Tuesday, September 17, 2013

In sickness and health.

I'm feeling pretty good considering I slept very poorly on Monday night. After spending the day in the Big City at a homeschooling function, we returned home late and had a later supper. Then 50% of the humans went to bed. The other 50% were:

• Klaxon (disclaimer: this is not his real name), who was suffering from gastro-intestinal issues.
• Me, who was ministering to Klaxon in his time of need.

Actually I was performing double duty. The night before at 2AM, Fogo The Stupid (disclaimer: this is not her real name, but should be) started whining at the backdoor. So Mr Wrath let her out thinking she was ill. Nope. She was in fine form. Translation: she bolted into the dark night in the midst of a rainstorm. At 7 AM I found her lingering in our backyard with a horned skull (already denuded of flesh) which I theorized she'd stolen from the neighbour's yard. For those of you who are urban, I should explain that it's very common and totally acceptable for rural people (usually of the hunter persuasion) to use skulls and horns as object d'art in their gardens. I try not to judge these people. I prefer to save my scorn for the guy in my town who has a black lawn jockey in his front yard. That guy's a racist, tacky asshole.

But back to Fogo the Skull Eater. I only lured her into the house by standing in the open back door and showing her that the cats were eating one of her beef bones. Even then she came in reluctantly because she knew it was a trap. It was. "Look, Fogo, Ezri is eating your beef bone. Nom nom nom. That's right.  Do you want Ezri to eat the entire bone? No? Well maybe you should come in. Yes. You are a good girl. Oh, you're all wet. That's okay. Mommy loves you  when smell like a pile of -- (I grabbed her collar) CRATE! CRATE! NOW! YOU, HELL HOUND!"

Despite the fact that Mr Wrath had lost precious sleep trying to retrieve Fogo the Awful, we went ahead with the road trip. Everything went as planned except that we had to make numerous stops for Lil' Miss Garbage Guts (disclaimer: this is her new name. Tomorrow I am calling the vet and having her records updated to reflect this change) who we soon learned had gorged herself on the contents of our compost bin. In particular: mouldy bread, carrots and coffee grounds. Yes, because Fogo the Hyper needed a caffeine buzz.

Fogo was still sick last night when Klaxon (still NOT his real name) started to feel sick. So I slept on the chesterfield. I let her outside periodically, making sure she was tethered to a stake. But mostly I dealt with Klaxon. He was slightly more appreciative of my efforts than the damn dog. Probably because Klaxon is a very clever human, who knows not to steal skulls.

Or black lawn jockeys.


  1. Oh ugh.

    I have nothing else to say.

    *silent comiseration*

  2. Oh poor you and poor Klaxon, but not so much poor LMGG. I'd say let that be a lesson learned for her but we know she'd do it again in a heartbeat.

    And curses on the tacky asshole - too bad you couldn't get LMGG to puke all over his yard.

  3. OH GROSS. Poor Klaxon. And Fogo - THAT IS WHAT YOU GET FOR EATING COMPOST YOU BAD DOGGIE. Maybe Fogo and Barkley could compare notes.

  4. I've had a staunch "friggin' cats" philosophy for years (despite or perhaps because of owning two of them), but times like this make me feel it might be time to expand to include a "friggin' dogs" policy as well.