Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Ruff Days

Not much to report here. Lots of SSDD. Dave's had the last four days off, and yeah, I totally love him, but cripes! I have my own schedule of sleeping, eating, and working, and when Dave's here for more than two, three days at the most, well, we start to get gripey. Not about anything important, of course, just stupid little stuff. We've always been like this so it's become a running joke of sorts.

Anyways. We went to the DPS today, I changed my name and address. I didn't realize that I'd have to take another picture since I renewed my license less than ten months ago so Dave had quite a laugh when the lady said, "And step behind the green square, please." I was in blue jean gauchos, one of Dave's plain grey t-shirts, my lime green and hot pink 'ROOS, with my hair clipped up, curls all over the place. At least I had the foresight to put on some concealer and powder and my diamond studs before leaving the house--otherwise ICK! I would have won the Frumpy HouseFrau Award.

Bos has had a "ruff" couple of days. Get it, ruff? A ha ha ha...sigh. I'm so lame today.

Where was I? Oh yeah. Bos. He's been really snippy this last week, chewing and snapping at whatever is near him. I've noticed that when he's going through a growth spurt he's a real piss head and super manic. One minute he's my little snugglebumpkins and the next he's gnawing on my ankle like it's a knuckle bone straight from the butcher. Needless to say, we're working on that.

Yesterday while Dave and I were out buying groceries, Bos must have gotten bored and decided that Dave's latest Stephen King paperback looked like the tastiest of all chew toys. I was stunned when I opened the front door and found Bosley sitting in a pile of ripped pages, paper confetti still raining down on him. We're talking 700 plus pages of paper shredded all over the living room! What a freakin' nightmare!

After that he was on Dave's shit list. Oh, and did I mention that he decided to pinch off a few upstairs in the hallway. Yeah. Dave was steamed. Bosley seems to sense when Dave is angry because he does a lot of hiding behind my legs or under the nearest table. Weenie.

Then last night, Dave and I are snuggled on the couch watching The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson and Bosley, who's sleeping between the couch and the wall, shoots up, spins around, and starts making snapping noises at the baseboard. Curious, I lean over to see what he's up to--and I almost pee myself. It's a SCORPION!! A HUGE EFFING SCORPION IN MY LIVING ROOM CRAWLING ACROSS THE CARPET.

I'm shaking and screaming for Dave to kill it, but Bosley has decided to play the brave defender and is trying to bite the damn thing. I try to yank him away, but at almost 6 months and ripped like a body builder, he's impossible to out muscle. Needless to say, the scorpion bit him two or three times on his chin before Dave was able to get in between them and stomp the bastard to death.

When we finally settled down, Bosely didn't seem the least bit worried about the scorpion bites. He wanted to play and run and jump and throw his toys. Normally, I don't care, but it was, like, 1 o'clock in the morning. So we head up to bed and Bos follows us up and for like, five minutes, he was nice and calm, but then he picked up his rope toy and started galloping from the bedroom to the hallway, furiously swinging the toy side to side, hitting the wall, the door, the TV stand, and our bed. Again, if he was a small dog, I wouldn't care, but when 60 plus pounds of awkward, stumbling Great Dane is hurtling around your bedroom, it's impossible to sleep. Unless you're Dave and apparently you can sleep through anything.

I take Bos downstairs and put him outside to run and play. It's three o'clock. I'm bleary-eyed but suffering insomnia so I figure, "Eh, what the hell. I'll write." I grab a notebook and pen and start writing longhand. I get through half a chapter before Bosley decided he's ready to come in. I pet him, close the door, and give him one those fake bacon treats he loves so much. He gobbles it down, gulps down some water, and then starts pacing nervously. I watch him intently, certain that he's about to start barking. He heads into the living room, looks at the door, looks at me, looks at the door, looks at me, looks up the stairs, looks at me and then opens his mouth. I cringe, ready for an eardrum bustin bark, but instead, I hear SPLAT!

Oh, that's right. He puked everywhere. Jesus, Maria y Jose! Like gallons of the stuff. I mean, I'm no wimp when it comes to puke, but this stuff was sour and brown and bacony. Ugh.

*Icky story ahead. You might want to skip down to the next paragraph* Just a random story from my days as a medic: Once, I had to ride an emergency transfer from E-town to San Angelo (fifty plus miles) with a bazillion year old woman that had a fecal impaction, some kind of lower GI blockage, and a horrendous case of the egg burps. As we were loading her onto the gurney for the transfer, she started dry heaving and then vomiting and--well--let's just say that it looked like Wolf Brand Chili and smelled like a broken sewer main. It was horrendous. Imagine that for fifty plus miles, in the back of an ambulance, with like minimal air flow. The second we pulled into the ER Bay, I freakin' bailed, sucking air like a fish tossed onto a pier.

After his gastric episode, Bosley followed me upstairs and settled down. He slept straight through the night and most of the morning. Dave and I felt so bad for him--first the scorpion, then the pukes--that we stopped by our local PetCo dog bar to pick up a pound of tasty treats. You know, things like those dog cookies, the peanut butter bears, the veggie o's... Man, he loves those.

A'ight. This post is pretty boring, but bear with me. I'll have something better tomorrow. Hopefully.

Back to my writing...

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