That’s a picture of Jack with his favorite toy “Ducky.” Ducky originally looked like this and was labeled as “Tuff Stuff,” meaning it was nearly indestructible.
Jack harvested Ducky’s organs without proper permission forms being signed within five minutes of Ducky’s arrival. Then he proceeded to shred and destroy the rest of Ducky’s carcass faster than a dead hobo in a vat of hydrofluoric acid. Not that I would know anything about that.58 Comments
Shortly after I moved here I bought a couple of tomato plants just for the hell of it even though it was pretty late to be planting. I put them in the garden area behind the pool and then basically ignored them- not out of laziness, mind you, but as a scientific experiment. Yeah, that’s it- science. Well, one plant died almost immediately and the other one not only survived but thrived, and just a few days ago a few of the tomatoes ripened enough to be eaten. I decided to celebrate since it had been years since I actually had a homegrown tomato. I called J to join in the celebration.
Me: “Hey! I had two tomatoes ripen on my plant so I’m going to have a Tomatopalooza!”
J: “What? What’s a Tomatopalooza?”
Me: “It’s like a tomato festival minus clowns. You know, to celebrate the harvest of the first ’maters from my plant!”
J: “Umm…and just what do you plan to do at your Tomatopalooza?”
Me: “Well, I think I’ll make BLT’s and sing that “You Say Tomato I say Tomahto” song. Maybe even have party hats!”
J: “God you’re so weird.”
Me: “Well, Mr. Tomatopalooza Hating Nazi, consider your Tomatopalooza invite rescinded.”
Sunday night I went to the back courtyard to get a pair of work gloves I had forgotten and left on a table. I live in constant fear of insects climbing into my gloves or shoes left outdoors and I simply couldn’t sleep thinking some spider or other creepy crawler was going to bed down and nest in them. J thinks I’m neurotic about bugs and need some sort of bug desensitizing therapy. I think J should just shut the fuck up. Anyway, I turned on the outdoor light, walked out the door, and not two steps out I saw what appeared to be a bat heading for me! I kept walking, thinking “Geeze, your sonar must be pretty off” because as weird as it sounds, I find bats adorable. I mean, all except the guano and rabies. As it got closer I saw it had multiple wings that were fanned out and that it was an odd shape for a bat. In a split second I realized it wasn’t a bat at all but a motherfucking PALMETTO BUG. That’s right, I was being attacked yet again by a gigantic flying roach. I, of course, went into my primal survival mode, or what I like to call my “French Fighting Mode.” I screamed a long blood-curdling little school girl scream and took off running for the door, all the while batting myself like I was on fire. I made it back in the house and slammed the door behind me. Even though I was pretty sure I had made it in without any contact with the hideous sonsabitch, I took a shower just to be sure.
Today the exterminators come back. I told the guy on the phone that I don’t want to see another Palmetto Bug anywhere on my property EVER. I told them I’d pay for a damned crop duster airplane if I had to. He tried to tell me that it was impossible to get rid of them all because they live in trees and under mulch. I told him “I don’t care if Satan sends them up from the Bowels of Hell every night, I want them all dead, do you hear me? Dead! Nuke them from space if you have to.” He was quiet for a few seconds and said “Umm, we’ll be there tomorrow.”48 Comments
About three weeks ago Jack started acting like his back hurt again and then quickly was having trouble standing. I swooped him up and took him to the local vet here and then thought “Umm, no, I’m sure you’re a good vet but I’m taking him to the orthopedic surgeon who performed his spinal surgery last year” and left straight away for Columbia.
Jack saw his surgeon, had an MRI, and then saw a neurologist. They basically said he’s a dachshund and genetically they’re a fucking mess. So are all short-legged breeds, because in order to get short legs there’s a gene missing that technically deforms their spines along with their legs, and with age the disks start crushing and erupting. Sigh.
This time Jack wasn’t completely paralyzed like he was last year when he had his spinal surgery. The neurologist suggested trying medication and six weeks confinement because he had two, maybe three disks acting up this time, one in his neck and two closer to his rear legs. The surgery would be astronomically expensive and also during Jack’s exam they discovered he had developed a heart murmur so basically the surgery and recovery could kill him. I took him home with muscle relaxers, sedatives, and prednisone.
For the first two weeks I think I cried every day thinking I’d have to make “the final decision” very soon. I would never be so selfish to keep him alive if he were in constant pain or if his quality of life was going to suck. The worst thing was trying to judge his condition because all his meds made him all wobbly and weird. Once he came off most of his medication after the second week though I started seeing a dramatic improvement. Now it’s hard to keep him confined, though I certainly will for three more weeks, and he’s back to being “normal”- wagging his tail, all happy and carefree, barking at everyone and everything, tearing everything up in his kennel, and trying to sniff the cat’s asses if they get too close.
Yep, he’s back to being a shithead, the Jack I love.61 Comments