person.  So basically any hopes I had for sleeping in while on my two week vacation have been dashed.  But it’s okay because she’s a really cute dog.  I’ll live. grumble, grumble.

I am at the box office right now.  It’s easier work than usual because we are sold out for the remainder of the run.  That means my phone calls go like this:

Me: Theatre X, izzybella speaking

Caller: Hi, I’m calling to find out if you have tickets available for the 2 o’clock matinee.

Me: I’m sorry, ma’am, but that show is sold out.  In fact, we are sold out the remainder of the run.

Caller: Oh, so no tickets tonight?

Me: No, ma’am we are sold out.  You might try going to Will Call an hour before the show starts and get on the waiting list-we release tickets that haven’t been picked up at about 5 minutes before the show starts.

Caller: Oh, can I get on the list now?

Me: You actually have to go in person to the box office an hour before the show starts.

Caller: Oh, okay.

Then three seconds later, they call back to ask about Sunday’s availability.  It’s okay-I don’t get impatient when it comes to that.  I just kind of find it amusing.

I’m working at a local B&N after my theatre shift-I’m “wrapping for retreivers.”  The things I do for the love of labrador retreivers.  But really, they’re awesome dogs.  Super friendly and affectionate; generally calm and easy-going around children.  Just the ultimate awesome dog.  And the babies have tons of energy and make really good walking partners.  As far as dogs go, in my completely unbiased opinion, they’re tops.

I’ve been reading Beedle the Bard in between phone calls.  Love.  Some of the comments by Dumbledore and the footnotes by JKR are so funny.  It really is just another fabulous window into the world that Rowling created.  If I could be half the writer she is, I’d still be an awesome writer.  So imaginative.  I have JKR hero worship.  It’s okay.  I don’t stalk.

I think I’ll end this post here.  Elle took my box office matinee shift-the least I can do is get the paperwork ready for her.  Good times.

I must once again pen an ode to Dr. Pepper.  Ahem, hem (clearing my throat): Dearest Doctor, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee for thy 23 different flavors all melded into one caffeinated bottle of bliss.  I love thee even more when thou art icy in thy coldness, and even more than that when thou are given to me free of charge…  Eh, screw it.  I’m a terrible poet.  On the plus side, I can sometimes tell a good joke without laughing my ass off when I get to the punchline (I’m lookin’ at you, X,  and you know who you are…pithy).  Just saying.

On a completely non-related topic, today is Thursday.  FINALLY.  For some reason yesterday felt like Thursday and today feels like Friday.  I’m off my schedule.  Why does the week before vacation draaaaaagggg on like sitting through Seven Years in Tibet.  Again.   (also known as Seven Years In My Seat).  It’s that long.  On the plus side, after tomorrow ends, I don’t have to come back to my job till next year.  I love sayin’ that.  ‘Cause it feels like I have all this tremendous amount of time, when in fact, I’ll only be gone for two weeks.  But I’m gonna enjoy those two weeks like nobody waxy-bees.  I have big plans for those two weeks.  For starters, I’m going to temp foster a sweet lab baby.  I’m sorry, did I hear you say you wanted a picture?  Oh, sure.  Here you are:

Cute, isn’t she?  Dogs are adorable when they’re sleeping.  Also, when they’re awake.  In case you were wondering, I’m a fan of dogs.  She’s up for adoption for a deserving family in North Texas.  Just click on her picture and you can get the details.

Besides being the ultimate dog caretaker, I’m planning on cleaning out my closet and getting rid of the crap I hang on to but don’t actually need or use.  How about that.  Yeah, I’m a rebel.  I may follow it up with milk and cookies and a story before naptime.

Okay, so I’m not going on some exotic vacation on my two weeks off.  The important thing is that when it comes to my day job, I will be at a where that is else.  You can’t buy that kind of joy.  Wait a minute.  You probably could buy it.  ‘Cause if I won the lottery, I would not be one of those down-to-earth types who put it all in savings and continue working at their 8-5 job.  No ma’am.  I’m quitting and going on an extended vacation to Italy and Greece.  But I won’t totally forget about the people I used to work with.  I’ll send postcards and everything.

The daisies Elle bought me for my birthday are still alive.  They’re so pretty.

Work is dead today.  I’ve finished everything I’m required to do and worked on other projects I’ve been putting off, and here it is, 4:30, and I’m counting down the minutes to 5:00.  I’m a clock watcher.  A watcher of clocks.  I’m that employee.  I should be ashamed, and I promise to feel bad about it for a few minutes when I’m driving home.

I received a bamboo plant in the office Christmas exchange.  I really like it, but it’s already getting yellow leaves.  I think I’m killing it and I’ve only had it for like, a week.  I’m going to put it in my boss’s office over the two-week holiday so it can get a little sun. 

I got into grad school for social work.  I applied for a scholarship today that I really hope I get.  Scholarship means I don’t have to borrow money for the first semester from my parents.  And not borrowing money means that they have nothing to hang over my head.  Not that they do that-they’re actually really decent about loaning me money.  It probably helps that I always pay them back.  But it’s still better finding an alternative to parental loans.

Okay, I’m ending the randomness now.  Have to return to this thing I call job.  Be good.

I already said it, I know, but he’s the cutest thing ever. And he’s sweet and has the most wonderful personality. But…he’s too much dog for me. Saturday, I got a phone call from his new foster parent. We drove to his house (about 45 miles away) and delivered puppy and about 40 pounds worth of puppy food. They have a lovely home with tile floors (makes clean-up easier) and a doggy door so he can run outside to his heart’s content. I think it will be a good home.

But I miss him. I admit it-he’s a cool dog and he will make some lucky person a marvelous pet!!

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Happy Birthday, gorgeous!!!

…saw it on a bumper sticker on the back of some guy’s truck.  I thought it was funny.  It really has nothing to do with the remainder of this blupdate, but how could I not share?  If you live in Utah, replace “Aggie” with “BYU coed” and it’ll still be funny.

So I’m fostering a rescue dog right now.  Before I get into the “holy crap, what’d I get myself into” part of this blupdate, let me list the positives.  For starters, he’s a cute dog.

See?  Really cute.  And you can’t tell so much from the photograph, but his fur isn’t that muddy brown color lots of chocolate labs have-it’s this glorious rich shade of dark chocolate, with little flecks of deep red.  He’s also larger than he looks in the picture.  On all fours, his head comes up to my hip.  I’m 5′5 so that should tell you something.  He’s cute.  He just is.  He has a wonderful temperament.  He’s like an enourmous teddy bear with puppy dog ears and a wagging tail.  He’s cuddly and he loves, loves, loves being with people.  But he’s only two, so in all the essentials, he’s still a puppy.

…which brings us to the next paragraph.  First, he thinks he’s a lap dog.  He’s not.  He weighs almost 100 pounds.  Imagine 100 pounds of dog landing square on your chest in the middle of the night.  Sounds painful, no?  Yes, it is painful and I have boob bruises to prove it.  He now sleeps in the crate.  He doesn’t like that very much, but I don’t like 100 pounds of dog on my boobs.  Just me, maybe.  Then he’s a counter surfer.  He’s so tall that his chin fits rather neatly on all of the kitchen counters.  When he finds something he likes, up he jumps.  He knows the commands sit and stay-he just doesn’t think they necessarily apply to him all the time.  He’s always ON.  Ordinarily I would find this endearing, but he is undergoing treatment for heartworm and we’re supposed to keep him quiet and exertion-free.  Gah!  Damn dog doesn’t know he’s sick and all he wants to do is run and play.  Oh, and hump.  He’s a definite humper.  He’s completely food-focused and is always trying to steal Syd’s food.  The fact is, he’s just too much dog for me.  I NEVER thought I would say that.  The rescue group is currently looking for a different foster home for him, one that has an experience dog training.  Ostensibly I should be happy about that.  But, but, but…he’s so cute.  There’s something incredibly lovable about a 100 pound dog who wants to be so close to you that he tries, unsuccessfully, to sit on your lap and rest his chin on your shoulder. 

Anyway, this is my crazy life for the time being.  And I can’t really complain, because I brought it all on myself.  Next time, we foster a senior dog.  I know how to handle senior dogs.  But deep in the back of my crazy, crazy head, I’ll be missing Ved.  I’m poet and I didn’t know it.  Yeah, okay, whatever.  I’m done blupdating for now.