Bubba, meet Daisy.

In which I make no excuses for the condition of my room but instead just delight in the bad behavior of two dogs.



Daisy is allowed on beds. Bubba is not. I think he finds that extremely unfair, as would I. It was fabulous last night to have a nice, warm doggo curled up in the crook that my bent knees make when I sleep on my side.

If you can't beat 'em...

He tried his best to cover his ears, but...

Bad. Boy.

I cleaned my room this weekend, and the floor is now mostly visible. The Bubster has been loving being able to come in as he wishes. Before he didn't dare, lest he slip on my undies or trip on my shoes. Which he did, from time to time.

But NOW!! OH my, he's in love with my room. He slept on the floor beside my bed last night, and I was guilty the whole time--like he currently liked me better or something. I thought that might be because yesterday I spent an unusual amount of time with the boy. Took him out for coffee, picked up his poop, consoled him when the flickering power had driven his tail between his legs and his tongue into hyper pant mode.

So yeah, Bubba loves me.

When I came home from work a while ago, I wondered if he'd be on the blanket next to my bed still. He wasn't in Roommate's room on his doggie bed. He wasn't on the couch, which is his second favorite place to be. Next to my bed, right?

He wasn't.

He was ON MY BED BAD BOY BUBBA BAD BAD BAD BAD!!

(I don't care, but Roommate does. I thought it was cute.)

BAD BUBBA!

What to say?

Every day I have fewer things that beg me to write here. Indeed, it's not that my life is either so full or so empty that hinders things. I don't know what it could be. Ah well, no worries.

I've been tempted to write OLD WEST DURHAM in every post ever since I discovered that our wonderful and very nice neighborhood association president has an RSS alert set up for references to OLD WEST DURHAM. Hi John! Hilarious. To me at least. Sorry for the silly prank here, John. You know I love this neighborhood. LOVE.

I just did a 3-mile hike at the Eno. Bubba dragged me at a faster pace than I'm used to on unlevel terrain, so it took under an hour. I didn't bring binoculars, but I should have. I swear I saw a broad-winged hawk sitting on a line at the realty company I rent from. Buteos and accipiters aren't my strength, and the without a field guide to compare, I just noticed as much as I could. Red chest on sides and shortish tail lacking the stripes of a Cooper's, though there was one band on it. Problem is, broad-winged hawks aren't here this time of year. They've gone way south. So...I'd bet it was actually a Cooper's hawk after all. Maybe a juvenile?

Anyhoo, lots to do this weekend, both socially and obligationally.

Just for Jerry. And birders.

Another Bubba post, but no pictures this time. (Ed: How's a video?)

.

I just wrote this email to my lovely housemate:

This is kind of funny. I've been working in the yard all day, and came across some of the Bubster's poop in the backyard. It had all of these smooth things in it that kind of looked like roaches or beetles, only not moving.

I was stumped.

Until! I remembered that it's persimmon season. Out in the woods, persimmon trees grow wild--in the fall, they ripen up and fall off the trees. They're really really yummy and sweet, unless they're not ripe. If you bite into one too soon, they're....astringent would be the best word. They make your mouth pucker up and feel dry. It's not like your reaction to something sour. Hard to explain. If you know what alum is (I don't expect you do!), that's the exact sensation.

Anyway, Bubba's been eating persimmons. Check out this link and scroll down to see what's in his poop!

There's nothing wrong with him eating them in general, I don't think, but they may be what's been messing up his tummy.

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In other news, I went birding this morning and got a lifer! (I am not a "twitcher", for the record. And what a bizarre term!)

This is the first time this fall I've even seen any true migrants. Actually, it's the first time I've seen any warblers since I went to Michigan. I even had to pull out the Sibley's. That's been rare this year. For what it's worth, the lifer was a male Black-throated Green Warbler. The other cool ones were a female Black-throated Blue Warbler, and a couple of Black and White Warblers.

What a great day so far

I Know, I know.

Bubba's got the sneezies. He's not typically particularly cuddly, but right now he's being the cutest dog in the whole wide world. He's lying next to me on the couch, with his head on my foot. If I stop petting him, he nudges me. Makes it hard to type, but oh, my is it worth it!

I think he liked it when we played dressup yesterday. That's probably why he's loving on me today. Hot pink really favors him, don't you agree?

Yay to the Bubs.

Poor Bubbabub.

Bubba is a rescue dog, and like most still has some demons. It makes me sad when I see them come out, and it even chokes me up, thinking of that past life Bubba had with some horrible person who treated him badly.

Does this happen to anyone else--a sad animal story gets you outright teary, but hearing about two kids locked in a 135 F car who later die just kind of makes you shake your head in disgust? I wonder if that's about outrage fatigue.* I feel guilty that I get more emotionally involved with pet abuse stories than people abuse stories.

Back to Bubba. His mom was out for the evening earlier this week, and I was Bubbasitting (in other words, I was home). Bub is so very very mild-mannered that he only occasionally barks. Only when he thinks something is at the door. Typically, he moves slowly, and doesn't make much of a fuss. Well, Bubster came over to me at one point that evening, and he was dancing around, jumping up in the air and pointing to the door. I thought he was going to bite my pants and drag me to the back door!

He bolted out the door to eat grass, barely letting me clip on the leash. Baby boy has had some tummy troubles recently, and when he needed to puke, by golly, he was going to be thoughtful enough to get a person to let him outside to do it, already! (He's done the same when he was sick with diarrhea a few weeks before this incident. Good Bubba.)

Seriously, how wonderful is that? Asking to be LET OUT to vomit. Good Bubba. Good Boy.

Here's the thing, though. Bubba's mom thinks that Bubba is getting into the trash at a friend's house. And that garbage gut is what's been causing his gastric distress.

Well, last night I caught Bubba in our trash. Trash that had contained raw chicken for over 24 hours. I caught Bubs in the act, and so I clapped loudly, sternly saying "Bubba NO!"

This is where I cried.

See, Bubba's reaction to my loud voice and the clap was to skitter away, cowering as though I was going to hit him. He didn't look just a little guilty. He hid. His tail was curled under, and he contorted his body so that the blows he thought where inevitable would land on his back, not his belly or flank.

Poor Bubba.

His flinch reflex is so strong that all it takes is me reaching up to adjust my hair for him have a similar reaction. Same thing happens with his mom. Poor sweet loveydo.

I made sure to lavish love on him as soon as I could after scolding him. I came out and paid him extra attention over the evening, even lying down on the floor to pet him. (The floor is hard.) Eventually we ended up both on the ground, sharing the same pillow with our heads, my arm around him. Sweet Bubba.

Of course Mom will always be preferred. Shortly after he cuddled with me, he jumped up on the couch with her.

Sweet Bubba, keep healing.


*Wow. The first time I heard the expression I immediately identified with the sentiment. I had no idea that The Onion coined or at least popularized the term.

Best dog name, ever.

I'm always pretty embarrassed after I vomit out something particularly maudlin onto this blog. Usually I try to move on to the next post as soon as possible, because pushing it down off the page at least hides it from me for a while.

I've been pretty unmotivated to post for the last long while though. ME! Queen of the overpost!

Ah well.

Burro

Dude. Bubba and I are home alone tonight, and I just played the video for him. OK, well, not FOR him, but just to see him again. He BARKED! A LOT!

And earlier when I had my friend Suze over for dinner after a matinee, he nicked the half loaf of bread we'd left on the table when we went outside to enjoy the fresh air for a bit. BUBBA! You're not supposed to do that. You don't eat steak scraps from the trash, after all. I suspect you're as carbo-loving as I am. The only time you seem to beg is when I've got crackers or an english muffin in hand.

Speaking of carbs, my oh MY. You have to make this for your loved ones. Don't let tell them the ingredients. For that matter, you might want to blindfold yourself AND cover your ears and sing LA LA LA while you make it. I'm not that dexterous, so I just resigned myself that it had better taste DAMN good. Instead of canned tomatoes, I used sauce that I had made yesterday, boiling down fresh tomatoes until they were literally half the volume they were to begin. There was an unfortunate forgot-to-stir incident during the sauce making. Just for the record, burning tomatoes onto the bottom of a pan will not ruin your sauce so long as you don't try to scrape the crap while the sauce is still in there. Just dump the sauce into another pan and cry that you've perhaps ruined your stockpot. The sauce will even be better for the burning, though, because it will taste as though you've roasted and caramelized the tomatoes somewhere along the way. Crazy.

I've never ever made a pasta dish that was so simple and so delicious. Actually, I may have never eaten a pasta dish that was that good, period. I tossed a handful of fresh basil in at the end, which made it even better. Suze and I both had two gigantic helpings, and I'm barely restraining myself from going into the fridge for a snack.

Do it. Seriously.

p.s. Suze never comments, but she does lurk. Just for that, here's a bit of dirt on her--she cried during the matinée of Mamma Mia we watched today. Somehow I did not, though I got a bit misty. Really, though, I think I may have just been lusting after Pierce Brosnan. Twentyish years older seems less of an issue than it did in the Remington Steele days. It left me so overcome that I spilled an entire HUGE Diet Coke on a young girl as we walked back to the car. Then I knocked my glass of wine onto the tablecloth. Thank god the wine was white, because so was antique linen table covering. More about Suze: she loves Bubba, too, and commented that he was rather catlike, for a dog. This as he lolled on her lap, paws up.

Excellent. Twenty minutes to write this means I still haven't gone back to the fridge for that leftover pasta. I might have to make that sauce for the next 12 meals in a row. I'll put the cardiologist on speed dial, don't worry.

Not stupid. Just slow. There's a difference.

Let me introduce you to Bubba, The Most Relaxed Dog on the PlanetTM.




(Can you tell I've been in Michigan recently?)

Bebbe

Chuck looks like my dog. Uncannily so. Occasionally it makes me cry--like right now. We got her when I was five, and she was put down my freshman year of college.

I wish I had a picture of her.

Chuck helps, though.

Crossing fingers...

I put an ad up in Craigslist on Friday, knowing that Roommate is moving to the city where I work, now that he too has a job there. Got a couple of bites. The first one was moving into town to go to Local Private University for grad school. She brought her parents, and the whole thing was very annoying. I told her to let me know, and I expect she thought it wasn't a great match as well.

A couple more canceled, having found their dream home, and I had another potential roomie come by this morning.

She has a dog. A cute as hell, slightly stupid, yellow lab rescue with no psychological issues. The girl herself was fantastic, too. Closer to my age, settled in the area, no drugs, no red flags. I believe strictly in being upfront about any potential conflicts, and as such, for example, didn't clean the house or even my room, so that she'd see the worst case scenario. We clicked immediately, and as she left today she said she'd let me know tomorrow for sure, but that she was pretty sure the answer would be yes.

I believe I have faith in humanity again after Former Roommate from Hell.

Update: She said YES! She said YES! I'm gonna have a DOG!

Dribs and drabs.

Inhale....exhale. Cough, cough. It's like a campground out there, folks. Very weird.
Two days ago, a very satisfied customer* sent me flowers. A large vase full of Gerber daisies. It was thrilling beyond belief, and I paraded them around the office, glowing. I wrote her a brief thank-you-for-the-thank-you note, to which I got the response "Oh, and we're making a donation to your organization in your honor."

Wow. Feels good!

*I've decided to call the people who ask me to do community presentations "customers" because it makes me feel good.

********************

Today is Ols's due date. A little girl. I can't wait to see the little poppet. Her parents-to-be look SO different from one another it's hard to imagine how those genes will mix. I'm also jealous that she'll have Moxie to snuggle up to as well as Ols and Mr. Ols.

********************

I'm off to see my sweet Nem this afternoon, but I'm not sure what's going to become of our plans. We were going to go to the botanical gardens and then for some crazy popsicles, but this haze might cause some re-thinking.

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Recent transplants don't understand just how much ice has to go in sweet tea if it's not yet cool.

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Garden SOC: My tomato plants are overloaded with fruit, especially the Sungold. I love how the itsy tomatoes grow like grapes. I have 1/4 inch cukes. I'm not sure which types of squash I planted, but they're up and thriving. I planted corn, but I'm afraid for their stability. They don't have much topsoil, and what there is is very loose. I haven't planted enough beans, so I have to hop on that. I don't think I ever mentioned that I've companion planted a slew of marigolds in between all of my nightshades. Oh. I have peppers, believe it or not. They're small, but they're there! I think I have some fertilizing to do. The raspberries are almost done, and I have a new one to plant. Thanks, gardening neighbor! I chewed up some Long Leaf Plantain to use as a soothing poultice for my new mosquito bites. Next time I'm out on swampy trails, I'll remember to do the same with Jewelweed, which is one of my favorite plants already. Love the seed pods. And apparently the seeds themselves taste like walnut. Yum.

OK. Have a good weekend.

Waiting to leave

Isn't he a handsome guy? A good friend, too. I've had a fantastic almost-week here in DC, mostly due to the company. Yes, Toby Toberson was a highlight, as he let me snuggle him half to death and loved it. But Marc, well, Marc was the best part. He's a fantastic host, and really easy to share living space with.

Other features: good eats, good drinks, afternoon naps, crosswords, and of course walks both with and without the Tobinator.

I was originally only going to stay until Sunday, but then we learned that our sweet Nem was coming into town yesterday for a conference this week. So with very little arm-twisting, I stayed until this morning. We all had dinner last night at a rooftop restaurant in Marc's neighborhood, and for the first time in ages I felt at home. Emily and Marc and I all met at around the same time at the same workplace almost 10 years ago. Others from that time are no longer much in my life, but those two have staying power. We haven't all lived in the same place for years now, and life gets complicated as we get older--jobs, families, moves. So it was a really, really nice reunion.

I never much remember the sightseeing I do on trips like this. I did go to the National Portrait Gallery, as well as the aforementioned trip to the zoo and Natural History Museum. I suppose if I lived here, I'd ignore all of that--it tends to be my M.O.

Yesterday afternoon I had a small attack of the blues. I tried to stay mindful, but I knew I was going home today, to a job that doesn't pay as well as I deserve, a messy house, a lack of companionship, and not much motivation.

My reaction to being in a city was one of pure joy at first. Built-in exercise, interesting sights, seemingly HUGE numbers of hot, single men, and a whole world outside my door. But there's also a part of me that knows that even if I moved here for good I'd still be the same person. A person in a major rut.

I have to get out of it.

Can't forget her

Dammit, Janet? Why so cute??

I must have been really allergic to Bobo, rest in peace. Janet hasn't bothered me at all.

(p.s. I have no "cats" tag, and I won't make one. So here's Toby.)

good dog

I hadn't seen Toby in two years. He had become African Diplomat Dog, with his own full time bodyguards. He supped on mutton, rice, carrots and yogurt. When I first knew him, he was a Country Dog, living near folk artists and peacock tenders. Then he became Suburb Dog, with a greenway to walk on and ducks to drool after. Now, after his stint on another continent, he's City Dog. He trots along with his mid-day dog walker, who I imagine has twenty dogs on the same leash. Who knows if that's accurate. But I like the vision.

Dogsitting

Say hi to ZEKE!

Take a moment when you can

This afternoon I walked over a few doors down to the bank to deposit some checks. As I came back into the parking lot of my building, I saw a raptor of some type or another alight on a branch nearby. I have a short day today, with little pressing to do at work; just a lot of catch up. So I decided to see what was up with the bird, and see if I could ID it.

I'm not so great with birds of prey. The ones I most easily ID around here are red-tailed hawks and bald eagles. But the problem is that there's another hawk, the red-shouldered hawk, that looks enough like a red-tailed (in repose and from below) that at this point I don't try to distinguish them anymore unless I have binoculars on me.

Which I didn't this afternoon.

Luckily, Mrs. Red-tailed Hawk (which is what I eventually decided she was) sat patiently in a big old willow oak, letting the jays swarm her. They were really quite ruthless and daring. As Mrs. RTH sat there, one jay after another would dive-bomb her back and peck her. She didn't budge.

I stood there for at least 10 minutes (time flies when you bird), walking around to the south side of the tree to get the best light on her. The jays squawked and buzzed around her. We were all just doing our thing.

And then I came in and wrote this, trying not to scratch my arms, face, neck, ears and face where the 3-month old rottweiler a board member brought by to visit licked me all over earlier. I know that dog spit is likely to do this to me, but rolling around on the floor and holding a baby puppy with puppy breath and sweet soft fur who likes to bite my hair and rip my earrings out of my ears apparently trumps any other need I have not to have a blotchy red countenance. If I don't scratch, hopefully the hives will just chill out and not swell. (Yes, I've doped up)

What a great afternoon.

Mindfulness

There are a lot of good things in life, but one of the finest, simplest pleasures is to appreciate all that is around you in the moment that you're in it.

This morning I stopped off on a whim to Whole Paycheck to have breakfast. I was running early, and a slow cup of coffee outside was in the cards. I sat outside with my protein and fat-filled breakfast (lunch skipping, anyone?), and soaked up the atmosphere.

Two women approached, each with a stroller. One had a dog with a nylon head lead--a golden mix. I always wonder what those leads are for. They're not muzzles.

The baby I could see was sweet and zoned out. The dog was a lovey-lou who was dying for me to snorgle her. The food was just sublime, as was the coffee. There were birdies to watch, people to see, and for 15 minutes I was overcome with the presence of a beautiful morning.

Oh my.

Notes from Michigan, before I leave:

1) Thankfully, the box that I'll be filling with 40 lbs of frozen tart cherries will fit the luggage requirements, even if do go for the dry ice method.

2) Even the cutest little nephew* can get annoying.*

3) Stella the Labradoodle is the nicest blond dog in the house. And her legs will outlast your arm any day, even though she's leaping through water and you have a catapult.

4) The birds are by the crolf course by early September and not the nature preserve. Red-eyed vireos, black-capped chickadees, tufted titmice...and one magnolia warbler. Other stuff, too, but I can't remember.

*Aunt Nen, can I sleep with YOU? Aunt Nen, will you eat next to me? Aunt Nen? I love you! Aunt Nen, can I come live with you at your house? Aunt Nen? Can I sit on your lap? Aunt Nen, it was so nice to 'nuggle with you.

**Aunt Nen, tell me if I'm about to pee the bed, OK? Aunt Nen, I'll just pat your fat tummy. Aunt Nen, can I come in? Aunt Nen, can I come in the shower with you? Aunt Nen, are those your milk nipples? (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) Aunt Nen, do you have milk in your nipples? (Why did I think he was so cute again??)