I lost my mind, and forgot yesterday was a deadline for me to review a book I hadn't even read yet. Oh. My. Cat crap. Spent a lot of today reading. Almost done. Should at least write part of the review, but my brain won't let me. So, I thought I'd at least write here! Magazine deadline, shamazine deadline. At least I'm writing something.
No, I don't get paid to write these reviews. I get asked that a lot. But I don't care! I get some really good books and a free magazine subscription. Sweet! It's good enough for now.
This book featured the Amish. I think the Amish are wicked cool. Never thought you'd see that sentence, did ya? My grandparents took me to Amish country when I was a little squirt. Was it Lancaster County, PA? Seems like it. But that's where this book takes place, so maybe not. I love how strong their faith is. How beautifully they live. All the fattening delicious food they cook... If I had to live without electricity and buttons, I would need me some mashed potatoes with butter and cream cheese, know what I'm saying? Michael thinks I'm weird, but I admire their culture. They find such beauty that we miss in our busy, noisy, relentless lifestyles. I'm going to request more books about Amish.
I really hate how my tummy rumbles at this hour. If I were asleep, like any other normal person, I wouldn't know it was rumbling and dying for a cheese sammich on sourdough bread.
You've missed how random I can be, haven't you? Yeah... I know.
Also, my leg is cold. Because I have a little dog between my knees, and in order to hold the laptop properly, my leg is unadorned with blankets. Heaven forbid I move the little dog!
Yes, we still have Jack Jack, but since arriving at the conclusion that it would be irresponsible to try and have a baby when my blood pressure is high enough to fly a kite, Michael relented and we adopted a dog from a pet rescue. My friend, S, gave me the idea. She has toy poodles that I adore. When I saw our little dog on the website, I fell in love. Michael also fell in love, but didn't want to say anything. I love how we agree on something and we don't even have to open our mouths. It just works out. So I have a Chipughua. He's part Chihuahua, part pug. Which means he has bat ears, but his eyes don't bug out, and a cute cinnamon roll tail and he is the biggest mooch in the universe. He got all the best parts of both breeds! He's just manly enough for Michael to love. I don't think he would have loved a toy poodle the same way. And he's big for a Chihuahua. Like he was on steroids as a puppy or something. I take him with me everywhere, and he loves it. We go for walks. He takes naps with me. If he doesn't get a ride in the van once or twice a week, he starts to freak out, just like his mom, he needs a break from the House of Fun for just a little while sometimes. I'm going to knit him a sweater because he has a naked belly and it's 30 degrees out. I love him to pieces. No, he's not a child. But he needs someone to take care of him, and I get to be that person. I needed that.
Crap. I still reallllly want that cheese sammich. This is an added plus of having my little doggie. I don't want to get out of bed and disturb his slumber. Or worse, have him snuggle with Michael in my absence. So I can't get up. Besides, when I've answered the late night call to cheese, the doggie also answers. Cheese is also his favorite food, and is an obnoxious little snot about it too. The more obnoxious, the more adorable, and I usually end up giving in to him. Because who can resist a cute little dog with sad brown eyes who came from a broken and abused home? No one. So he gets as much cheese as I do, and my tummy is still rumbling. What's the point in that?
Yeah, his previous family has some issues. The dad is in jail and the mom and kids are in a safe house. The dad apparently used to beat the dog along with his wife. I've found scars on his neck and back, so I don't know what had been done to him, but he was a scared little dude when we got him home. Everyone thought he'd be scared of Michael, but I frequently have to pry them apart so I can have doggie snuggles. I feel really bad that the mom and kids had to lose their dog in order to be safe. I wish I could let them know that we take really good care of him and we love him completely. I think that putting him in the shelter that they did would ensure that. They really check out the homes they places these animals in.
So what is the doggies name, you ask. Well, this has a story. Don't I always have a long convoluted story about details that don't really matter that much? Yeah. I do. And here's another.
He came with the name Snickers. He didn't look like a Snickers. He didn't respond to Snickers. And he'd probably been called Snickers when some unfun things were going on in his little life. So I decided he needed a fresh start, a fresh name. At first, I was determined he have a Harry Potter name. Sirius didn't fit him. My friend has a Dobby, so that wouldn't work. Dumbledore, Albus, Severus, Weasley, Winky, Percy and Neville did not suit him. So I thought of Barnabus. Not the Biblical one. Not the one from Louis Lamour, Saacketland. The one from the 90's version of Dark Shadows, a vampire soap opera. Ben Cross and his freaky fangs. Yup. That's what I'm talking about. Then Riley started calling him Barney, and that got nixed. Then I decided, I would just call him Baby. He's my Baby replacement therapy, so why not? He liked it. Every time I brought him to Michael's office, I would get a new set of opinions on why my latest name idea was ridiculous. So I was sitting in Anne's office with him, and he was looking straight up and around and his ears were very pointy and he looked very regal and Egyptian. So we thought Anubis. Well, then he'd get called Noob, or Noooby, and I wasn't down with that and after reading that they were Gods of the Underworld I came up with Osiris. Not quite as creepy of an Egyptian god. Osiris he is. But we call him Ozzy for short. Because he gets the shakes sometimes, and looks like he should be shouting "Sharon". He's still my Baby, and that's what we really end up calling him the most. He really doesn't care what we call him as long as we call him for treats.
Yes, now I am one of those freaky people who brings their little (ish) dog with them everywhere. Saves them special treats from their meal. Refers to herself as the dogs "mommy" and talks baby language to him. It's weird. And pathetic. It so works for me, I wish I had done it years ago.
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