Salut mes amis! I hadn’t planned to dive back into the old blog habit, but when I got messages from folks as far flung as France, Northern Ontario, and Australia saying they missed me, well, who am I to disappoint an adoring public? You want musings on the mundane, you got ‘em.
There is one nugget of news to report. After three months of tireless doggie devotion including a professional trainer, an experienced vet, and a ’round the clock loving yet firm master/object of canine obsession, Lulu the Meximutt did not fare well with us. She became increasingly possessive of Neil (who wouldn’t?) and aggressive—snapping and snarling at anyone in her path. And, as it turns out, a dog will indeed bite the hand that feeds, as long as it’s mine. We agonized over what to do. In the end the adoption agency intervened and advised that she needed more intensive and expert care than we could offer. Off she went to doggie boot camp.
As we suspected, she is doing far better in a place where there are other dogs who let her know that she is not Queen of All. Heads ruled over hearts in this case. We knew her need to guard Neil from me and the general public meant she needed a new start with new people. Another few months and she’ll be ready to rock and roll, hopefully in a home with another dog and a back yard full of squirrels to chase. Good-byes were said and tears (Neil’s) were shed, but it’s what’s best for the dog that matters.
And so, we’re back to being just us again. Months of nothing but taming the Lulutic, now what? Two battered old souls rattling around, devoid of purpose. We’ll have to find something else to talk about (12 years together, good luck to us) and something else to do with ourselves.
Golf for Neil I imagine, and yes, I’m well aware it’s winter where many of you are, but here in Victoria there’s no shortage of green. I can tell you this though, before he gathers up his balls he better be hunting down some chow. The decline in food preparation during the dog days of autumn was disgraceful. I haven’t had a homemade cookie since August. How I’ve lived to tell the tale is anyone’s guess.
As for me, I suppose I’ll have to take up doily making or bridge. Maybe knitting or pottery or Formula One racing. Leaping from snowy mountain peaks in those batman suits looks interesting, but most evenings and weekends I’m too plagued by middle age/intense apathy to get dressed, so we’ll have to see. I did manage to shave my legs yesterday, which I think deserves a round of applause and a round of stiff drinks. Trust me, the effort it takes to de-fur limbs like mine is not to be underestimated. Next time you see a giraffe, give it a go and get back to me.
Anyway, for now I’m just enjoying a break from dealing with the angst of a poor creature who can’t be left alone for more than a few minutes and then wants to eat you when you come back. I’m actually going out on a date tonight (redhead, attractive albeit not terribly tall, seems smart and kind, fingers crossed!) to a new neighbourhood restaurant, my first time out in what seems like an age.
I’m positively giddy from the excitement of it all. I may even wear clothing not made from fleece, maybe slap on a bit of lipstick and deodorant. So pumped up am I that I may even break my ‘no shenanigans on the first date’ rule, provided he makes me dessert. See, there’s an even better rule: I get cookies, he gets lucky. Aha! There’s the solution for my idle mind: rule making. Saddle up partner, there’s a new bitch in town.