Monday, March 17, 2008
Saturday, March 15, 2008
That is One BIG Bug
And yes, it is as large as you think it might be. I heard it before I saw it under my porch light.
Fixing the Duvet
My duvet was looking dreary. It's very old and threadbare and the feathers were coming out of it's many holes. When I took it's cover off this morning to wash the cover, it looked like I has killed a bird in my apartment. Feathers went everywhere. So, I decided, with Mom's suggestion, to make a new permanent duvet cover.
I bought some queen sized flat sheets.
Sewed them together then turned the two huge sheets, now essentially a giant pillowcase, inside out. Then I put the old duvet inside, sewing it in place.
The final result!
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Nervous Eater
The other evening I let Oliver out into the yard. As I've mentioned in the past, I usually check the yard to make sure P, my neighbor who is afraid of Oliver, is not doing laundry or something. Earlier that day, S was doing laundry. S loves Ollie and doesn't get freaked-out by him.
I thought the noise I heard coming from the laundry was S, but it was P. Oliver spotted him before I could get to him. Oliver gave him a menacing bark. Poor P jumped so high that he landed on the washer, startling Oliver and sending him back into the house where he promptly jammed his head in his food bowl and nervously ate it's contents.
I thought the noise I heard coming from the laundry was S, but it was P. Oliver spotted him before I could get to him. Oliver gave him a menacing bark. Poor P jumped so high that he landed on the washer, startling Oliver and sending him back into the house where he promptly jammed his head in his food bowl and nervously ate it's contents.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Dear Anonymous
I actually realized shortly after writing that entry that " They're candelabras, not chandeliers.". I was just too lazy to fix it.
Bootsie Update
There has been some progress with little Miss Bootsie, Indoor Pooper Extraordinaire. Dad was given strict direction from Paul, the dog whisperer (who, by the way, returned the samples of smelly fabric pieces back to my parents last week).
Dad was directed to go out and work on leash training every morning. He is to use a choke collar with nasty, unfriendly but necessary spikes on it to do so. He must use only certain phrases when training the dog…
No, Bootsie!
Bad Girl!
Good Girl!
…or something like those phrases.
So far, she seems to be doing well. I’m told she is getting better at walking on a leash, on the left side. She is still having accidents regularly, but my parents say they knew her pooping issues would not go away overnight.
Talking with my Dad on the phone, Mom too, is always amusing.
My most recent conversation with Dad was peppered with “Bootsie, get off the table. Good girl”
“No, that’s not yours to chew on.”
“Bootsie! NO! Bootsie, get down off the counter!”
“She’s running in circles,” he says, talking to me this time, adding that when she was praised up and down that morning for peeing outside she came inside and raised hell. As though she’d earned it. By afternoon, she was still burning track-marks in the floors with her running around and getting into things.
“Bootsie, what’s gotten into you?” he says to her in a sweet voice, encouraging her to come sit quietly by his feet.
“Good luck with that” I tell him, knowing the little one will not sit still enough to relax at his feet. This is no old lady Tilly.
Then, “Ouch!” follows when little miss piranha teeth chomps down on Dad. This is a new trick of hers. She bites everything. Hard. Seemingly with excitement rather than aggression.
Mom told me that when she comes downstairs in the morning, Miss Bootsie greets her exuberantly. She then follows Mom around the house periodically biting her butt. Right, ‘cause that will put you on someone’s good side first thing in the morning.
Anyway, the pooping chompers and her parents have a ways to go.
Dad was directed to go out and work on leash training every morning. He is to use a choke collar with nasty, unfriendly but necessary spikes on it to do so. He must use only certain phrases when training the dog…
No, Bootsie!
Bad Girl!
Good Girl!
…or something like those phrases.
So far, she seems to be doing well. I’m told she is getting better at walking on a leash, on the left side. She is still having accidents regularly, but my parents say they knew her pooping issues would not go away overnight.
Talking with my Dad on the phone, Mom too, is always amusing.
My most recent conversation with Dad was peppered with “Bootsie, get off the table. Good girl”
“No, that’s not yours to chew on.”
“Bootsie! NO! Bootsie, get down off the counter!”
“She’s running in circles,” he says, talking to me this time, adding that when she was praised up and down that morning for peeing outside she came inside and raised hell. As though she’d earned it. By afternoon, she was still burning track-marks in the floors with her running around and getting into things.
“Bootsie, what’s gotten into you?” he says to her in a sweet voice, encouraging her to come sit quietly by his feet.
“Good luck with that” I tell him, knowing the little one will not sit still enough to relax at his feet. This is no old lady Tilly.
Then, “Ouch!” follows when little miss piranha teeth chomps down on Dad. This is a new trick of hers. She bites everything. Hard. Seemingly with excitement rather than aggression.
Mom told me that when she comes downstairs in the morning, Miss Bootsie greets her exuberantly. She then follows Mom around the house periodically biting her butt. Right, ‘cause that will put you on someone’s good side first thing in the morning.
Anyway, the pooping chompers and her parents have a ways to go.
That's My Kind of Boyfriend!
My friend, Alex, who is living in Delft, Netherlands right now with her family, sent this funny ad out. She says the "commercials here are so much more risque and funnier than home. And the movie theaters are so nice- big comfy seats and they serve beer, wine, etc."
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