Ruminating Slav

St. Karo, Harvester of Poo

You might think, given the title of the post, that it's about the baby. You'd be wrong.

This morning Baxter woke up around 5:45, so I fed him and put him back in his crib so he could sleep a little longer. I then shuffled into the kitchen to feed the cat in hopes of heading off the imminent incessant meowing.

Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Squish.

"Oh, nasty," I think to myself. I stepped in a hairball. I turn on the light and hike my leg up into the sink. As I'm washing my foot off, I look back at the hairball, but there is no hairball. There is instead big pile of dog diarrhea. Bloody dog diarrhea.

I stepped in bloody dog shit.

See, Buster reacts to stress in a GI-tractual fashion, so he's been off his kibble and loose-poopin' ever since we picked him up from the kennel. Apparently last night he puked in his crate so BK let him out, and I guess he had to go. GOOD DOG, BUSTER, for going in the kitchen -- can you imagine trying to clean bloody dog poop out of cream-coloured* carpeting?

We went to the vet this morning (with a zip-locked "sample" in hand!) to rule out things like worms and cancer, and Buster was given the all-clear. Now all we have to do is just never go anywhere again, and we're set!

(Joshua Wanat, meanwhile, seems to have dropped his normal Fuck All Y'all attitude in favor of needy stress, the result being his normal glossy coat has become increasingly nasty and matted. He got a bath yesterday and today, and I swear there shouldn't be any Joshua Wanat left because half of him went down the drain both times.

Never. Going. Anywhere. Again.)

* Shout-out to my Queen's English peeps!

This is dedicated to the one I love

good boy, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

This is my dog. You remember my dog Buster, don't you? He was #1 in my book until that mewling little interloper supplanted his spot. The guilt, it has been riddling me of late, so last night I let Buster do something he has never done before in his doggie life -- I let him sleep in the bed with me. It was great; he kept the bed nice and warm when I got up to feed Baxter. Now BK just has to go out of town again, cause I have a feeling he's not going to cotton to the dog in the bed idea.

Don't tell, internets. It'll be our secret. Along with that occasional food scrap that makes into into Buster's maw.

Bad parenting 101

sitting on the baby
Originally uploaded by *Karo*.

So I guess it's bad when the dog sits on the baby and instead of rescuing the baby from under Buster's hairy ass you laugh and go get the camera?

Poor ol' dog

One of the slightly more unnerving aspects of Baxter's arrival into this world is the fact that it has caused our dog to completely lose his nut. When we first brought Baxter home, Buster was still hanging in there. He obviously accepted the baby as part of the pack, and it was cute, if not slightly annoying, the way he would try to protect him from the advances of Joshua Wanat.

Then Ben's parents arrived. Buster became increasingly anxious as he tried to navigate the sea of Big Dogs while still trying to protect Baxter. He got put out back by the pool quite a bit while they were here, not because he was doing anything wrong or bad, but just because his constant pacing would get really annoying after a while.

The Stanimal's arrival, however, seems to have been the last straw. Buster really, really hates the Stanimal, except for the times when he really likes the Stanimal. This results in a completely neurotic dog who is accepting pettings from my father one moment and growling at him or snapping at his feet the next. He is now refusing to eat his kibble, unthinkable from the dog who normally inhales his food in 30 seconds, and cowers and cringes when you address him because he's gotten so used to being told "no."

Is it Monday yet? I'm ready for the three of us to spend some time being a family.

Snap, crackle, pop goes the dog brain

Oh internets, there is so precious little to write about this week. Mostly there is just gaping in awe at my enormous belly and breaking out the smelling salts every time I think about the fact that I will be a Parent in approximately five weeks.

Yesterday I attempted to break up the monotony of the gaping and sniffing by clipping Buster's toenails, which we had allowed to reach the most shameful, talon-like lengths because he does not enjoy the clipping, and hey, what the dog wants, the dog gets, right? So I grappled with him on the kitchen floor for about 10 minutes and emerged completely coated in white dog hairs, but Buster had been a Good Dog! and allowed me to hack away at all ten claws. He then tried to feast upon the clippings, of course -- wtf, dog? -- but after sweeping up I wandered off very proud of myself that I had managed to wrastle down Buster's squirmy self and that the mission was accomplished.

Buster, however, had a very different take on the experience, something BK and I realized when we got home from dinner and found half the contents of our house viciously savaged on the living room rug. The Big Dogs, they must pay! The ignominy of it all! Thus must have gone the pops and fizzes that pass for thinking in Buster's little doggie brain as he attacked Netflix movies, magazines, and my fucking shoes that I bought to replace the last pair of shoes he chewed up. It was really a sight to behold, rendered all the more impressive by Buster standing beside it frantically wagging his tail, proud as proud could be of his handiwork.

Kumbaya, my dog

Buster's going camping!

Sort of. Turns out that he'll have to be boarded for the entire time I'm in Poland because BK is going to be taking out-of-town depositions for most of the days around his Poland time. That's an awfully long time to spend in a kennel -- plus, I'm not sure even Buster could pack in two weeks' worth of poo in his little doggie intestines.

So we've decided to send him to Camp David, in Royse City, Texas. The Pet Chauffer Service will pick Buster up at our home and drop him off. While at Camp David, Buster will be pampered with a minimum of four one-hour play periods per day. One hour each will be devoted for swimming, ball playing, frisbee chasing, and tug-of-war. Too bad Buster doesn't actually like to do any of those things, but we have faith that he will enjoy simply running around with the other dogs.

For a mere $300 extra, a stern German lady will turn the stay into an obedience training program. Go on vacation and return to find a New-n-Improved dog waiting for you, ready to sit and stay on command! Being the ultimate pet owner slackers, we're not opting for Birgit's ministrations. We wouldn't know what to do with a well-trained dog.

The dog park is great!

The dog park is great!, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

Buster playing at the White Rock Lake dog park yesterday.

We're only one step away from dressing him up as a reindeer at Christmas

One of the downsides of the new furniture is Joshua Wanat's propensity to sharpen his claws on it. Yes, J-Dub still has all 20 of his sharp little weapons, because I'm a big wus and think that declawing cats is inhumane. BK, being the purveyor of said furniture, decided last week that Enough Was Enough and purchased a number of evil, kitty-hating objects at Petsmart. Last night was phase one of Operation Tame Joshua Wanat. BK locked himself in the bathroom with JW and the mysterious package -- I could hear him muttering in there, and for some reason I was expecting to see chicken feathers and clumps of black fur to come flying out from the crack under the door.

Eventually the door opened and Joshua Wanat sauntered out of the bathroom, having not the slightest clue that he had just been rendered a GIRLY CAT by the application of nail caps. Yes, my cat now has acrylic nails that rival those of any female Dallas resident. (Have we discussed Dallas' obsession with the fake nails? No? Some other time, then.) I guess I should just be happy that BK was thoughtful enough to buy the clear ones and not the PINK or PURPLE. Because they make them in PINK and PURPLE. Of course they do.

Please me, tease me

Last night after purchasing the Delicious Library software I scanned in 218 books and 52 movies. And I still have six bookshelves to go! I really can't remember the last time I found a Mac application to be so pleasing. Mad props to Kelly and TCW for apparently calling my love for the media organization software before I even knew it existed!

Oh the hours you'll spend gazing at the neat ranks and files of your media empire.

Well put, my friend, well put.

In other news, BK has lost his keys and has gone so far as to actually blame the dog. Honestly, man, that is so cliché. I may not know much, but I'm pretty sure that the dog did not pick up your keys and bury them in the landscaping in the backyard.

"But there's only like 1½ people in the world you're comfortable with besides me"

Having decidedly tired of his mid-morning wakings, BK decided to bite the bullet and buy an automatic cat feeder with a timer. It arrived yesterday, and BK spent some time in the kitchen with Joshua Wanat, putting kibble in the bowl, closing it, opening it, and showing Josh that there's food in there. Joshua, being the gifted kitty that he is, spent the next 20 minutes frantically pawing at the feeder, scooting it around the floor and making a clatter that was, quite honestly, very disruptive of my Alias-watching. PRIORITIES, people. And cats.

In any case, the feeder was set to open at 3:45 a.m. BK reported this morning that he woke up at 4:00 a.m. (I guess old habits are hard to break even when the cat's not actually meowing) and went to inspect the feeder -- it was open but the kibble was still intact. HOWEVER, Joshua Wanat must have eventually found the bounty laid out at his paws, because there was no meowing! All night! No meowing = success! I imagine that what I'm feeling right now is like a fraction of what parents feel like when their kid sleeps through the night for the first time.

---

I just had the following conversation with my husband on the phone:

BK: We need to do some fun stuff this weekend.

Me: Hey, I did my part. I found the Bob Schneider concert and bought us tickets.

BK: Right! And I think we should go have dim sum with the church group Saturday afternoon.

Me: I don't want to do that.

BK: Why not? It'll be fun. You're always saying how we need to do more stuff.

Me: But I don't want my entire Saturday afternoon taken up.

BK: But you have to eat lunch!

Me: I can just have a sandwhich at home. No, wait a minute, I can't, since Buster pulled the loaf of bread off the counter and ate the whole thing.

BK: Well, let's invite my co-worker Andrew (this is a pseudonym -- do you think dooce has taught me nothing?) and his girlfriend over for dinner.

Me: No, I don't want to do that. He's a creepy Republican.

BK: Come on now, we need to do more stuff with people.

Me: But I'm not comfortable around them. I'd rather just be with you than people I'm not comfortable around.

BK: But sweetie, there's only like 1½ people in the world you're comfortable with besides me.

You see the problem, I'm sure.