Tags: meko

elizabeth potc

Pupdate 2: The Puppening

Oh my God, I am so tired. (Yes, I am going to begin every entry with "I am so tired" until I stop being tired.) We now have two puppies, for a total of four dogs and one Bad Cat, and I ended up not getting today off from Witchfinder Dogsitter General duty. (Mulch this, okay?) Fortunately, Shelby (who spent most of the week pitifully thin with a stomach bug) and Scout (who somehow managed to emerge fat and sassy from parvo quarantine at the vet) immediately fell to wrestling. Shelby is the Sunny Baudelaire of puppies, to the point where she will actually bite the air if she can't find anything else, and while Scout is more of a licker than a biter, they both enjoy chewing on each other's faces. Sam and Meko, meanwhile, were getting baths at the vet and were somewhat nonplussed to come home and find that Shelby had doubled. Sam, in fact, was getting a little stressed out--he actually had little seizures the summer we had the deck rebuilt, because his pomeranian nerves couldn't handle the noise--but once I was released from duty, he got to go upstairs with me to the Fortress of Solitude with the working AC and the absence of puppies.

Which is also to say that our air conditioner downstairs is broken, and it was over 70 degrees this afternoon. I was trying to hold on to winter in hopes that we'd get another cold snap, but, sorry to say, I think spring has officially sprung--the buttercups are in the front yard and the bumblebees are in the back. I mean, that's great for puppies, but not so great for someone whose wardrobe is mostly long-sleeved at this point.

That said, I'm almost in the mood for spring because Thursday and Friday's Morning DVD Commentary was POTC2--no, I still hadn't watched the extras after three months--and after umpteen hours of watching fluorescent turquoise water and sugarbowl beaches, I was kind of ready for a trip to the beach myself. I have a feeling that most readers around here haven't bothered to listen to the only writers' commentary (which you really should), else y'all would have immediately run and told me that they 1) confirm the Tia Dalma Theory and 2) mention that the production finally built an entire free-standing Black Pearl. Where did they build it? Alabama, the center of the universe, of course.

After a week of trying to acclimate to constant puppysitting (and getting the three DVDs I wanted to watch out of the way), I'm thinking of what I want to do with my mornings as this settles into a routine. Which is to say, I've already decided, and don't want to jinx it by actually saying it out loud--I'm worried enough about actually following through and being productive as it is. Also, I've been online for all of half an hour today and I've already managed to make an ass of myself twice, so I think I'm calling it a night just now.

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worried about Sam

I wanted to post this separate from the poetryslamming wangst because I didn't want it to come off as a new and creative version of the "How can you be so mean to me! My crippled sister is dying of cancer in Iraq!" ploy.

We have three dogs. Lucky Dog is the cocker spaniel; Sam and Meko are the two poms. Sam is the cutest, sweetest fluffy white pom you will ever meet.



Two weeks ago, we noticed that he had something going on under his fur. The vet said it was ringworm, but that didn't explain why it was black. So we take him again this weekend for an update, possibly a lime bath, and the vet's like, "Oh, that's not ringworm. That's A SPIDER BITE. It's spread, and the black means that the skin is dead. We're going to have to do surgery."

Now, Meko, for example, can't even be put to sleep to have her teeth cleaned, she's so old and so small. I'm now worried sick about Sam, who is a lot younger, but... and forget me, my stepfather will just crumple if anything happens to Sam. See, the poms are stepdogs--George has had them for years (I think Sam is 5). He's lost a lot of poms to various health problems, and he just loves them to death. And I am really, really worried.