Had a migraine yesterday. Haven't had one in months, but for some reason or another, my head picked yesterday to explode.
So my doctor called me in a migraine med I hadn't tried before. (Ended that in a preposition. Sorry.) (He's a pretty cool doctor. I'll leave a message for his nurse, she'll visit with him about my one problem or another, and he'll call me in medicine without me coming in. Hey, it saves me a $25 co-pay. You rock, Dr. S.)
But I digress...(I've always wanted to say that.)
I asked the pharmacist a lot of questions about the side effects (Careful Cathy, I know...) and he said that although it had caffeine in it, the other stuff would make me pretty tired so I should be okay to sleep.
Hence the reason I am writing to you, my dear friends, at 1:30 am (is it really only 1:30? This night is going to last forever. Sigh.)
And my head still hurts. Go figure.
You know, I could have just said I took a new medicine for a headache and couldn't sleep. But that wouldn't have been nearly as entertaining.
There was a motorcycle next to me at a stoplight the other day, covered from handle bars to backseat in neon green fake fur. I know, right? I think it might get a little squishy when it rains.
I'm invited to a friend's birthday party tonight. We're all meeting at the biggest Chinese super-buffet in town. My stomach is rolling just thinking about it. But since it's, you know, her birthday, I erred on the side of friendship kept my mouth zipped. Water, please, no lemon. Just a fortune cookie for me. I'm not that hungry. (CH, if you're reading this, I am totally happy to be coming - it should be so much fun!!! I think I am one of the very few who doesn't like Chinese food, so I'm learning to adapt :)
The mouse on my computer at work is possessed. Every couple of minutes, it will get a mind of its own and start moving around my screen really fast and then go to the top left corner before I can regain control. At first it was annoying, then it kind of ticked me off, but now I think it's funny. It's like I have my own little OCD friend that comes to visit me throughout the day. I should give it a name. Any suggestions?
Well, I think I'll go read now. I hope everyone slept well, and I'll talk to you soon.
We have a fox terrier by the name of Jasper. He came to us in the summer of 2001 from the fox terrier rescue program. For those of you, who are unfamiliar with this type of adoption, imagine taking in a 10 year old child about whom you know nothing and committing to doing your best to be a good parent.
Like a child, the dog came with his own idiosyncrasies. He will only sleep on the bed, on top of the covers, nuzzled as close to my face as he can get without actually performing a French kiss on me.
Lest you think this is a bad case of 'no discipline,' I should tell you that Perry and I tried every means to break him of this habit including locking him in a separate bedroom for several nights. The new door cost over $200. But I digress.
Five weeks ago we began remodeling our house. Although the cost of the project is downright obnoxious, it was 20 years overdue AND it got me out of cooking Thanksgiving for family, extended family, and a lot of friends that I like more than family most of the time.
I was assigned the task of preparing 124 of my famous yeast dinner rolls for the two Thanksgiving feasts we did attend.
I am still cursing the electrician for getting the new oven hooked up so quickly. It was the only appliance in the whole darn house that worked, thus the assignment.
I made the decision to cook the rolls on Wed evening to reheat Thurs am. Since the kitchen was freshly painted, you can imagine the odor. Not wanting the rolls to smell like Sherwin Williams #586, I put the rolls on baking sheets and set them in the living room to rise for 5 hours. After 3 hours, Perry and I decided to go out to eat, returning in about an hour. An hour later the rolls were ready to go in the oven.
It was 8:30 PM. When I went to the living room to retrieve the pans, much to my shock one whole pan of 12 rolls was empty. I called out to Jasper and my worst nightmare became a reality. He literally wobbled over to me. He looked like a combination of the Pillsbury dough boy and the Michelin Tire man wrapped up in fur. He groaned when he walked. I swear even his cheeks were bloated.
I ran to the phone and called our vet. After a few seconds of uproarious laughter, he told me the dog would probably be OK, however, I needed to give him Pepto Bismol every 2 hours for the rest of the night.
God only knows why I thought a dog would like Pepto Bismol any more than my kids did when they were sick. Suffice it to say that by the time we went to bed the dog was black, white and pink. He was so bloated we had to lift him onto the bed for the night.
We arose at 7:30 and as we always do first thing; put the dog out to relieve himself. Well, the dog was as drunk as a sailor on his first leave. He was running into walls, falling flat on his butt and most of the time when he was walking his front half was going one direction and the other half was either dragging the grass or headed 90 degrees in another direction.
He couldn't lift his leg to pee, so he would just walk and pee at the same time. When he ran down the small incline in our back yard he couldn't stop himself and nearly ended up running into the fence.
His pupils were dilated and he was as dizzy as a loon. I endured another few seconds of laughter from the vet (second call within 12 hours) before he explained that the yeast had fermented in his belly and that he was indeed drunk.
He assured me that, not unlike most binges we humans go through, it would wear off after about 4 or 5 hours and to keep giving him Pepto Bismol.
Afraid to leave him by himself in the house, Perry and I loaded him up and took him with us to my sister's house for the first Thanksgiving meal of the day.
My sister lives outside of Muskogeeon a ranch, (10 to 15 minute drive). Rolls firmly secured in the trunk (124 less 12) and drunk dog leaning from the back seat onto the console of the car between Perry and I, we took off.
Now I know you probably don't believe that dogs burp, but believe me when I say that after eating a tray of risen unbaked yeast rolls, DOGS WILL BURP. These burps were pure Old Charter. They would have matched or beat any smell in a drunk tank at the police station. But that's not the worst of it.
Now he was beginning to fart and they smelled like baked rolls. God strike me dead if I am not telling the truth! We endured this for the entire trip to Karen's, thankful she didn't live any further away than she did.
Once Jasper was firmly placed in my sister's garage with the door locked, we finally sat down to enjoy our first Thanksgiving meal of the day. The dog was the topic of conversation all morning long and everyone made trips to the garage to witness my drunken dog, each returning with a tale of Jasper's latest endeavor to walk without running into something. Of course, as the old adage goes, 'what goes in must come out' and Jasper was no exception.
Granted if it had been me that had eaten 12 risen, unbaked yeast rolls, you might as well have put a concrete block up my behind, but alas a dog's digestive system is quite different from yours or mine. I discovered this was a mixed blessing when we prepared to leave Karen's house.
Having discovered his 'packages' on the garage floor, we loaded him up in the car so we could hose down the floor.This was another naive decision on our part. The blast of water from the hose hit the poop on the floor and the poop on the floor with stood the blast from the hose. It was like Portland cement beginning to set up and cure.
We finally tried to remove it with a shovel. I (obviously no one else was going to offer their services) had to get on my hands and knees with a coarse brush to get the remnants off of the floor. And as if this wasn't degrading enough, the darn dog in his drunken state had walked through the poop and left paw prints all over the garage floor that had to be brushed too.
Well, by this time the dog was sobering up nicely so we took him home and dropped him off before we left for our second Thanksgiving dinner at Perry's sister's house.
I am happy to report that as of today (Monday) the dog is back to normal both in size and temperament. He has had a bath and is no longer tricolor. None the worse for wear I presume. I am also happy to report that just this evening I found 2 risen unbaked yeast rolls hidden inside my closet door.
It appears he must have come to his senses after eating 10 of them but decided hiding 2 of them for later would not be a bad idea.
Dear Mr. Monkey-arms in the car next to me last night,
When you're riding in a car that small, and you are so big, and your arms are super long, I wouldn't recommend hanging out the car window like that at the stoplight. You might scrape your knuckles on the ground, and we wouldn't want that.
You were so sweet when you were yelling "Where you goin'?" over and over, but it will not make me look at you. Clapping loudly will not make me look at you. Waiving your chimpanzee arms will not make me look at you.
However, it does make me not like you.
As a matter of fact, you were pretty creepy all together.
It's a good thing I just have caramel popcorn instead of funnel cakes or Taco Bell Mexican Pizzas. Then I'd be in real trouble.
On a very sad note, we lost our sweet Murphy this past Saturday. She had cancer, and we had to put her down. But now she's in heaven, not in pain, and frolicking through the fields with Annabelle!
She was the sweetest, most loyal dog I've ever known. The way she looked at Jonathan, with complete trust in her eyes...but don't let that throw you off! She was a bit mischevous!
My favorite story (from when Jonathan was in college) was when she jumped the fence and walked a mile and a half to the grocery store. A few of Jon's buddies saw her, proud as can be, stroll right through the doors, head straight to the back of the store to the eggs (she knew exactly where she was going, the little stinker!) She gingerly picked up a carton of eggs, walked back down the isle, right out the door and back home, where she thoroughly enjoyed her treat.
She also had a lot of fun "borrowing" the racked antlers from next door. A few months ago when the neighbors were out of town, Jonathan caught her chewing on one in our yard. She had eaten (not dug, eaten) a hole through the fence. No sooner had he taken the rack from her and walked it over to the neighbor's front porch than he returned to our yard to see another - a different - set of antlers to keep her entertained.