Needle Noses

You're not bored, you're boring.

Did you ever hear that as a child?

"I'm bored," you'd say.
"You're not bored. You're boring. Now go out and play."

You know you heard it. Now I find myself saying it to Tamale. I took her to see cows. She's all "whatever". And I'm all "you better appreciate this!" And she's all "as if, let's go." And I'm all, like, "appreciate the cows."

I just give and do and slave away and what do I get in return? She'd rather go and mark patties.

Or maybe she got a whiff of this.

My life is full of schitte

I have just come back from Lagoon Pocket B&B in the Mary Valley with my mom and best bitch. We left GuacOmo at home because we worried that he'd be uncomfortable with his delicate lady paws. It was also a matter of fitting three adults and two dogs in a sedan. I had to drag the manboy along because he was going to run "Race the Rattler". The manboy had to go home because this was a girl-only B&B stay! Even Mr B&B was gone. Only Mrs B&B ran the place with Queen Tulla. Girls only, I say.
We stayed in the Gilldora room. It's the one geared up for wheelchairs. Read that as "enormobath"! We have stayed in every room now. I like to brag about that. See that sky? Yup. Winter in Queensland.

 
  Tamale was thrilled with the extra space. She did a few laps and lead me strongly across the paddocks. So many smells, so little time. I caught a little cow kanoodeling on film. Tamale loved to lick their noses. Salt lick. Snot lick. Whatever.
Why yes, the sun does shine out my ass. Why do you ask?

James and Suzannah have mandarin trees all over. Suzannah gave us a bag for picking the fruit. My mom declined; I went for it. Ha! Her loss. Look at what I found. It's a rainbow lorikeet. 

I tell you, I love this place. I'll stay at another B&B if we visit another area of Queensland, but why take my chance in the Mary Valley on any other place when Lagoon Pocket lets us bring dogs, pick mandarins, eat well, and see critters?

I suppose none of these photos helps you to understand the title. Hm. I have another post coming up on the "notes home" blog, but let's just say that my life hasn't been full of rainbow lorikeets and mandarins.

It goes without saying that travelling with a dog means you have to pick up poop a lot. It also means you might not have a place to deposit it. Because we were traveling on the week after the Queen's birthday, the bins were full from campers and others on holidays. We had a cappuccino break and no place to bin the rubbish.

I present to you my crappucino:  

Then today I put the bones from the freezer into the water i boiled the corn in. The water was not too hot, so I know it wouldn't cook the bones. It would just be warm enough to thaw the meat out a bit. After I gave the dogs their bones, I poured the water on the grass. I saw a few meat chunks that must have fallen off the bone. I picked them up and one crumbled. What part of the bone is this? How odd.  Was it over cooked? I sniffed it to see if it was raw or cooked. It was shit. I was holding cooked soggy dog shit in my hands. If you knew what had happened in Lagoon Pocket (not at the B&B), you'd wonder about what I had done to deserve such an ass kicking by karma.

Sigh. Time to go wash my hands for the thirtieth time. My mitts are pink from scrubbing.

I'll let Tulla wink you good-bye:

Hello. My name's Tamale. I'm a lazy cow.

Hello, Tamale. Welcome to Lazy Cow Anonymous. Tell us how you manifest your laziness.

Get up! She has this habit of not getting up for treats. If GuacOmo is not around, why stand up. I tell you, the youth of today. Slouching, lazy, slackers.

He's not a greyhound, but he's leggy and skinny.

And he's my cousin, so I will make him an honorary greyhound. He's also a boy, so I'm sure he toots up a storm.

Apologies for not visiting lately. The dreaded strep put me behind in uni assignments, I had to -- dare I say it -- restructure priorities. Eeek.

But I'm free now. Don't get comfy, dogs. You'll be snapped up and exploited online very soon. Oh, yes. Be afraid.

Not pleased. No. Not pleased at all.

I knew it. I knew it when I set them down and did not put them away. I just knew it. It didn't happen right away, but it happened.

It happened today.

Dark cloud hangeth over me.

Wednesday nights I usually go to the Cliterati. That's what I call my Queensland Spinners, Weavers and Fibre Artists Ltd gang. It wasn't my term; I heard an older woman say, "My husband calls us the Cliterati." I've used it ever since. I figure if a crude term can be used by someone older, then it's fair game for me. Wednesday nights is the Nut House (how I heard "Night Owls" once) group, and this is the group I hang with. They have many talented peeps: spinners (drop and wheel), crocheters (which looks too much like crotch-eters), tatters, and weavers.

I like to suck the brain power from these women. They teach me things and I go home to do them poorly. Gawblessim. My latest project is knitting two socks on two circular needles from two balls. I have done enough to cover two toes on each foot. Progress!

A few nights ago I stopped what I was doing to do something else. I do that a lot -- I have the attention span of a caffeinated gnat. I knew when I got up, that I should put the yarn back in my bag. I knew I should. I usually just tuck (hide) it under the laundry pile I have not yet finished folding. I see no pattern here. This morning I sensed badness in the form of whiteness. I just knew.

Still, I got distracted (shocker!) and started emptying the dishwasher. I called Tamale in to clean up what the cat didn't eat. Tamale didn't come, but GuacOmo did -- trailing my socks, two balls, and all my hopes and dreams for life in the new world.


This is after I've worked on it. I do not give up. I will win this. And I will kill the dog. How? Tomorrow they go to Aunty Brooke's place. They're also due for the next round of anti-flea treatment. In math terms, this means BATH TIME! I usually bathe Evil White Dog first. He hates it the most, so I get it over with early for him. Not tonight. No way. Tamale is going in first. The EWD can wait. Let the dread fester!*

Mess with my thin, tangly, precious yarns? Face the tub.

I know that, with dogs, you need to punish them right away so they associate the bad behaviour (call it "unwanted" behaviour, but if it's my yarn, it's "bad") with the punishment. But see, I'm not punishing EWD. No no no. This is not punishment.

This.

Is.

REVENGE!




*And before you tell me how mean I am, they had steak almost every night for two weeks when someone gave us left over steaks from a company's barbeque. So... Judge me not. If you can't watch the Revenge By Shampoo, then you best look away. You should look away anyway; I do this in my undies.

Still sick, but I had to post this.

While I've been in my stupor, some people took pleasure in chasing a woman's dogs to run them over.

I can't get this out of my head. How could you?

Greyhounds will never be as dangerous as hateful humans.

Pffft.

"Needle-Noses" is going to bed for a while

It is looking like I have mono (glandular fever). Every night since Monday has seen me shaking and boiling. Doubt me? Pah! Temperatures of 38.7 C to 39.7 (that's 102ish to 103ish) keep me up all night. I usually run two fevers a night. This is great fun. You should try it.

I'm home slumming around in the nastiest jammies and drinking lots of fluids. These are all fluids that feel the need to be leave my body around two am. Thanks! Our toilet was added to the house after the house was built. Going to the potty at night means I'm winding through a nippy house and weeing outside (sort of). I wanted an authentic house. Perhaps next house will be period authentic except for the potty.

Omo is great. He comes up for licks and goes back. Tamale is not impressed. I'm sleeping all day and moving from one bed to the other (when I break a fever and sweat). Oh, when she does it, it's okay. Hypocritical cow.

This is also the last month of uni, so if I do any work on the pooter, it should be for class. I look forward to catching up in four to six weeks. Take care.

Katy the dead

Ex Files: Dizz has a plan

Do you remember Michaela? I think it was spelled Michala. Too modern for me and too staid for Dizz's parental units, so Dizz she is.

Dizz is on the Sunshine Coast. She's a sunshine girl. You know the roommate who is so pretty and fit and takes your clothes without borrowing? You don't mind much. She looks better in them than you; it'd be too humiliating to ask for them back. You know that girl? That's Dizz.

But she's not all that perfect now. Sure she has bling and keeps fit with her gym buddy, Dee. They do everything together. You know you're close when you can do the bidniss while you chat up your bestie.

However, Dizz has a bit of Joey Tribbiani in her.

See the part where Joey reminisces about jam (~1:27 min)? Rachel looks at him and says, "You're so pretty."

That's Dizz, but she's not into jam. At least, I don't think she is. She's into carrots.

Oh look! A carrot. It's human food. Perhaps she'll munch on it.

Or perhaps she won't. It's so pretty and orange, cool to the touch, and custom-built for needle-nose mouths. It's a bone with benefits.

You can take away my carrot when you pry it out of my cold, dead, paws!

HERE'S YOUR CHANCE! Pry it!

What do you see here? I see a carrot on the bed and a cute teddy and floppy tiger off the bed. That's very telling. Carrot rules.

Unfortunately, carrot got a bit limp and nasty. Mean old parental units took it away.

Sigh. When I look back on my younger days when I was more mobile, I often think about the cauliflower and jicama that kept me company when mom and dad were away. Good times with vegetables. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Maybe if Dizz is really good, the parental units will get her a cuke. We can only hope.

The ever elusive Australian needle-nosed flattypus!

(Did you see how wee his manpouch is now?)

Look at who is the sitter! In case I don't know, they show me where the door handle is. Whew! Thank goodness.

Paws and baws, or the lack of baws.

GuacOmo moved, but I like the photo anyway. I have Pawz and tongue.

GuacOmo still has his moon boots, but I'm trying other options in case I lose those or wear them out. I got some of these Pawz things at the Spectacular Petacular.

We went on a walk and they worked just fine. They made a clopping sound like a horse walking on the street in the distance. GuacOmo got some laughs. I hope they were laughing with us. Poor guy.

I've had some hard time walking these kids. I don't like them on my right side. I have a scar on my thigh from my operation. The scar is about eight inches long. In front of the scar, my skin is numb; behind it, my skin is super sensitive. If you slug-bug me on that side, it hurts a lot. Tamale loves to rub against my thighs, and because Brisbane makes them wear muzzles, it hurts a lot when she does that. Now I can't hold their leads on my left side either. I spent five hours drop spinning and am in physio to fix my shoulder. Yeah, I'm an extreme nerd. I end up walking with them on the right side and just have to push Tamale away. That makes me feel like a jerk.

I don't feel too guilty. We roll around on the giant greyhound bed a lot. They get plenty of love.

Let's end this with one last shot of GuacOmo p()rn.

He's not cute. His hair worked its way through my foot!

SAVE MR RATTY!

Lushorama clued me into this sad case. I think the greyhound community must band together to save this poor Jack Russell Terrier from the greyhound he lives with.

I'm warning you. The photos are of a graphic nature. Yes, photographic. I know. I'm sickened.