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Gift from Hil Part 2 - 2014-12-30
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1:14 p.m. - 2011-02-08
'And now for something completely different�' Okay, tiny fudge of the facts, this entry probably won't be completely different from all of my previous entries. Though in true Python fashion it'll most likely be utter nonsense and total bollocks. (And this is different from your usual entries how?) (Shut up, you. Nobody likes a wiseass.) Now where was I? Oh, yes� While we were feasting on conveyor belt sushi the other day Mick was feasting rather lightly, especially for him. (No lie, I've seen this man eat an entire 26oz porterhouse steak and a baked potato the size of a football after he'd polished off a mountainous order of cheesy fries, and he still had room to finish my dinner for me.) When I protested he'd eaten nothing (8 pieces of sushi is nothing to Mick) he shrugged. I apologized for my insisting on sushi and immediately offered to go somewhere else. I puddled up. Bwah! Selfish me had chosen the lunch place and now Mick was going to starve to death! And it was ALL my fault! Bwah! Mick reached across the table and gave my hand a squeeze. "Baby, stop. I love sushi. Really! In fact I love sushi so much I want to come back here on my birthday." BWAH!!! "Your birthday??? But I always make you steak and scallops for your birthday! It's your favorite! I go to Sam's and get those nice steaks you like and the big scallops and I cook everything just right and�BWAH! Now you don't want it?" (*pathetic sniffling and wounded puppy face*) Panic. "Baby, sweetie, honey, no! I LOVE your birthday dinners for me! They're wonderful! I just meant we should come back and have sushi again real soon! Not on my birthday, just that we won't let a whole year go by before we come back this time! Okay? Baby? Are you hearing me? You make the best birthday dinners ever! Baby, please don't be upset." (*sniff sniff* cue: brave watery smile) "Okay. I'm not upset." (*sniff!*) I swear to God I do NOT understand how or why this man puts up with me. Think I'm kidding about how it goes with us? Ask Ms Steph. She's seen us in action. She'll tell you. We're gross. Right, Stephanie? So, when I'm not torturing my husband with my hormonally driven antics, what else do I have going on? Been writing quite a bit. Can't tell if it's shite yet or not. Right now I'm still in that infatuated phase. (And why am I not writing instead of bothering you good people with my dimwitted logorrhea? Not a fucking clue.) I've also been helping Princess quite a bit. She is lamed up something fierce. Poor doggie. There's nothing I can really do for her except to put hands on her ouchie hip joints and keep her quasi-stoned on pain meds. We've figured out that our dear fluffy pup is much older than we originally thought. Instead of being the hale and hearty 3 year old we believed her to be when we got her 4 years ago, she's probably closer to 11 now. Which for a cross-breed of good stock isn't old old, but she's no spring chicken either. Fortunately her teeth are still very sound and she doesn't have any digestive issues as of yet. But recently her knees, hips and shoulders have been a misery to her. Part age, part cold and stormy weather, and part because she's been going outside with Wolf and chasing him downhill like a demented fool while he's sledding. Also Poms are prone to joint problems. Princess is only half Pomeranian, but her Sheltie other half has been whooping it up big time as she's 'herded' Wolf on his sled and her poor Pom legs are paying for it. If dogs had a longer view instead of perpetually living in the Now I don't think she'd regret much. Her youngest years may have been a horror, and while Eve the rescue lady did her best, Princess at least learned to feel sort of safe with Eve, I know our doggie has had a Very Good Life since coming to live with us. For one thing she's an only dog instead of being just one of the herd of dozens on Eve's farm. Bedrooms are off-limits to all pets in this house, but otherwise Princess has had the run of the place and is allowed up on the couch and everything. She's friends with the cats who tend to treat her like a dopey lovable clumsy cousin. Wolf, as I said, has big fun with her outside. They're pals. Mick spoils Princess almost as much as he spoils me, plying her affections with endless dog cookies and scritches. And from the very beginning Princess and I have been the best of friends. One beaten puppy always recognizes another. When Princess flinches and cowers I'm there. There with soft words and reassurances that she's safe, oh so safe now. I never chide her when she's squeamish or hesitant. I'm lavish with my praise and attention. I think back to when she first came to us and how she wouldn't let anyone near her but me. I'd sit with her on the front porch for hours, just stroking her and crooning. Telling her over and over that she was a good girl. I've cheered her on as she's bloomed from a cowering, helpless, shaking mess into becoming the happy, yapping, runaround goofball she is today. Going from when a trip in the car made her vomit from panic to cheekily hopping into the driver's seat with a big doggie grin and a "Let's GO, Mom!" The trust she's placed in me breaks my heart sometimes. That it's taken so goddamn little from me to help her to be okay and how horrible it must have been for her during her abused years that being allowed on the couch is a wonderful amazing thing. Being allowed on the couch, a sushi lunch, maybe it's not so hard to understand why Mick puts up with me after all.
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