Alecto's Ophelia

Mr. Fluffy Tinklekins

 

The dog is a beast. He's gaining close to a pound a day with no end in sight. Last checked he was 40 pounds at 12 weeks and 22 pound Homer (on a good day) has lost what little fur like substance he had left due to the constant nomming of the over grown baby.

We were trying not to crate him. It seemed like a good idea at the time. You know, big dogs, fast growing boys, should not be confined and all that. So we installed gates in the kitchen and installed an over sized puppy playpen on the lower level so that he and Homer could cohabitate and I wouldn't have to listen to it all night. And then it became VERY apparent that no one was EVER going to make Simon do anything he didn't actually feel like doing. Ever. His strength is, and will continue to be, greatly disproportionate to his actual weight. The good news is he really wants to please. And we are prepared to make good use of that willingness every second of his very impressionable puppy hood.

So we bought the biggest crate known to man. I swear you could put an elephant in there and it surely will never fit through a door again now that it's been assembled. We assembled said crate and then attempted to insert tab A (Mr. Fluffy Tinklekins, don't worry, I'll get to that) into slot B (door of crate) and failed miserably. He was only 30 pounds at the time. Nomans and I, we are very strong people. Lots of upper body strength and all that. It took two of us. One inside the crate pulling and the other outside the crate pushing. It was very demoralizing to the both of us and not a little disturbing to the puppy.

We bought treats. We bought treats and we slowed the hell down. For the first week it took me an extra twenty minutes in the morning after Little Girl's bus left just to sweet talk him to the door of the crate. But that works, you know, the whole sweet talking thing, because he wants to please so very, very much. And now he's crate trained and goes right in without a fuss and stays in too if you remember to toss in a bit of puppy candy. But here's the kicker, normally you would insert a divider so that the crate was just barely big enough for the puppy. This encourages them not to pee in the crate (or worse). We can't do that too him, I don't think it would be good for him. And in the end I don't intend to use the crate forever, I just need to be able to ask him to go if I really need him there.

Which brings me to the next point. If I ever hope to have friends or family in my house ever again I'm going to have to be able to put him away. Most people do not appreciate 240 pounds of slobbering fur in their lap and as I mentioned above, Simon pretty much does what he wants to do. And that doesn't mean he's not being socialized, he is. It just means I really don't have the physical control to fall back on.

Did I mention he has complete respect for the gates in the kitchen right up until he doesn't?

So here's poor Simon locked up in this cavernous crate and he still wets the bed at night. Not that we would do anything so silly as to leave him a bed in there, it would be consumed by morning. He wets the bed and then rolls in it. Or at least lays about in it. And since we can't wash him easily in the winter and have to rely on baby wipes for the most part he's kind of ripe.

We don't really mind.

We took him to Main Street Westport on Sunday. Main Street Westport wants to be Rodeo Drive East (it's not, that would be The Avenue in Greenwich but please try not to disillusion Westport in these current economic times). We figured that's a perfect place to start socializing him because nobody walking up and down that street has any manners to speak of (including me based on the level of snark in this post). Or sense, but don't get me started. He's guaranteed to get a boat load of attention wanted or otherwise.

He was brilliantly well behaved with the possible exception of stopping to have a pee on every possible patch of leaves because that's where he potties at home. You know, on the leaves in the yard. He doesn't know sidewalks from Adam. He was pet, hugged, cuddled, kissed and slobbered on by at least 50% of the population. He ate it up. He didn't even try to climb into any laps although I wonder what will happen when he realizes he can pretty much make a lap happen anytime he wants.

By the time we made it down one side and back up the other he was exhausted and we weren't much better. I looked down at my angelic fluffy white pumpkin and realized that Mr. Fluffy Tinklekins is mostly yellow these days.

Speaking the unspeakable

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have been asked if I'm going to blog this and I'm not sure I can. There are two things and the second is much easier to write so I'll write it first. Last night one of my six chickens was murdered savagely by what can only be raccoons. I'm not exaggerating the brutality of the death. She was dragged from the coop (I think they lifted it right off the ground), over the fence, across the lawn and into the swamp shrieking the entire way and leaving a swath of blood and feathers that will have to be cleaned up before Little Girl comes home this evening. I was afraid NoMans was going to sit out there in his bathrobe for the remainder of the night throwing rocks but we put the dog in the pen instead and despite his diminutive size (he weighs all of 22 pounds) he sure does have a deep and ferocious sounding bark. And before anyone gets up in my face about it, yes I do know what those raccoons might have done to my dog but they didn't and he won't have to stay out there again.  Tonight the remaining five girls will stay in Homer's old puppy crate in the shed (which is fort knox) and the new fort knox will be delivered by fork lift on Tuesday of next week. There. That's that and I just wish I wasn't so damn upset about it but I am because I should have known better.

Here's the other part. The first part. My son came home last night. I called him on Tuesday because it was Lucia's birthday and he actually answered the phone. I asked him to come to her party but he was working and I asked him to come to dinner last night and he said he would and he did and I kept my judgmental mother mouth firmly shut and it was lovely. 

Doesn't sound like such a hard thing to write does it? Well, unless you're me and you were beginning to believe you were never going to see or hear from him again (it's been 17 months) it wouldn't sound so hard at all.

I can barely breathe and if I start crying now I will probably never stop. So listen, any of you out there not speaking or being spoken to by someone you love maybe now would be a good time to get over it. Seriously. We are all any of us ever has. Good, bad or indifferent.

p.s. there are a boatload of little baby eggs. we are eating all of them as fast as we can.

Sweet Sunday

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's been awhile since we had Sunday around here. Wait, Sunday always happens, right? Maybe I should call up Tom Robbins and ask his opinion about time (I'm working my way through all of his books again; it's been long enough and it's time).

So given tradition, especially if you're new here, I should explain what you see in the picture. Or you can leave it all up to imagination except in my case, I might be more fun.

First there's the back brace. Isn't it cute? My sixteen year old daughter says I look 'smexy' in it. Smexy? Well all righty then. Smexy it is. I have the brace on because of what I and that dog were doing with that mammoth pile of dirt yesterday. OK, NoMans helped too (a lot) but he doesn't seem to be suffering. The dog will tell you he's suffering if he knows what's good for him (loyalty in a dog is everything). Anyway, I'm wearing the brace over a camisole that I wore under a rather bulky sweater when I went to be fitted at Ye Olde Surgical Supply Store and Apothecary that opened up just for me because my pharmacist knows that pharmacist and I looked darn well pathetic when I walked into my pharmacy this morning under the delusion that they might have a brace to fit me (not being a surgical supply store or anything of the kind). The brace is helping me. A lot. Notice the smile.

Also, see the dried roses above the sink? The first batch were from my husband. He bought them at the supermarket on the way to pick me up from the hospital on Valentine's day. There were actually two bunches which is why there are two colors in that group. Next are some pink roses. My mother sent those. She never sends flowers, it's just not her style. But she loves me and it was the only thing she could think to do in the moment. And you know what? Because of all that, they were perfect. The next three bunches I bought myself from Whole Foods Market on the way back from group one week at a time. I hung them when they got old because I loved the colors in the window. And to remind myself that I matter. That last batch is half a string of smoked garlic. It was imported from somewhere and I bought it without thinking. I am ashamed but keep it there as a reminder that fuel don't come cheap. Sometimes I use it but I want it to last. Mostly I use the garlic that comes out of New York State. Pretty soon I'll have my own.

Now back to what I'm doing. I made two batches of Sunday sauce today. The first is with meat and the second without. The first is in the process of becoming Lasagna which is Tuesday's dinner and the second will cover some frozen meatballs I made months ago that will be for Thursday. The fish is farm raised Tilapia and I'm not sure (still working my way though The Omnivore's Dilemma) exactly how I feel about that. It's going to marinate in some olive oil, the juice of two lemons, pepper, cilantro purloined from some of my healthier seedlings and a good amount of garlic. Trust me, it can handle the garlic. It can also handle cheese which just boggles my mind. We will also be having a chicken from which I will make the stock which will feed the next batch of Sunday sauce and so on and so on. I'm using canned tomatoes now too. I gave up. Better to buy the organic canned then the organic hothouse. I don't know why I think that but there you go.

I laid out the plans for my garden today. I am so excited I could just about throw my back out again thinking about it. I have never given myself permission to use this much of the lawn. Back yard? What back yard? Never mind the deer, I'm putting up those rather unattractive U-posts and hooking up some seven foot (he - the hot guy at the lumber yard - SWEARS to the seven feet - and I did have to ask him - 'does that work if you have a gun or if you do not have a gun because I live in Weston and if I shoot the critters I'm going to have some 'splaining to do') anti critter mesh (replaced chicken wire apparently and will also support my cukes, peas and morning glory). Hows that for some parentheticals?

Which leads me to the next nanny. Holy cow am I ever excited! She looks like Barbie (I will probably forgive her) but her biggest concerns were about the food (mom bakes all the bread and they don't buy processed anything and she's a bit concerned about peak oil) and being a member of the family, i.e., cooking, chores, fitting in and all that. I about creamed my jeans and you'll all pardon my momentary lapse. Especially if you've followed the last year.

God is Good. Amen. May we all move on now.

Happy Sunday all - back brace aside, I'm having a happy day.

Love, Alecto