The Players In Agility

Tomorrow starts a new half-session of agility during which I will gradually become more agile as I run after my damn dog who ignores everything I say, harrumph. (Yes, we're back in the slump part of the cycle. I just have to keep reminding myself that she really is having a good time...)

There have been four dogs in the "advanced" class for the past few months, but for the next three weeks the intermediate class will be combined with ours since only one person in that class is in town. This will give Ginger a chance to show off her excellent on-leash social skills with the new dog by which I mean she will prove that five years of constant training have pretty much done nothing and she will continue to act like a crazed piranha.

Anyhow, Ginger has a soulmate in the class -- Trinket is a Rat Terrier who exhibits the same bad little dog attitude. Ginger and Trinket sort of tolerate each other -- I think it's a case of flirting through bad behavior.

Of the other two dogs, one is a gigantic service dog who I will call The Big Guy since I don't know how to spell his real name and his shoulder is at my hip height. I run the course with TBG (whose owner is in a wheelchair) which is a nice change from Ginger because TBG actually pays attention. In some ways he makes me look good because he's really smart and usually has most of the course memorized just by watching the other dogs go through it. On the other hand, if The Big Guy doesn't do the right thing, it's nearly always because I screwed it up. The one exception to this is when he stops and walks around the jumps while looking me in the eye with the clear message that whatever treat I gave him last just wasn't good enough. (I mentioned he's smart, but did I also mention how manipulative this dog is? I really, really have to watch what I'm doing or I'm in trouble.)

Ginger tries to pull her "I'm a little land shark, short and stout" song with The Big Guy, but TBG just can't even be bothered to notice so she soon gives up.

The final dog in the class is a Labrador that I'll call Bambie because I can never remember her name. (I swear this is the only dog/owner pair where I remember the owner's name more often than the dog's.) Bambie is a really nice dog. Not much of an athlete -- she'll usually knock down at least one or two jumps during the course -- but really wants to please.

Sadly, Ginger has terrorized Bambie so much in the last six months (from a distance) that Bambie sees Ginger and gets behind her owner's legs. It's sad.

So, yeah, my dog is that kid in kindergarten that none of the other parents want their kids to be friends with. I guess I would expect nothing less.

How Much Is That Puppy In The Yard Next Door?

You know what's way better than knowing someone with a small child you can play with for a little while and then send home? Having next door neighbors with a puppy, specifically the cute mini Australian Shepherd shown here.

Cooper came over to our yard today and spent about an hour trying to annoy Ginger into playing with him while I raked leaves out front. I finally decided to take pity on Ginger and go back to play with them both. It was completely selfless, I assure you.

First Cooper and I played fetch with an apple (because I have no dog toys because none of my dogs have ever played with toys). Then Cooper and Ginger chased each other around for a while because Ginger actually will play as long as I'm there watching. Then Cooper found out how much fun it was to leap around in the ivy. And then I put a leash on the puppy and we went inside just to check out how it would be if he ever needed to spend time with us.

Cooper thought the house was great, mostly because of all the cat toys that are strewn around the place. He had something in his mouth (a ball with a rattle, a little donkey, and a pink elephant) the entire tour. The cats were a little bent out of shape, but mostly they just sat on the counter and looked at him. Crow hissed and Cooper backed up a few feet and looked away, so I'm pretty sure he's had dealings with cats out at the barn. Ginger didn't really care about having another dog in the house because she just wanted her dinner, dammit.

And then I took the tired, muddy puppy next door and gave him back.

It's the perfect system.

Zombies, Wait For Me!

True sentence: I'd like to be out running from zombies, but instead I am stuck inside waiting for a football game to end.


In the meantime, here is a picture of Scooter, reading my email. I think he might need reading glasses.

I keep telling him to move back a bit because that's not an ergonomic position, but he always ignores me.

Can I Plead Insanity?

You know how they say don't go grocery shopping when you're hungry? I have a new rule: Don't go grocery shopping when you're irritated. (People who know me well might start worrying that I'll starve to death if I take this rule seriously, but... there's always pizza delivery.)

So I was a little annoyed tonight that I have to work again tomorrow, thus missing not one but two social engagements which literally is about 40% of my socializing for the year. And I mean the old-school definition of literally there.

But I ate dinner. And I made a list. I put down all the ingredients for this winter root vegetable and lentil stew. Then while I was driving there I was thinking about Jenipurr's cheddar potato soup, or at least what I could remember from when I saw the recipe a few days ago. Plus I could make pizza.

In the store, I thought "I should make a batch of the almond-chocolate cookies for the party tomorrow", and I refused to admit to myself that not only will I be unable to go to the party, I won't have time to make something that requires over an hour to bake, so I got almonds, chocolate, and eggs. Two aisles later I relented on the impossibility of baking time and bought both white fudge covered Oreos (for the first party that I won't be able to make it to) and peppermint truffles (for the second party that I won't be able to make it to).

I should have really just checked out and left when I added the vegetarian marshmallows to my cart not because I needed or even wanted marshmallows, but because I wanted them to continue stocking things like that.

And I probably should have just abandoned the cart and run out of the store when I added a quart of eggnog to my supplies. I don't even like eggnog. Clearly at this point I had just gone insane and was trying to buy a holiday that wasn't going to happen.

I was almost to the registers when I remembered that I was going to try to make something with butternut squash, Parmesan cheese, walnuts, and won ton wrappers, so I got those too.

Anyhow, all this is to explain why my bill was twice what it normally is and I have enough food to feed about ten people which is a bit of a problem because I live alone.

But at least I bought three different kinds of cider. Somehow I think I'll be needing it...

Novel Poetry

The Sacramento NaNoWriMo region has a tradition of the Thank God It's Over (TGIO) party, a chance for anyone still alive to come together and celebrate the fact that you now have eleven months to catch up on sleep and maybe dial back the caffeine tolerance just a tad.

During the party everyone is given the chance to read a haiku or limerick about their novel. Most of them are pretty darn funny. This year I had planned to go to both the Sacramento and Yolo regions' TGIO parties, but it turns out that I may have to miss both of them and work instead (because football sucks and the 49ers suck and the Super Bowl sucks and I need a job where nobody is even allowed to mention sports and... [deep breaths]). What was I saying? Oh yes, I was saying that I might not make it to the party.

So, given that, I've decided to release my poetry about my 2015 NaNoWriMo novel to the world a little early. (And right now I'm laughing because I accidentally typed NoNoWriMo, which sounds like a completely different thing.)

Names, or writing while tired:
There once was a book about Chloe,
In some chapters also called Zoe,
But why have one name
When these two sound the same?
Consistency? Ha, you don't know me!

Sex:
So drama my book should not lack,
Two people end up in the sack,
My mom may not read
What I wrote in this screed
Despite the too-quick fade to black.

When the outline isn't quite enough:
Four thousand words still left to go
But the plot was all finished and so
My muse, she just sang,
Explosions went bang!
Michael Bay taught me well don't you know?



So there you have it. I was going to say that the novel is better than the poetry, but at this stage they're about equal...

Secret Cat Scrolls

I walked in on the cats behaving more suspiciously than usual (*) and I caught a whiff of smoke from the fireplace. After they had all scattered, I found this incompletely burned paper among the embers.

(Click to make it bigger)

A close-up of part of it:

I'd always suspected such a document, showing the need to jump on me before getting off the bed no matter where the cat was in relation to the door, existed and now I have proof. (I also have proof that my cats can't draw worth a damn, but let's not get side-tracked.)

There was also a note attached that read "In case of no further movement, after two minutes return to battle positions."

This explains so much...

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* -- No, I don't know what that means either...

Exercise Indulgences

You might not know this, but I was brought up in a church-going style. Mostly this has left me with a fear of being trapped in an uncomfortable seat listening to some old guy speak, a dislike of choirs where the sopranos outnumber all the other parts by a factor of five to one and are trying to compete to see who can sing the loudest, and an absolute love of sleeping in on Sundays. However, it did also provide me with some useless Catholic trivia.

Did you know that the Catholic Church used to sell indulgences? Apparently if you had money, there was no need to schedule a confession at the last possible moment in order to get into heaven. You could just pay the Church a bunch of money and alakazam! Your soul is shriven and through the eye of the needle you go! We have something similar in the secular court system, but nowadays you have to hire an expensive attorney and at least pretend to be humble while the judge is looking.

Anyhow, the point of this isn't to prove that 1/7th of my childhood wasn't wasted. And it isn't even to have an excuse to bring up my mother's relative who had an elaborate plan to live a sinful life without the benefit of church then confess everything on his deathbed, a plan that was thwarted when his devout (or possibly malicious) wife wouldn't let the priest in the house at the last minute. (It is an awesome story, though, so it deserves to be mentioned.)

No, the point here is to acknowledge that subconsciously I believe that fitness ought to work the same way.

I hate exercising, and it shows. Sometimes I'm not upset when my dog refuses to go to the right obstacle during a long agility run because it gives me an excuse to stand there and catch my breath. But every once in a while I realize that I really ought to be in better shape. So I go buy something. Running shoes, an exercise bicycle, an elliptical machine -- if fitness was a function of money spent, I'd be able to run a marathon.

Sadly, exercise indulgences have also been a big failure.

But... this time is going to be different!

This time I have running shoes and an iPod Touch that has an app on it to make me feel that zombies are chasing me! That will make all the difference!

Or at least it should...