After being in what feels like a perpetual holding pattern for (gasp!) nine months, Doug and I are FED UP TO HERE and we’re changing things whether they want to be changed or not.
The first thing is that we’re moving the big dogs (the corgis) back to the house, hopefully as soon as this weekend. We’re over there almost every day anyway and the dogs’ behavior here is stinking to high heaven as the summer progresses and they can’t get out and move. They’re used to running full-tilt four or five hours a day, and with the heat their hand-walks (which is the only thing we can do in the apartment) have been limited to one long walk in the morning and one long walk in the evening, with potty breaks in between.
The straw that has broken this particular overweight camel’s back was that not one, not two, but THREE new dogs moved into our corridor over the last week. There’s a Scottish Terrier, a sweet little miniature Poodle, and a Beagle who yells ALL. DAY. LONG. Every time the Cardigans sense that one of them is walking past the door, they rush the gate and bounce straight up in the air and screech with excitement. We’ve had to ban them from our bedroom because you can hear the Beagle from that end of the apartment (and they yell back at him if they can hear him), which means they are even more restricted in space.
Moving them involves a huge amount of work to finish the basement area and completely pull up and re-set the fence. It will also make our lives a lot harder in terms of logistics, because we’ll have to make sure they’re never alone for more than a short overnight, but my sanity will benefit enormously. And the dogs’ quality of life will get a lot better.
Second, and the moms out there will understand what a huge deal this is, I weaned Zuzu this week. I thought I’d cry and cry, and I did have one rather sniffly moment, but then I felt as free as a sparrow.
Third – and this is maybe the biggest: When we had the house fire, I lost almost all of my jewelry. The vast majority would have been rejected by the dime counter at a thirft shop, but I owned one really lovely set, a necklace and bracelet of black South Sea pearls. They were given to me by a dear friend and they were, aside from my wedding set, literally the best things I owned.
Insurance paid for the set, and (as opposed to most of the contents money, which must be hoarded and spent on the house) Doug let me spend the money however I wanted. I decided that replacing the pearls wasn’t really practical with so many little kids around and with the fanciest event I attend over an average year being Benefit Night at the local Wendy’s, so I decided to buy something else black:
Before I jinx myself, this may not be THE puppy. It’s the one Betty Ann wants to send to me right now, but she’s very young and the final pick will be made at eight weeks. So don’t kill me if I end up with a different baby. But this is the one I am desperately hoping will turn out. The way I buy puppies is shamefully ignorant – I call Betty Ann and tell her to send me something, don’t care about gender, don’t care about color, and she sends me a picture that is RIDONCULOUSLY BEAUTIMONIOUS and I squeal and jump around and clap my hands like a three-year-old.
That little puppy there represents a pedigree that I literally could not have designed any better for what I want to do and where I want to go, and she is pretty dang cute to boot. Once I know for sure that it’s really her and not another puppy, I’ll make her a page and talk about names and put up a pedigree. Right now I am still worried that I will have to take it all back if she suddenly grows a fifth leg or something. But is she not the loverliest little petunia of a peach of a pansy?