Tag Archive: pets


Hello blogosphere!

Long time, no see!!

As you may have deduced, I have returned from my trip abroad and made it safely back to the lovely USA. My trip was awesome and amazing and every positive adjective you can imagine and I definitely did not want to come home, but now that I am home, I am definitely glad to be back.

The following things were what I was most excited about coming home to:

  1. Chiefy
  2. My Bed

Yeah, that’s it.

Besides being exhausted and wanting nothing to do with stairs or being awake, I have also been a complete basket case.  The reasons, however, I just don’t feel comfortable sharing with the entire world on the internet, so I apologize for that. I really didn’t need to share that part with you guys, but considering the mess I’ve been, I just haven’t been myself since I’ve been back.

I met some really great people and really, really loved every minute of the trip. It was amazing and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I’m beyond glad I had the chance to experience everything I did.

Now that I’m back, I have so much to do and getting back to reality kinda blows.

I have so much work still to do for class and it seems like I have a never-ending supply of laundry. I only packed 50 pounds worth of stuff, but I just am struggling to put everything away. I hope I remember how to be in the real world and execute the functions of my job. That will be an adventure tomorrow morning. As will waking up at a normal time in EST.  My body clock is all out of whack and I never have any idea what time it is.

I just wanted to quickly update that I made it back safely and that I hadn’t abandoned my blog for forever.  I’m back and am trying to get back into the swing of things.

🙂

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I have a problem with roadkill.

At 23, I should probably not think of wild animals in terms of Disney creatures that have homes and families and feelings. I know it seems ridiculous, but I just can’t help it. In my head, I only see Bambi’s mom, or the Beaver family from the Chronicles of Narnia, or Simba and how he ran away from Pride Rock after Mufasa’s death. These poor animals have others counting on them; they have responsibilities and a family to come home to.

When I see a raccoon’s guts splayed on the side of the road or a deer laying broken on the shoulder, my heart breaks.

On my way to work last week, I burst into tears when I saw a black cat squished in the middle of the road.  I cried for the little girl who loved that cat with her whole heart, I cried for the other kitty cat friends that Blackie had, and I cried for the person who hit the kitty and killed it.

It’s so sad to me and I can’t help but be really, really upset by it.

I hoped that I had hit my quota for roadkill for the week, but it seems that the universe had other plans. Yesterday, I experienced the most traumatizing roadkill event to date. I probably won’t tell it right or be able to express how deeply upset I was by this, but I’m going to try.

I was driving to meet my brother for dinner when this occurred.  I was driving happily, listening to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on CD, and I was halfway to my destination.  Just as I was picking up my phone from the passenger’s seat of my car to call Drew to ask him where he wanted to go for dinner, it happened.

By chance, I happened to notice a deer on the shoulder of the highway.  I can’t remember now what it was that made me come to this conclusion, but something told me that something wasn’t right about this deer. For one, it was not dead.  I could see its eyes and they were wide open.  Then, all of a sudden, it was picking itself up off the pavement, only it wasn’t going as it should have.

It all happened pretty fast, and I was driving as I was watching this, but I did see enough to be traumatized.

Poor Deery was having trouble standing up and I could tell that something was very wrong with her (I’m assuming?) hindquarters.  Deery couldn’t put any weight on her back legs. She began dragging her back legs as she tried to get away from the highway and the cars driving so fast past her. I had passed her and my vision was blurry with hot tears when I had dialed Drew via speed-dial on my phone.  By the time he picked up the phone, I was in the throes of a full-blown grief-meltdown.

What was so upsetting to me was that I did not see any vehicle near her that looked like it had been hit by a dear.  I didn’t see anyone around other than me and the other cars driving past this suffering animal. I couldn’t understand how someone could hit a deer and leave it to die in such a painful and agonizing way. The fact that where she had been hit was on top of a hill worried me.  Without the ability to use her back legs, how was she to navigate that hill to get back into the wooded safe haven? I think about it now and my heart hurts. I imagine that she fell down the hill and lay at the bottom, wishing to die because of the pain.  It is terrible, but I would have preferred someone shot her or something, to put her out of her misery.  It isn’t fair.

I explained what happened to Drew through thick sobs. He laughed at me.

After crying my eyes out and having him listen to me wail wordlessly, I tried to change the subject. He didn’t because he probably didn’t want to seem insensitive since I was so obviously upset. He’s such a good brother.

When I finally got the words out to ask him where we should go to dinner, he replied, “Well there’s this new venison place…”

That’s when a sob escaped and I hung up on him. I grabbed a mostly clean napkin off the passenger seat and wiped my eyes and blew my nose.

He called back.

“That wasn’t nice,” I cried.

He was joking and he was trying to make me laugh, but I wasn’t ready yet.  So I cried on the phone some more, cursed society and contemplated calling the police (or ANYBODY!) to have them come rescue Deery (or at least end her suffering).

I didn’t call the police, but I haven’t been able to get the image of that poor deer dragging its back legs out of my head.

I just can’t handle roadkill. It really hurts my heart.

This weekend Chiefy learned how to swim.

Tam bought him a lifejacket (as evidenced below) on Saturday and he finally realized he can swim.

We were exuberant!  For as long as we have had Chiefy, he as only waded in the lake.  He has only gone as far in as he can comfortably and effectively stand, so taking liftoff in the water was a great success.

Since then, I have become disgustingly ill and now have a gnarly cold.

My neck still hurts, but only vaguely.

I almost tipped over in the kayak today. My butt was soaked and, just moments later, I got shit on by a bird flying overhead. Drew almost hit me with a rock he was throwing into the lake.

I basically slept all day long. That, or I’ve been watching Nurse Jackie with Drew.

My nose is raw and I’m a mouth breather.

I spilled ice cream on the dog and on the floor.

I think it’s time I go to bed and hope for a better tomorrow.

We all know that I’m obsessed with my dog.

A few nights ago, Chiefy climbed up on my bed and we snuggled.

He’s not usually allowed on furniture and I don’t really like when he climbs on my bed because he gets his hair everywhere.  I don’t like that.

The thing is he’s just so damn cute that I can hardly resist.  And he’s a really good snuggler, so I have a hard time saying no.

Then this happened and I couldn’t even be mad that he was lying on my legs and I couldn’t move.

He was completely zonked out and it was seriously adorable.

I couldn’t bring myself to wake him so I did this instead:

Naturally, sniping a picture of his face was a better idea than waking the sleeping baby.

So, now, I’m gonna see if I can entice Chiefy into sleeping in my room tonight. He can even get his fur on my blankets. I’ll try not to hold it against him.

There is no other day that I wish more than anything that I was still in college than on St. Patrick’s Day.

I mean, most days I wish I was still in college, and I think it’s retarded that we were all dying to graduate when we were already in the part of our lives that truly is the best part. Even more retarded is that I didn’t drag out my time in college longer than the four years I was already there.

I mean, where else is it completely acceptable to literally drink all day?  I don’t just mean day drinking, tailgate style.  I mean waking up and pounding a jello shot or two and head to work only to get out at noon and immediately start drinking to catch up to where everyone else is.

A household divided: pepsi vs coke. What’s your pref??

One very important concept I learned in college is playing catch-up. Don’t do it.  Poor. Life. Choice.

Luckily, I had really good friends who reminded me to slow the fuck down and pace myself. A good friend and roommate who looked out for me and made me pb&j sandwiches (on more occasions than one) so I would have consumed something other than caffeine and alcohol when we started drinking.

Lunch of champions/functioning alcoholics!

It’s not appropriate for me to spend the entire day wasted, take a nap at 6pm and wake up an hour later to continue consuming more alcohol than is recommended by the government.  It’s not appropriate to continually lose misplace my ID and debit card only to find it in a different pair of jeans because I had forgotten I had changed pants at the last minute (I would). It’s not appropriate to drunkenly sext frat boys. Nor is it appropriate to try to steal some poor man’s golden retriever (Erica! Okay, it was mostly me.).

Oh, Mandy…!

It’s not appropriate to disappear for extended periods of time with said frat boy under the guise of “washing my hands.” It didn’t matter that Erica knew I wasn’t washing my hands.  No one washes their hands that often, or for more than 20 seconds. Or for, like, 40 minutes at a time.

Whatever.  I never said I was a good liar.

None of that is appropriate.  Anymore.

Because I’m not in college. Anymore.

Because I’m old.

I hope everyone had a safe and very happy St. Patrick’s Day!

I spent mine lunching with a member of the tripod, shopping for new makeup, hitting up the library, doing homework and now I’m going to a Sugarland Concert!

Not too shabby! 🙂

Chief is molting.

His winter coat, apparently, has decided it is time to get the fuck out of town.

All weekend long, every time I touch him, his hair explodes off his body.  I’ve been pulling tufts of hair off of him, complete chunks of fur. It’s disgusting.

I spent the last twenty minutes of the Oscar Pre-Show brushing his hair to no avail.  It was never-ending.  Finally, after I was covered in as much fur as he was I decided it was time to put the brush away, wash my hands and take my clothes off.

So now Chiefy and I are watching the Oscars and avoiding how much he’s shedding.  He’s sitting happily out in the snow with his stuffed snowman head while I chill out on the couch with no pants on.

I’m having a grand time. And I don’t even like award shows. (It must be the no pants part that is making this night so excellent.)

ABC really knew what they were doing when they decided to have James Franco (omg boner) and Anne Hathaway host this year. Trying to grab that younger, hipper audience… well played.  They grabbed me as a viewer- which must mean I am both young and hip.

I’ll take it.

The only part I like about award shows is seeing what everyone is wearing, not that I even care who really designed the dresses each actress wears. I find the acceptance speeches excruciatingly awkward and embarrassing.  I hate all of that. I also have not seen any of the films that have been nominated this year. Not even Toy Story 3.

I’m not even pretending that it was me Justin Timberlake (omg boner) just presented an Oscar to.  There was no “I’d like to thank the academy…” coming out of my lips.  The second an actor gets up on stage to pretend they are not completely narcissistic and have to feign graciousness and genuine surprise, I leave the room to hang an article of clothing that has been resting on the biggest shelf in my room (aka the floor) for the past week.

Did you watch the Oscars? What’s your favorite (or least favorite!) part?!

So, I went out on the town with a couple girlfriends last weekend. It was the first time I did something social on the weekend in a month. I’m not kidding.

Oh, except for the weekend before, when the two other legs of the tripod came to my house and we stayed in and watched movies in our jammies.

Anyway.

For this night out, I made jello shots. It was the first time since junior year of college that I had anything to do with jello shots. I think a few years apart did some good. I wasn’t as irresponsible this time as I was when I was 20 years old. Well, irresponsible in the sense that I didn’t black out and throw up for two days.  There was no blacking out nor was there vomit this time. Just other… less-than-wise decisions were made.

I’m putting last Saturday night in the win column.

It seems that the only things I can successfully create in the kitchen are alcohol-related.

Without further ado…

ZOMG Yum!

  • 6 ounces of Jello (the big box!)
  • 16 ounces boiling water
  • 6 ounces cold water
  • 10 ounces alcohol

I used Bacardi Razz, obviously, to go with my raspberry jello but you can use whatever flavor jello and kind of alcohol you like!

The first thing I did was boil some water. I didn’t watch the pot the whole time, though, because we all know a watched pot never boils. (hahaha)

Then I poured the boiling water into a big measuring cup.

Next, I dissolved the jello dust into the boiling water.

Once the jello was completely dissolved, I poured in the cold water and my alcohol of choice.

PRETTY!!!

While the water was boiling, I set up the little cups the mixture was going to be going into.

I used the smallest little Dixie cups I could find. I put them in a cake pan type thingy to keep them all in one place and to cut down on the mess I was inevitably going to make.

I filled each cup a little less than half-full.

Told you I’m a mess-maker.

It was after this that I realized that using a ladle would be way easier.

This proved to be much easier. And less messy.

Once all of this alcoholic liquid was poured (or ladled) into the tiny cups, I was done! It was time to refrigerate those little babies.

pretty!!!!

I didn’t remember to get (attractive) pictures of them when we were consuming them. I did, however, manage to snipe a pic of Chiefy for you. He has a weird thing happening with his eyes, so we can pretend that it’s because he’s drunk/hungover even though it was mostly that I woke him up from a little catnap because he looked too cute for words all curled up on his blankie.

how cute is he!?!? Crazy eyes and all!

instead of writing a proper post, i did the following:

  • studied all day for my finance final exam
  • bombed my finance final exam
  • came home
  • emptied the dishwasher
  • loaded the dishwasher
  • cleaned out the fridge
  • fed the dog his glucosamine
  • saw the new britney spears video for “hold it against me”
  • half-watched jersey shore
  • talked to seneca
  • decided to watch national treasure before i go to bed (even though i hate nicholas cage)

i was all cosy in my bed when i realized it was nearly midnight and I hadn’t posted. ugh.

i’m going to bed. i don’t feel much like writing/sharing. i’m sorry. my exam kinda bummed me out. 😦

All I wanted to do was sneak by Stella and try to use food against her; a form of trickery used to entice her into interacting with Chief.

She was hovering at the inside staircase and, not wanting to disturb her, I thought I’d ninja my way downstairs using the other set of stairs. Only, when I tried to go in the garage and have Chiefy follow me (so Tam could talk Stella into coming into the kitchen), Chiefy wouldn’t come with me. He hovered at the top step and stopped. He gave me a look that said, “No fucking way, crazy lady.”

It was only when I saw the following when I realized that he was really saying “Kate, something is not right. There is a critter in my food bin. And it looks like it might want to kill you.”

Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!!!

I hopped back into the house and tried to catch my breath.

There’s a fucking possum in Chief’s food! A POSSUM!! Oh my god, Mom, what do we do?!

Remember that time I talked about how I do not possess grace under fire? Yeahhhhh.

My first instinct was to find the camera while Tam poked her head out the door, armed with the swiffer. “Oy!” she yelled and then slammed the door.

I burst into laughter while she walked back into the kitchen, trying to think of what to do.

Oy? That’s your go-to?! I don’t think possums speak Yiddish!

I could not stop laughing.

But then we got serious: What the fuck do we do?!

I was against calling animal/critter control because I am under the assumption that they come to get the animal and then kill it. I swear to the heavens that the “technician” would just tell me they weren’t going to kill it but once they take it away, they totally do kill it. That’s not okay with me. I may not want it in my dog’s food bin and so close to the entrance to my home, but I do want it to be able to find its babies and significant other and live a long, healthy life in the wild.

I’m that person that cried when I ran over a squirrel on accident. I shooed a giant-ass spider out of my room and into the cool October air using a page I ripped out of Cosmo magazine because I couldn’t bring myself to kill it. I just can’t do it. I can’t bear the thought of that little so-ugly-it’s-cute creature being put to death just because it was hunting for food.

That’s like killing Aladdin.

Not everyone can be so lucky as to marry a princess in Agrabah.

So, Tam called our old neighbor, a close family friend who came to the rescue all the other times we had weird animal issues. You know, like that time we came home from London the first time to find a duck was trapped in our chimney. We tried her first suggestion: make a lot of noise. Tam banged some pots and pans together while I let Nikki talk me into contacting Animal Control because she told me that her husband said Animal Control doesn’t kill the animals they capture.

The local office was closed and the lady answering the 1-800 number calls wanted to take my information to have a “technician” call me in the morning. I was like, “Uhm, lady, I don’t want this possum in my garage with my dog’s food all night long. I’ll figure something else out. I’ll just wing it. Thanks anyway.”

I poked my head out one more time.

This little critter had to go.

That’s when shit got real.

We both put boots on, zipped ourselves into our coats and found the thickest gloves we could find.  Tam, armed with a broom this time, tried to ninja herself past the possum and sneak attack by putting the lid to the food bin back on.  It didn’t work out as planned.  I stood, like a pansy, at the door, narrating the possum’s thoughts out loud. You know, like that’s really helpful. But when the possum showed his scary teeth and started hissing, I shut the door and whined. I opened the door again and watched as Tam tried again to put the top on.

Success!!

With the lid safely on the bin, we could begin the move down the driveway. We carried the bin filled with dog food and possum all the way down the driveway and across the street, to a nice snow bank near a bundle of trees.  The plan was that we would dump the food and the possum out of the bin and then run back towards the house.  Things went according to plan in the sense that I ran like hell through the puddles of melted snow back to the house. But I realized that Tam was still back there, with the bin of food, the snow bank and the possum.  A moment later, I saw her walking towards me with the empty bin in hand.  She had surrendered the lid and the scoop used to measure Chief’s food to the possum.

We’re gonna go see if the possum has decided to give us the lid back.

Wish us luck!

You know, guys, there are just some days when the creative juices just don’t flow.

There are days that I really struggle to think of something- anything!- to tell you.

No absurd happenings during the day, no embarrassing memories to share, no off-topic rants to speak of.

I got nothin’ today.

Not a one.

So, today, in my state of fail, I give you this:

This gets me every time!

I can’t even decide which one is funnier!!

Ohhhh, lordy, that’s good.

…..

Uhhhh, yeah, if this didn’t make you laugh (or smile- AT LEAST!) then you have no soul.

And, uh, I promise that I will suck less on Sunday.

See you then, fuckers!