walkies

I love my dog…. but I love my bed. But I love my dog more.

She needs walkies. I treasure our walkies together. But but butbutbut…. BED. Augh I did not get enough sleep. 

Come, fluffy cute thing, we shall walk together. 

And so you know what I mean, this is the dog in question:

I mean how could you not want to play with her forever?

Maddie is a 15 yr old American Eskimo Dog, which is a German breed formerly known as Spitz. Their name got changed when we went to war with Germany. The breed has less than nothing to do with the Inuit people.

She is 15, yes. Years, not months. Her breed looks like a Samoyed puppy their whole lives. It’s stinking adorable.

Her closest relatives are the other Spitz dogs of NW Europe, like the Pomeranian, the Schipperke, the Finnish Spitz and the Samoyed. If you’ve ever wanted a Husky/sled dog breed, but do not want 80 + lbs of powerful adult sled dog, the Eskie is a good bet. Just be ready for being very firmly The Boss of The Dog or they will turn into a nasty lil’ tyrant, and for OH CRAP THAT’S A LOT OF FUR. 

In Which I Scare the Dog, and She Gets Revenge

http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/ Go to this blog. Oh my goodness I have not laughed so hard in ages. It has been seriously helping me de-angst myself, because you can't feel sorry for yourself while you're hurting your face and scaring your dog because of how hard you're laughing.

The fluffy white dog is giving me a look from the other side of my apartment, in her bed where she sleeps, and it is an utterly confused and disturbed face. She has no idea why The Boss keeps squeaking and snurfling and making strange sounds. Eventually she gets used to the noises and she goes to sleep but I suspect that in her fluffy doggy head she knew she would have her inevitable revenge.

Cut-scene to about an hour later.
Me, still snickering quietly over Hyperbole and a Half. Her, my floofy roommate, innocently curled on her furniture-moving-pad bed in the corner of the Main room...

( I should say at this point that my apartment is small. It has five rooms. Four, technically. A kitchen nook that is part of a huge Main room, which I have tried to use my furniture to break up into a dining area, a reading area and a couch and movie area- A bedroom- A teeny tiny bathroom- and the Studio. That's it. I can see the dog's bed in the Main room from my own bed if my bedroom door is open, as it usually is, since the dog doesn't care if she sees me in just a t-shirt and scottish-plaid panties.)

So I'm in bed doing some reading and suddenly there's this horrible smell. A smell wafting around my rooms, a smell no human could produce. And I squint through the dark and Miss Floof is curled innocently in her bed, eyes shut, paws twitching in semi-concious glee at the discomfort she might be aware she's causing me. If anyone ever tells you dogs cannot fart, smack them for me.

In Which I Am Like a Star Shining Brightly, and My Neck and I Have an Argument

Shining for the whole world to seeeeee...
I am doing okay. More than okay, I am GOOD. For the first time in years, really, truly, genuinely, Good. Not ecstatic or anything, just quietly radiating contentment in general. Sure I have some stressors, but they are as blips on the radar of life compared to the goodness in my life right now. Better than I've been in five long years.

Also, I wuv my puppeh dog.
I'm keeping our family's dog while they are finding a house in Utah. She is a floofy white American Eskimo who thinks she's a puppy and is actually around 12 years old. Senior doggeh. But she is very clever and sweet and loveable, and we go for walks every day. She's always happy to see me, and now that she has had a trim and a bath she is sooooo SOFT. Everywhere we go everyone remarks on how beautiful she is. They're right. I love my puppeh dog.

And now for something completely different.
I have knots in my neck and shoulder. They've been slowly forming over the last week in spite of my attempts to persuade them otherwise. They refuse to cave in to threats of force. Nothing I've been doing all day will get rid of them, and they have yet to even make a statement of their demands for negotiation. Uncivilized anarchists, I'll see them destroyed, just you wait. I can feel them plotting a migraine, so I am authorizing a preemptive strike with naproxen sodium bombs. Let's see how stiff you are after some Aleve, you disturbers of peace, you!