Too frazzled to write

Been busy all day with working on my ERO case, taking Celeste to the vet, dealing with family things.... Just too tired to try to be witty or find a topic worth writing.

On the plus side, the Civic Center across from my house is showing Cars 2 on the outside of the building. Free movie for me!

Last episodes of "American Stuffers"

Yes. It is with a heavy heart and a hanging head that I admit that today I actually watched the American Stuffers episodes on Animal Planet.

You have to understand, though. The satellite signals on the movie channels were spotty and there was nothing on network television worth watching. Plus -- and honestly, no disrespect to the Ross Family and their employees -- but the show is just like a really bad car wreck. You know you shouldn't look but once you do you just can't turn away from it.

I didn't watch all of the episodes today. I watched "The Dog Named Precious," "The Cat Without a Nose," "The Hairless Dog," and "A Tornado Hits Romance." I will say that I'm very glad Daniel was able to put the cat's nose back on before its owner came to pick it up (and no one noticed the problem). The skin coming off of the Chinese Crested (which the owner proudly stated she'd paid $250 as a puppy) though was a close one. And her having the dog's testicles removed to have sperm harvested by a company in Washington just had me rolling on the floor. Yeah, I'm not a biology major, but I can't imagine them living in there for very long, much less long enough to ship them to Washington from Texas (where they drove from to get the dog freeze-dried).

The pet chicken being freeze-dried, though, had me baffled. I know people keep chickens as pets. I have friends that have had good and bad things come from doing that. But if the chicken dies on its own, I'd be thinking about disposing of it correctly, not how it's going to look in the center of the dinner table as a centerpiece. Okay, the lady with the chicken actually said she was going to decorate her chicken coops with all of her pet chickens after they die and she has them freeze-dried. And she named all of them after characters from Jersey Shore. So, take from that what you want.

I can say that I was moved by the lady who had her Yorkie for 14 years and met the crew from Xtreme Taxidermy at the Big Buck Classic Hunters' Convention (where most of the other attendees were grossed-out by the pets on display). She'd had a lot of loss in her life and having her dog preserved as a way to help her cope may not be for me but I sure hope it helps her. Plus, she wants the dog buried with her when she passes away. Sadly, the dog will look better longer than she will, but at least they'll be together.

And I also have to admit that the story about the dog that had been skinned by another taxidermist and left the crew of the shop with a puzzle on how to make him look good again was interesting. Mostly because they were very careful to not tell the lady who brought in the dog how badly butchered the job the previous taxidermist did. I was glad to see that they were able to take that idiot's mistakes and fix it so the lady was happy. Now I just hope she doesn't watch the episode and see exactly what was done to her dog.

So, yeah, I let the redneck in me have a few laughs and sat agog at some of the things said/done on the show. There aren't any future episodes coming (it was cancelled), but Romance, Arkansas isn't too terribly far from my family's old stomping grounds. I'm pretty sure I could find it if I felt the need.

Leave the bear alone you hillbillies!!

All day I have been listening to the local police scanner. I keep it on because if there's an emergency that isn't being broadcast on the local news channels, I can usually get some information from the scanner. Plus after years of having worked as an Emergency Medical Technician (EMT) and disaster preparedness/response person, I'm just addicted to it.

So today's noteworthy broadcasts have been about a small black bear that has wandered into town. It's not hurt anyone; it's not gone into the residential areas; and it's trying to find its way back to the woods. At first someone thought it was a dog when it was near a residential area but it stayed over by the local airport (not an overly busy one). It has been wandering around and I'm not worried about it coming over into the area where I live because it would have to cross a large Interstate highway plus the busy traffic at the intersection that crosses over it. The state conservation agents have been working with the county law enforcement to track the bear and make sure that it keeps heading towards the woods.

Sadly, though, all the yokels in town have been coming out in droves to see it -- especially after the story was aired on the local news. Now the police are being called by the businesses in the area next to the Interstate highway because people keep trying to get closer and closer to the bear so they can take pictures of it. Some have brought their dogs with them, like the conservation agents need that little bit of "help" with a bear that really doesn't want to be where it is in the first place.

Right now it's up a tree next to the local Pizza Hut. It wanders between one of the banks, the Pizza Hut, a furniture store, and a Captain D's restaurant. I'm sure it smells plenty of trash from that area it would love to eat. Hopefully the conservation and law enforcement agents will get rid of the crowd before the bear hurts itself. The poor thing just wants to get back to its home (with a snack to-go if it can grab one).

Here's an idea -- if you want to see a close-up photo of a bear, pick up a book! If you want to see a bear in person, go to a zoo! If you see a bear in the wild, then lucky you -- but for cryin' out loud, stop trying to get in its way!

Well....at least now there's something else to listen to. Some drunken fool is chugging a Mountain Dew and whiskey outside a local grocery store and has pushed carts into the major 4-way intersection of town. Now that sounds more like an average night.

Can we say "discrimination?" I thought we could!

*Insert loud screaming in frustration noise here*

Well, I just heard from my Equal Rights counselor regarding my long "quest" to find out why I wasn't reappointed to my job and to try to get it back. I still have another phone call coming from her when she receives the message of whether or not the person she is dealing with has the right to reappoint me or not. At the moment, however, I couldn't give crap one if they try to reappoint me to my old position. There's no way I could possibly stand to work for these people after what I was just told they said about me and my disability!

So, quick rundown before I have to go grab another Xanax. The main Equal Rights Officer I worked with last year to get my reasonable accommodations to have Celeste come to work with me stated that I had proven that I had a disability and with all the letters from therapists, doctors, co-workers, and the trainer of my service dog that I had proven the need and should be allowed to bring her with me. My assistant Cadre Manager signed-off on all of the paperwork and sent me a memo stating how in the future I was to notify her when I was deploying with Celeste and the rules/regulations that I would have to follow for having her in our field offices. Basic stuff, all approved, all signed, and copies (both physical and electronic) are saved for my records.

Then, the counselor contacted my Cadre Manager and his assistant to speak with them on why I wasn't reappointed to my job. He stated that he'd heard my name but didn't know who I was. He also stated that he knew that there were issues last year with me bringing Celeste and problems at the office (which there weren't any from her, just from others who wanted to pet and play with her) and that she was not a "service animal" but was a "comfort dog." Really?? Since when did he become so educated on what constitutes the difference between a SD (service dog) and an ESA (emotional support animal)?? And this is a man I've only ever spoken to once since I started working for him in 2009 because he never returned my emails or phone calls and I always had to go through his assistant.

And speaking of his assistant, she was very quiet throughout the interview. I have her signature approving my request for reasonable accommodation but she told the counselor that all of that was handled at headquarters by the ERO officers.

I was right!! They were discriminating against me when they didn't reappoint me. The Cadre Manager stated that my "comfort dog" would cause a problem and I couldn't be deployed or retained because of it. Also, he said that he had to drastically reduce the number of people he had employed but he only released two people in my section. I guess all of the people who I trained last year will be able to go on to have full employment and success now.

I'm not expecting to get my job back because he said he'd be happy to write a letter of recommendation for me (which was the easy-out option given if they weren't going to keep me) and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't want me back anyway now that I know what I know. But, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

I'm shocked. I'm flabbergasted. I can't believe that someone would be so bold to basically state outright that my disability is the reason they didn't keep me -- especially since this is a FEDERAL position and there are FEDERAL laws to protect the disabled.

You can be sure I'll keep things updated as more info comes in. However, for anyone who thought I was just uselessly chasing a dream, I'm not upset and I'm not going to dance around with my tongue sticking out and my fingers in my ears saying "I'm right and you were wrong!" I've always had a tenacity to grab hold of something and see it all the way through to the end, regardless if I'm right or I'm wrong. I'm glad that I have that now because I have proof that I was right this time. And anyone who feels that they've been wronged should be brave enough to stand-up for what they believe in and fight for what is right. I hope I've been a good example.

Now I need to try to relax before I pop a vein in my head. That would kind of make going on to a formal complaint process difficult.

About what do my dogs dream?

Yes, I noticed that I made sure my title was grammatically correct. OCD has checked-in for the night!

Anyway, I do wonder what goes through my dogs' brains when they're dreaming. I can look over at the cat who is sound asleep at the moment and she never moves until she wakes up. However, I can watch either Celeste or Harley and sooner or later they'll start to run in their sleep, snore loudly, or sometimes even bark as if they're trying to say something.

Celeste is five years old and has had a lot of experiences with and without me. She was a show dog and has traveled around the country and also worked as a service dog for a lady in a wheelchair (who sadly didn't know how to care for her even though she'd had service dogs before). So, I could see some memories coming back to her mind and perhaps she sees things she remembers.

Harley, on the other hand, has been with us since she was nine months old. She was abandoned and raised for a month at a farm before they took her to the local Humane Society because they couldn't afford to keep another abandoned dog. She's been on trips with us (vehicle only, no planes yet) and has romped around in the yard or at a dog park. Most of her time she's comfortable on the couch and when given the opportunity will watch car races or other dogs running on television. Harley also lived here with my service dog Cody who passed away in 2010. She was there when he died. She also has a lot of his habits and mannerisms because he made sure that he taught her how to act and didn't let her get too out of control.

Cody would snore loudly and run when sleeping too -- but he only came to live with us when he was much older. He had been a puppy mill breeder dog that had been abandoned on the side of the Interstate when he'd gotten to old to make the owners more money. We took him in and even though he had no idea how to play or act like a normal dog, he learned commands quickly and was eager to please because he loved being loved by someone instead of just ignored. And he still had the gumption to put the cat in her place when he came to live with us and she wouldn't shut up one night. He just closed her mouth with his and looked at her as if to say, "See? Quiet is better."

When Cody would snore loudly and move as if he was running when he was asleep, I could always imagine that he was reliving something that had happened before we had him. Maybe it was running away from the handlers at the puppy mill. Maybe it was finally running free when they first got rid of him before he began to struggle to find food and water in the sweltering heat of the summer. I would always hope that his dreams would include meeting us and enjoying a nice walk or just being cuddled.

I'm watching Harley's legs move while she's asleep as if she's running for her life. Maybe there's a rabbit or a squirrel in her dream? She loves to chase them in the yard, though I don't think she'd have any idea what to do with one if she caught it. She's running and running and you can hear her snorting loudly with every "step" she takes. Whatever it is, she's either thoroughly enjoying it or making damned sure that she gets away from whatever she doesn't like.

I know humans put too much emotion into our pets. We talk to them as if they're people and try to read their facial expressions and actions like we do non-verbal communications from other humans. But I think it would be fun if we could see about what our dogs are dreaming. Finally catching the ball; scaring a flock of birds; or maybe just laying on the couch getting their tummy rubbed. Anything could be a fascinating dream for them.

Tired today....

LONG day.... Took Harley to have her yearly "shearing" at the groomer. She grows so much hair during the winter you could almost make enough wigs/toupees for those little hairless dogs. Then they wouldn't get so cold all the time. We also went to our favorite gaming store and sold them a few items for store credit. Just some old books that we didn't like but that their customers will love buying. And the credit can stay there until the next Warhammer 40K tournament or when we need to buy something for someone's birthday, etc.

Also started shopping for a new phone since mine is having battery issues. I first went to a store run by the company with whom I have my service. They said that they don't make stupidphones anymore. I said that I knew he was lying because (1) I'd seen an ad for one and (2) there were some hanging on the wall in the store. He, of course, wanted to show me every smartphone in the place but I told him I wasn't going to pay a bunch more per month for the privilege of having a phone that can do a lot of things I can't afford for it to do nor would I use it for them. I guess I should have also taken a photo (the one "fancy" thing my stupidphone can do) of all of the basic phones we saw at a large electronics retailer in town as well. And if I wanted a smartphone I could get it there for even less than the service company was advertising! But, no, I did not replace my beloved stupidphone.

When Harley's grooming appointment was over, we went to pick her up and I asked the groomer to grind Celeste's nails so that I won't have to clip them for a bit. Celeste was a show dog before she became a service dog but you would have thought that no one had ever touched her feet before when she started trying to escape from the groomer. Fortunately, the lady had a great attitude and just chased her around the grooming table, keeping one paw in her hand at all times, and got it done. Another of the ladies working there asked me if she could know why I have Celeste and when I told her she was thrilled to hear someone else has a service dog for psychiatric issues. I gave her my name and number and the name and number of Celeste's breeder/trainer because the lady and her husband are trying to get a service dog for him to use. I wish them the best of luck because I know that Celeste has helped me more than I could have imagined!

Hopefully tomorrow will be relaxing. I know Husband can use a nice relaxing day after working hard all week. And Youngest Son is now home from school so I'll find plenty of chores/activities for him to complete!

Am I paying for this???

Today I had another therapist appointment. She began the session by trying to tell me about Jay Leno on the "Tonight Show" last night and how she really liked this "black female comedian who must be new." I mentioned the name Wanda Sykes and she said, "Yeah! That's her!" I began to list a number of television shows, movies, and voiceovers she'd done before and my therapist still had no idea who she is but thinks she's the funniest person she's heard in a long time. I agree, Ms. Sykes is funny. But then my therapist attempted to recount the entire conversation and all of the jokes between Jay and Wanda, but she couldn't remember all of the bits.

She sat there trying to tell me jokes and repeat what had made her laugh so hard but couldn't remember all of the punchlines or even some of the stories. What she did tell me didn't make any sense at all.

Then she began to tell me the story of how her dachshund had escaped from her house when a friend was dog-sitting and the very intricate details of how turkey hunters and neighbors (she lives in the country, so "neighbor" means "lives within a mile of you") had seen the dog but weren't able to catch it. On and on the story went and she was stunned that the dog had been gone for 15 days and had survived. The vet says it has tapeworms now because it was probably eating rabbits while it was away. She couldn't believe that her dog, a pampered pet, could kill something.

I reminded her that dachshunds were bred for hunting and ratting. They're low to the ground and have short legs so they can follow their prey into the burrows. And, most importantly, that it's a dog and when hunger sets in it's not going to debate over whether or not the food comes from a can or hole in the ground. It will go back to its nature and hunt, especially if it's a breed originally designed for that.

She kept on-and-on about how shocking it was and could I possibly believe that her dog (which I've never met) could do something like that and then, oh by the way, did I know that her pig was getting bigger? I had to stop for a second and ask her to repeat herself. She was telling me that the small piglet she'd been bringing into the office because its mother had stepped on it and it had a large wound that needed to be cared for was doing much better and is getting bigger. She also asked me what she should do with such a large animal. She's raised pigs before, so she knows that sows can become VERY large. I suggested that she make it a banquet centerpiece but she said there was no way she could eat it. She might consider breeding it but she doesn't know what to do with such a large animal.

Hey....here's a fun fact -- if you breed a very large animal, its young will also become very large animals!! If you think you don't have room for one now, having a bunch of others isn't going to help your space issues!!

I was about to ask, "Am I paying for this time?" when she finally asked me a question about how I was doing. I asked if she was telling me these disjointed tales as an example of what it's like to talk to me and she said that she didn't realize she'd talked so much. She then asked me why I'm not writing a novel and wanted to know more details from some of the posts that the voices have been writing and suggested I take them and write a book with them.

Yeah....people really want to read the Great American Novel about a plain kid with a dysfunctional family who's bat-shit crazy. Sure, it will be the top of the bestseller list in the category of "Most purchased for use in lighting fires" or "Most purchased as cheaper alternative to toilet paper."

So, my one-hour session didn't quite last that long today but at least it gave me subject matter about which to post tonight. I was too depressed to type much today anyway and still am. However, the goal of having a post every day is intact. My OCD is still sated for another 24 hours.

Busy day makes for tired gal

Today's been busier than I expected. Woke up at 5 a.m. (as usual) and smelled something awful outside when I let the dogs out to go "walkies." Only Celeste came back stinking like she'd rolled on a skunk or something. Had to give her a bath quickly because she was stinking-up the house in record time. Husband went outside to look for whatever it was she got the smell from but there wasn't anything and the smell had left.

So, I crammed her in our small bathtub and tried to get her clean as quickly as I could. Not as easy as it sounds. She's in the process of shedding her winter coat, so there's lots of hair that liked coating the walls, the tub, the floor, me, and the drains. I was finally able to get the stink down to a tolerable level (just barely noticeable if you stick your face into her fur). Then I spent about 30 minutes trying to get all of the hair into the trash and off of everything to which it was sticking. I still have no idea what caused it but I've never wanted to own my own professional dog wash so much as I did this morning! There's one self-serve dog wash table in town but they're not open at 0-Christ-Hundred in the morning. If I had my own, it would be open when I need it!

Then I went to my therapist appointment today. I took her the three page list of things I can and can't do at work and what makes things easier and harder for me to work. She asked if I'd applied for disability benefits. I said I hadn't because I didn't believe I needed them. She held up the list and said that if I had that many things I should have applied years ago. That's something I'll wait and see what happens as I continue to look for answers on why I wasn't rehired from my old job.

Tonight I watched a neat show on PBS called Radioactive Wolves. It's about the wildlife that has returned to the area around Pripyat (outside of Chernobyl) and how the radiation has affected them. Very interesting show. I know it's kind of weird but I've always wanted to go to Pripyat and see the ruins left behind after the 1986 explosion. It's amazing how nature is taking back the area where people lived for so many years and doing so even after all of the damage done.

I then watched a segment on NBC's Rock Center about how Big Box Marts (like Costco) trick people into overspending on items and buying things they never meant to buy before they went into the store. And that's a reason why I don't have a membership card to any of these places. The lure of buying something you've never seen before but just have to have is too strong at times. I don't need 5 pounds of mayonnaise but I guarantee that if the price is right, I know people who will find a reason to make more egg or tuna salad sandwiches than could ever be eaten at one picnic.

Now, I'm tired and I've kept to my rule about posting each day, so I'm gonna relax and probably watch more television. And check the dog. And maybe think about taking her for another bath tomorrow. And making sure I've got something with me before I let them out in the morning to make sure that if there's an animal making the stink that it doesn't anymore.

A little fall of rain

Today's post is going to be short because it's finally raining here and I'm taking some time to enjoy watching the birds looking for something to eat in the freshly mown grass. They were doing that after it was mowed yesterday, but the rain has brought up a lot of treats for them.

And I also just got back from my therapist's office and still feel in a funk about everything that's going on at the moment. She suggested that I go back to school. "And do what?" I asked her. I have a bachelor's degree and most of a master's, but I can't afford any more student loans. There aren't many grants/scholarships for second bachelor's (which I'd need to really do what I wanted). Plus, if I had the money to go back to school I'd have the money to open my own business and that sort of makes the whole conversation moot.

So for now I'm going to sit and watch the birds outside. It's quiet and the rain isn't falling hard, so it makes it cooler outside but not so unpleasant that you're terrified of going out in it. Well, I'm not terrified of going out in it but you'd think the dogs -- who will romp and roll in anything -- believe it's poisonous. They keep looking at me when I open the door for them to go "walkies" as if I've completely lost my mind.

They may be right. But they still have to do their business out there.

I almost feel sorry for this guy....

In the continuing story of the property/fence/boundary line argument between Stupid Neighbors (I figured by now I should just give them that as their pseudonym) and my family, they finally have gotten the hint that we're serious about having what they placed on our property removed. First it was their kid's tree, which was moved last night. Today, it's the 200-foot by 2-foot strip of concrete that is part of their driveway/patio they installed without having permits or a survey completed. I tried to warn them that they were over the property line but they just wouldn't listen.

So now they've hired someone to come and remove that strip because we told them we want it gone and we're even considering adding another fence along the property line to keep them, their pets, and their kids' junk out of our yard. We've tried being nice but they're the type of neighbors that if you give them an inch, they'll take a mile.

This morning after I'd taken my medication and had drifted back to sleep from their side effects, I was rudely awakened by a horrible screeching noise which was quickly followed by both of the dogs trying to get my attention and lead me to the door to look outside. There, in Stupid Neighbors' driveway, was a pickup truck and three guys. One of them had a hand-held cement saw and the others were watching him. This was not the water-cooled type of cement saw that works effectively on construction sites. What he had was the type you'd use to remove maybe an inch of cement quickly without the blade overheating. It took over two hours for him (and his buddies who kept refilling the gas tank on it) to cut a line along the boundary cord we'd stretched between the survey pins and additional cuts along the side to make the slab easier to remove.

Here's something you need to know about that slab. Not only is what they need to remove 200-feet by 2-feet, but it's also between 3 and 5 inches thick depending on where they're cutting. The person they hired to lay the concrete just used a Bobcat to quickly dig-up a pad for the framework and it wasn't completely level across all areas. This poor guy holding the heavy saw -- which, by the way, is not making quick progress through the cement -- is having to cut and recut until he reaches the ground underneath. He's lucky that Stupid Neighbors didn't put a wire grid or rebar in the slab or it would have taken even longer or broken his saw.

After all of the cuts were made, the same guy whacked at the slab with a soft-headed sledgehammer (I have no idea why) three or four times and then packed-up all of the equipment and left. I figured by now he had realized that he needed heavier and proper equipment in order to easily remove the massive amount of cement/concrete/whatever that is over there.

Nope. He has returned, three hours later, with a heavier sledgehammer and a crowbar. Not a long prybar that you would use in moving slabs of concrete, but a typical crowbar that you might use in small construction projects. And he's whacking the slab with the sledgehammer and then using the crowbar to pry away small chunks of concrete.

You have to understand that I've never worked professionally in construction but I have assisted in building items for local organizations as well as studying construction theory before working in technical theatre so that I could build safe and sturdy set pieces. And I can't imagine that this person believes that his way of trying to remove this amount of concrete will be effective, especially if he's supposed to be a professional. Maybe he came in as the lowest bidder (if they even bothered to get estimates on this project), and I could certainly see why he would be if this is the way he's going to get it done.

Whereas before my house was filled with the screeching sound of a wheel slowly working its way into the cement, now it's filled with the deep "THUD" that comes from each swing of the sledgehammer and an occasional "DING" when he drops the crowbar onto the slab. I don't think he's realized that you get better purchase and that momentum will work best in your favor trying to break concrete if you stand up while swinging the sledgehammer, but I'm not going to tell him how to do his job. As long as he gets it done, removes the debris, and fixes the yard where the slab is currently, then I'll be happy. It can take him all day (or two or three) to get it done; I'm not paying for it. And it's cheap entertainment for the dogs to watch him and growl at others who come by to see what he's doing.

I'd feel sorry for him, but if he chooses to work harder instead of smarter, that's none of my business.

Why can't people just do their jobs?

Today the family and I had to make a trip down the highway so that I could look at and test some self-service dog washing tables. I'd really like to open my own self-service dog wash in our town but I don't have the money to open the type of store I want. Plus, I don't want to take out a loan. I already owe the government enough money on a bachelor's degree and most of a master's that I'm not using, so I'd rather not have any additional debt if I can help it. The system I tried was nice but operated too much like a car wash with the timer clicking away at the same speed regardless if you had a teacup poodle or a mastiff. You couldn't judge how much it was going to cost to wash and dry the dog -- and "dry" was only implied. Air came out of the hose but if you expected a dog with short or long hair to be dried you just might as well put all the money in your bank account into the machine first because it was going to take a long time. I'd rather have a self-service dog wash where there are tubs and professional dryers (that work) and the people pay per pound (of the dog, not themselves). Then they're not rushed and making a huge mess and the dogs are actually cleaned and dried well enough you wouldn't be afraid of putting them back into your vehicle if you still had a nice interior. However, self-operating machines like that may be what I'd have to get if I can save/raise the money. But I'd certainly make the pricing a bit more reasonable and fair.

So, after getting Celeste cleaned, we decided we should grab some lunch. We decided to go to The International House of Pancakes (IHOP) because (1) it was close and (2) it's cheap. Plus, the restaurant has carpet which would prevent Celeste from getting greasy or having whatever the last person swept under the table instead of actually cleaning stuck in her newly clean fur. The restaurant was not crowded and we figured it would be a good place to pop in, grab a quick bite, and then head out on other errands before returning home.

I should have known once I walked in the door that it wasn't going to be good. The cashier and the hostess immediately began making "boo-boo" faces and voices at Celeste, trying to get her attention. I ignored what they were doing, in the hopes that they would stop, and told the hostess that there would be three of us eating there today. She asked if we wanted a table or a booth. I said a booth because it's easier for Celeste to hide out-of-the-way and she won't accidentally stick a tail or paw into traffic (which can happen under some very small tables). The hostess looked around and said, "Well, we have a table." I replied, "Then why did you ask me what I wanted if there really is no option?" She looked puzzled and handed a wet towel to a waitress and told her to clean off the table at a booth in one of the sections. We looked around the corner and noticed that she was cleaning off a table that was next to four other booths that were not occupied. I chalked it up to the fact that the other section might not be staffed at that moment or that they've got some weird seating ritual at this particular IHOP and waited.

The waitress came back and said that the table was clean. She looked at us as if she expected us to give her a gold star or something. The hostess said that we were next to be seated (there wasn't anyone else around waiting to be helped). Then the two of them debated over who would take us to our seat. The waitress grabbed the menus and asked us to follow her (like we're going to go somewhere else). As we reached the table, she looked down and said rather loudly, "Oh! I didn't see the dog! I didn't know you had one with you -- I'm allergic to them!" I gave Celeste the command to find her spot under the table and reassured the waitress that she wouldn't be in contact with the dog at any time during our meal. That didn't appease her and she repeated that she was allergic to dogs.

Now, just for clarification, unless the other person is so allergic to dogs that it would send them into anaphylactic shock, typical allergies to a dog (fur, dander, etc.) which does not create a life-threatening situation is not an excuse to prohibit a person with a service dog from entering an establishment. She could whine about it all she wanted, but I was well within my legal rights to have her with me. As she continued to complain I interrupted her and told her that Celeste had just been bathed, would not be moving from the spot in which she was currently laying until I command her to when we're leaving, and that we were staying right where we were to eat. I wasn't rude about it -- I just spoke matter-of-factly and even heard someone from another table comment that I was right.

So, after this our drink orders were taken and we didn't see the waitress again for quite some time. Other people were finally being seated in the same section. I began to watch to see if she was their server as well or if someone else was assigned to those tables and would we receive our items before the newcomers did. After seeing her running back-and-forth between the kitchen and what I assumed to be the supply closet to get disposable cups, she finally brought us our drinks and took our food order. Husband, Youngest Son and I began to secretly place bets on how long it would take two omelets and some pancakes to be made and delivered to us.

When after a while she returned with our food, we looked at it and could tell something was wrong. Husband and Youngest Son touched their pancakes -- cold and hard. Even the scoop of butter they put on the top of them wasn't beginning to melt. My omelet looked done but the cheese on top of it wasn't melted. Youngest Son even touched his eggs and said they were cold. We asked the waitress to return and told her that the food was cold. She said that the plates were hot and couldn't possibly understand how it could be cold. Husband asked her to touch the pancakes, to which she replied, "We're not allowed to touch the food." He stuck his finger into the stack and told her that they were cold all the way through. When she began to argue that they couldn't be cold, I reached over to Youngest Son's plate and picked up his two over-easy eggs and held them up for her to see. No yolk breakage. No heat coming off of them to burn my fingers. If you'd seen them you would have thought they were a practical joke piece.

She took the food back to the kitchen and then returned saying that she'd touched the food when she got back there and it was cold and she didn't know why and that she would tell the manager. She also said that within 10 minutes we'd have fresh, hot food. We did get hot food -- in less than 4 minutes. And it looked as if it was slapped-together just to get it out of the kitchen. Nothing was placed neatly on the plates or cooked the way we asked.

We took the food and started eating because by now we were starving. Others in our section told us that the restaurant had been having issues and they weren't surprised to see us sending food back. The first question that crossed my mind was, "If you know the restaurant is having issues with people sending food back, why are you here?" but I didn't ask it.

As we ate, we tried to stomach what we had and laughed when the pancakes that Husband ordered split apart as if they had been frozen previously and barely reheated. I guess the "International" part of IHOP is imported pancakes because every one was identical, right down to the dark coloring you'd see if they'd been done on a griddle. I've made quite a few pancakes in my time and I've never been able to get them all identical.

We continued to eat and a gentleman walked up behind Husband and asked if things were okay. No name tag. No identification of any kind. Husband asked who he was and when he identified himself as the manager, Husband said he wondered when he was going to show-up to see why we were upset with our meal. The gentleman looked puzzled. He had no idea we were upset. The waitress rushed over and told us that she had told a different manager and apologized to this manager for not making him aware as well and then began to describe all of the previous events to him. He asked if we wanted new plates of food, which we politely declined and explained that we weren't from that town and needed to get back on the road to finish errands and return home and waiting again for new food would put us even further behind schedule.

Husband and I have always joked that we're just cursed to receive bad food and/or service at restaurants. There was a time when Youngest Son was still an infant that we went to the same restaurant three times because they kept inviting us back for free meals after (1) I was poisoned by dishwashing liquid that had been spilled on the fish I ordered and (2) when we came back for the free meal after that incident a bee was found curled-up (and dead) inside a leaf of lettuce in Husband's salad. The manager of that restaurant admitted that they weren't making a better impression on us and was soon replaced. Sometimes we laugh when we're out because a manager will walk by our table and ask us how we're doing but not say anything to other diners. We wonder if they've got big pictures of us up in the kitchen warning them that we've had crap service at other corporate chains and to be on the lookout for us.

The manager said that he would look into what happened and disappeared. We started to eat as fast as we could because we didn't want anything except to get the heck out of there and back on our way. The manager returned and attempted to pick up the ticket that the waitress had laid on the table after bringing the second attempt at our lunch. Husband slapped his hand down upon the ticket and said that we would pay for our food. The manager looked confused and said that he wanted to pay for the meal. Husband said that all we wanted were two things to happen -- Number 1, for the employees to do their jobs and get it right because without customer satisfaction there won't be customers and then they won't have a job; and Number 2, for the employees to be advised on how to properly act around a service dog because they are working dogs and are not to be distracted when doing their jobs. The manager insisted again on paying for our meal, but we weren't going to allow it. We ate the food, so we should pay for the food. That always shocks them because a lot of times they're used to someone just trying to get a free meal. If we couldn't afford the food, we wouldn't be there in the first place. Plus, the bottom of the ticket has the order number and the 1-800-number the corporation wants customers to call to answer a survey and give comments on our visit.

And trust me, we will.

I don't wanna post today!

With everything that's been going on recently, the last thing I want to do right now is sit in front of the computer and try to be witty. I went to my therapy session today and feel like nothing much came out of that. My therapist is stunned that I wasn't reappointed for my job and has the same outlook I have on me finding another job anywhere around here -- grim.

It's easy to look at the job services online listings and other search engines for positions and find things I'm qualified for or would be willing to learn. It's harder to go into the job location to fill-out an application, drop off a resumé or complete an interview with an 85-pound service dog with you that they weren't expecting. You can see it in their eyes. They're trying to figure out why you're there with your "pet" or how you could possibly be able to do any work if you're "that" disabled that you need a service animal, especially when you're not in a wheelchair or showing any visible signs of a disability. And the usual answers of "You're qualified, but not qualified enough," or "You're overqualified for this position" roll off their lips as if they've had their mind made-up all along (which, they probably have).

Today has just been a sucky day and I'm not in the mood to deal with much else. I had an idea for a business I could open that would help me as well as many others in our community, and then found that someone else is already starting one. And even though I know mine would be WAY better and most likely more successful, without the money to start it up, it's just not going to happen.

And now the "voices" are even arguing over which is more negative or depressive because that's what they do when I'm in a funk. It's gonna be a long night.

A nice teaching event today

*Whew!!* No theatre today. No rehearsal. No frantically trying to find props. Only have to get Husband to practice his lines tonight so we'll be ready for opening night tomorrow. Have been trying to spend today not thinking about the production for a change. I've not been successful at it, but I've been trying.

I did get to see my therapist today. She could tell that things haven't been going so well. She asked how last Wednesday's appointment was. I told her and said she should read my blog for more details. She asked how the show was progressing. Again, I told her and said she should read my blog. She asked if blogging has been helping and I wasn't sure what to say. I think it has but then there are days I wonder. Plus, she thought it was a great idea and a good way to keep-up with what I'm doing/feeling/etc. but hasn't been reading it. Glad I post for myself and not for her.

In the waiting room today there were small children. Two were about 6 or 7 years old, another was younger, and another was not quite 2 years old. Of course, when Celeste and I walked-in, she became the center of attention. Parents started trying to grab their kids and the "Don't touch the doggie!" chants started. The toddler ran to her and hugged her before his mother could grab him. When they're at that age where they don't understand what a working dog is and can't communicate themselves, I look to the parents to keep their kids in line. The mother apologized profusely but the little boy was just fascinated. She kept telling him "No" and pulling him away from Celeste while trying to get him interested in some of the toys they'd brought.

Having seen the toddler do this, the other three came over and started to pet Celeste. Their parents tried to grab them away from her and apologized. I told them not to move the kids but I also told the kids to not touch her. I then explained, in simple terms, that she is a working dog and cannot be petted by others. Of course, the kids looked at me like I was some insane lady and by now the toddler had snuck back over and gave Celeste a big wet kiss. She wasn't happy about it, but she wasn't going to do anything, either, since that would be against her training.

I had Celeste and the children sit on the floor. Every now and then they'd try to sneak a pet or try to get her to kiss them. I showed them her vest and backpack and for the ones that could read I showed them the "DO NOT PET" patches. I explained that she has to be paying attention to me and that if someone bothers her, she can't do her job which makes her upset because she's a working dog. The older boy asked if she was like the police dog they'd met at an event in town. I said that the police dog is a working dog too but that he and Celeste don't do the same jobs. His mother said, "Remember when the police officer said you couldn't pet him until he said it was okay?" and the boy replied that he did. I said that the same rules would apply to Celeste and any other dog with a vest or backpack that they might see. The youngest girl was quickly bored and wandered off but the older kids were fascinated. I explained that they should never touch a working dog unless they've asked the owner/handler first for permission. And I told them that they have to get the permission first because some working dogs can't be petted or played with and to never try to pet a dog they don't know. The two kept reminding each other about the "DO NOT PET" patches and asking first as they caught the other trying to sneak another pat on the head.

When the parents and children left, one of the other patients came into the waiting room and said how beautiful Celeste is and asked if she was trained or if I was training her. I explained that she is a service dog and assists me all day, every day. She told me how blessed I am to have a dog like her and that I must feel very lucky, which I do and I agreed with her. She asked me if I minded talking about Celeste and what she does for me. I told her that I didn't mind and the lady volunteered that she has PTSD and always wondered if a service dog could help. I could see my therapist looking out of the doorway at us and I said that Celeste has helped me immensely before she began to tell the lady what a major change in me she's seen and how much she enjoys Celeste being in our sessions.

The lady began to ask more questions -- What is it like to have the dog with you? Do you have problems going places? What does she do for you? All the typical questions that are usually asked (and not always to my face when people think I'm blind or deaf and can't hear them). I answered her and we talked for a moment about how my life has changed in both good ways and bad. I told her that once you have a service dog you can't hide your disability because there's a four-legged "billboard" basically announcing it and that there are times that the public just doesn't (or won't) understand why you have one when you "look just fine." She said she'd never thought about that but for her she'd rather have the "billboard" and could deal with stupid comments on her own. We laughed and my therapist said she'd talk to the lady's therapist about whether he/she believed that a service dog would be a good addition to her treatment. Then the lady thanked me and I went in for my session.

I'd been feeling really frazzled and angry over the past few days, but getting to sit and educate others on service dogs and how they can help people with "invisible disabilities" was awesome. When I left for my appointment I could barely stand to be anywhere and was just sure I was going to scream or cry or do something because everything had been so negative recently. Watching the kids understand to not disturb a working dog and helping another PTSD survivor realize that there is another way without tons of medication to mitigate your disability was very therapeutic. Even more therapeutic than the therapy session -- and I didn't have to pay for what I did in the waiting room.

Maybe I'll actually get a chance to sleep tonight. I probably won't since I'm sure the voices (which have already started again) will be reminding me of every little thing that has been going wrong with the show and worrying about my doctor appointment on Friday when I try to go to bed. But at least today I feel like I've accomplished something positive. And for now, that will do.

Good riddance, Petland!!!

I'm feeling much better today, so I don't think I'll be ripping my own head off anytime soon as was considered yesterday. I did take some medication, put ice on my head, and took a long nap until Husband and Youngest Son got home from work and school, respectively. I was hoping yesterday that today's weather would be good and I was surprised. It's not only good today, it's awesome! So nice and just the right temperature with just a hint of a breeze to make you feel like springtime is here.

Today we went and took Harley to the groomers at SetPmart. She needed a bath and her nails ground again. I clip them often but it's much nicer after they've ground them down with the Dremel tool because she's much quieter on the hardwood floors. I know Cat doesn't like it because Harley can sneak up on her, but I find it enjoyable. We decided that since there was still the chance of cold weather in this area for the next few weeks we wouldn't get her "Spring Shave" done until the weather stays warmer for a while. Now because she's part poodle, she's all fluffy and "poofy" but still has the schnauzer face. I know it won't last because she's not a girly dog and has already attempted to roll in something unpleasant in the backyard already.

One thing I was very glad to see in the town we visited is that another pet store -- Petland -- has gone out of business. They're notorious for selling dogs from puppy mills and even though they'll tell you they don't it's so obvious they do. I went into that store once when Cody (my previous service dog) was getting older and thought about self-training another sheltie to take-over his job (that's before the state laws were changed and you could train your own service dog). I'd been to the shelters and pounds and Humane Society kennels and hadn't found a sheltie. I thought, just for giggles, I'd go into Petland and see what they had. They were stocked with all of the designer dogs and purebred puppies everyone has been trying to get their hands on. So many kids were sitting in the little "viewing boxes" where they could play with a puppy while their parents sat there and listened to the kid promise and promise to take care of it every day as they were actually trying to decide how to finance the cost of the dog because, being a designer dog, they were very expensive.

I looked around and finally one of the underpaid worker-drones came up and asked if there was something specific for which I was looking. I said that I was looking for a sheltie because my current service dog was getting ready to retire and I wanted to have another of the same breed so that they would bond and the new one could learn quickly from the old one. She said that they didn't have any there that day. I feigned disappointment (I knew about the company and wasn't going to buy one of their dogs anyway) and thanked her for her help. She told me to wait a moment and ran off to the back room. She quickly came back with a piece of paper that said if I paid $1000 that day I could have a sheltie puppy in a week.

What?? No reputable breeder is going to just happen to have new puppies available johnny-on-the-spot. The only way you get what you want, when you want is when you use a vending machine -- and that's just what puppy mills are like. They cram dogs into small wire cages and breed the heck out of them. Then when they're no good for breeding or have gotten older, they dump them or, usually, kill them. Puppy mill dogs are so inbred they have many diseases and deformities that aren't identified to the new owners who take their lovely/expensive new puppy home and watch it begin to get sicker and sicker, if it doesn't just up and die first.

Cody was a rescued puppy mill dog. They used him as a breeder and dumped him when he got older. You could tell he'd never had human contact. Food was just pushed into a cage and if it stayed there he could eat and if it spilled that was too bad for him. He had no idea how to play. You could roll a ball towards him and he'd either look at it as if it was something amazing or he'd run and hide. When we got him after he'd been dumped, they'd shaved all of his beautiful long fur off except for his head and tail. Many puppy mills will do that so they don't have to worry about the dogs' coats getting matted or caught in a cage if they're a profit-making dog. If they're just one of the many waiting to be sold, they often don't care what happens.

I told the Petland clerk that I was not interested in a puppy mill dog and she became quite angry that I would even suggest that their dogs came from puppy mills. I told her that I'd reconsider my opinion if she would provide me with the name and phone number of the breeder so that I could check him/her out and see what types of reports might have been filed by other puppy owners from their dams and sires. She said she couldn't give me the information because I might go to the breeder and just buy the dog myself there instead of through the store. I asked for just the name of the breeder so I could check with the AKC (American Kennel Club) and the Department of Agriculture (that inspects breeders) to make sure I'd be getting a healthy dog. The clerk adamantly told me that she could not give me that information and that my puppy would be healthy because they have a vet on-staff (next door) who checks all of the puppies as they come into the store.

Sure, I'm going to trust a veterinarian that I've never met; never seen references regarding; and who isn't always there at that store to check-over an animal that the company plans to make a large profit on and believe that they're not being pressured to say everything is okey-dokey. I even went back to the vet's office and couldn't get any specific information on the vet, where he/she went to school, their specialties, etc.

After this encounter I saw reports on the news about Petland and how many groups were protesting their sale of puppy mill dogs. The state where I live is one of the largest puppy mill "sanctuaries" because people don't report the owners of the puppy mills and, if you did try to report them, they have no problem showing you by force (usually through the end of a firearm) that they don't want you messing in their business. There are many veterinarians in and near the town in which I live that I researched before I ever took my pets to one when we moved here that had many, MANY bad references and notices online for dealing with puppy mill dogs and signing health certificates of dogs that were transported across the country to new owners -- only to have the puppy become critically ill or die soon after arrival.

I am SO happy that Petland is closed. Okay, yes, if people want to argue about it, it's not good that there are workers from the store who now don't have jobs in this poor economy. But, I usually do research on any company/organization with whom I'm applying for a job, so if I knew that Petland was marketing in puppy mill dogs, I'd never work there. I'd rather work somewhere else for less pay than to watch the dogs suffer as they come in, aren't well, and are handled repeatedly by people who are "just looking" and can't really give the dog a forever home. Heck, I'd work part-time for minimum wage at the local pound or shelter before I'd take a full-time higher-paying job at a store like Petland. What kills me is that the website for this particular store is still up and the parent company is still taking "special orders" and operating out of another town. They had said they were closed for remodeling. Guess it was to remodel their way the heck out-of-town.

As I walked into SetPmart to pick up Harley from her beauty appointment, I took a moment and looked at the dogs and cats inside and outside the store that three different shelters had brought in hopes that they would be adopted. I saw many families looking at the dogs and playing with them. The puppies were obviously the most popular ones but I saw a few looking at some of the older dogs and even overheard one family saying they wanted to adopt an older dog because it wouldn't chew-up the house and they wanted to give it the best last years it could have. I smiled and looked down at Celeste who was staring at me as if to say, "You already have another pest in the house. You don't need any more." I scratched her ears and smiled at the shelter personnel and the families there. True, when Celeste's time comes to retire I'll have to have another certified service dog and will 99% get one from the breeder/trainer where I got Celeste. But when Harley's old and gray and her time here on earth is over, I'll definitely be back at the shelter. And whether it's a puppy or a senior dog, it doesn't matter. Shelter animals love you even more because they know that you've just saved their life and they'll do anything to make yours happy and safe.

The mighty fence hath been restored!

And there was much rejoicing....(Yay!)....

Yes, the contractors arrived bright and early this morning and reassembled the panels that had been dislodged from their posts, using the technique I originally suggested -- big freakin' screws instead of puny nails. The lead contractor told me that they usually nail the panels on so that if someone/something hits a panel at high-speed that only the panel would come down and not the whole fence. I found that quite laughable and even showed him how laughable it was since nothing had hit the fence (except air, or maybe a leaf....perhaps a squirrel) and yet the panels were all falling down.

He admitted he was quite shocked when he arrived and found my custom-made drive-gate was twisted and warped and there was no good explanation for it. So, they poured more concrete into the post holes that had settled and leveled them. They also added more dirt in places that needed it (so glad I saved the huge pile of dirt from the first go-around). And they went to purchase new panels to reconstruct my gate so that it now operates correctly and doesn't look as if it will allow half of the wildlife of our neighborhood a way into the yard.

The part of today's adventure that didn't thrill me was my "alarm" system to let me know when someone unknown has arrived at the house. Since my medication makes me incredibly sleepy each morning, I dozed-off on the couch while waiting for the builders to arrive. Actually, I'd already dozed-off before Youngest Son left for school and he had to wake me to let me know he was leaving so I could watch to make sure he got on the bus. Then I dozed-off again.

Harley, the Schnoodle which is a cross between a poodle and a schnauzer (a terrier), is usually the first part of the "alarm" system. She sits on the couch and watches out the windows or lies beside the door in the dining room so that she can see anyone or anything passing by the house. Her terrier instincts give her the predisposition to growl and grumble at anything walking within her line of sight. It doesn't have to be on our property -- if she can see it and she doesn't know who it is or what it wants, she doesn't want it around. Many leaves and bunnies and people walking in the park across the street have been given fair warning from her growling (even though they can't hear her). It's her growling that usually alerts Celeste, my trained service dog, to see what the fuss is about and make sure there is no real "threat" to the house or those of us in it, especially me.

Celeste being a Beauceron definitely classifies her as a large dog. She's every bit of 85 pounds of muscle and alertness. And she has the traditional markings, cropped ears, and deep stare of a herding dog that usually sends humans walking the other way if she stares them down. But when needed, she can bark and it's a low, powerful bark that can be heard very well. It's the combination of Harley, yapping like an idiot and giving an intruder the thought of a small dog that wouldn't do much harm, and then Celeste's booming bark, which to someone who's not heard it would translate to, "I will eat your face off if necessary, and I believe it is," that makes a wonderful "alarm" system. And it's proven itself effective, too.

But this morning, when I was sound asleep on the couch in the comfort of knowing that these two loony dogs would do their job and let me know when the contractors arrived, nothing happened. They just sat there. Oh, they may have run to the door and saw the men getting out of the truck with tools and starting to fix the fence -- but neither decided to inform me. The incessant yapping and loud barks never came. I was finally awakened by Celeste licking me from chin-to-forehead to wake me up because she wanted to go outside. You can imagine my surprise, as well as the contractors', when I opened the back door and found their truck parked in my driveway and they found two dogs barreling out the door into the yard to go "walkies." The guys had been there long enough to remount all of the panels of the fence and neither dog had bothered to let me know.

Once I was awake, however, they wouldn't leave me alone. You'd think I'd been away on safari and they were just thrilled to see me. When the contractors left to buy more materials, neither dog did anything. But when they returned, both dogs started their yapping and barking as if to say, "See! We are good at this and look at them tremble before us!" There was no trembling -- the guys outside had already known to ignore them and went about their work.

Now they're still sitting and staring at me wondering where their treats are for scaring-away the intruders who simply left on their own after we inspected the fence and made sure the work was done correctly. If it weren't for that dopey look they get in their eyes at times like this, I'd probably have to be upset. And with one dopey-eyed dog on each side of me, that's a hard emotion to bring up at the moment.

Snow Day!!!

It's the first snow day of the year, so I'm taking the day off. Youngest Son is out of school. Husband listened to the scanners and watched the news this morning and saw all of the accidents occurring on his route to work, so he wisely decided to stay home. The dogs have frolicked briefly in the snow and don't care for the bitter cold. The cat won't go near anything that looks like it's got snow on it. It's still snowing and the continued forecast says it's supposed to start sleeting soon. We've cancelled our play's rehearsal for the evening, too.

The rest of my schedule is nap, fix dinner, watch the Westminster Dog Show, and possibly nap more before going to bed. And get this post published. We still have Internet and electricity, so I've got to post something!

The Battle of the Pets: Winter Edition

Holy crap on a cracker! It's flippin' COLD outside! What is it that has Mother Nature thinking she can just suck us in with spring-like temperatures all through December and January and then drop the bottom out of the thermometer like this?

Even the dogs who've been long awaiting the new fence being built so they can romp around the backyard at their leisure are dashing out, getting their "business" done, and racing each other for the door. Celeste has become very good at hurdling Harley -- not jumping over one side and landing on the other but jumping from her butt to over her head -- in order to reach the warmth of the house. And both of these dogs have coats designed for cold weather! You think they'd be running themselves silly until we'd have to drag them across the yard and up the steps to get them inside.

The one really going crazy in the house right now is Cat. Because it's so cold and the dogs don't want to be outside much, they now want to play with her. She's very old and doesn't like dogs in the first place. Heck, the only person/thing she likes is Husband and he hates cats. So now, she's wandering around the house trying to find new places to hide because all of her old spots have been discovered. Even as I'm typing this I've had to call Celeste into the room and put her in a down-stay so she'll leave the cat alone long enough to get a bite to eat. Celeste doesn't want to hurt her. I'm not even sure if she really wants to play with her. I think she's just really curious about this small blue-grey meowing thing that bats her on the nose when she gets too close and doesn't want to be around everyone else.

Celeste is a herding dog and Cat is not going to be herded. We can't even herd her into her carrier when it's time to go to the vet. You have to grab her & turn the carrier up on its end and drop her inside before she claws the crap out of you trying to escape. When we get to the vet's, you then have to turn the carrier open-side-down and shake her out of it 'cause she's gotten really good at spreading her legs where she becomes an immovable object in there. The first time we did this the vet technician thought we were being cruel and said not to do that. After trying to reach-in and grab Cat and coming away with enough scratches and bites to where she thought she'd need stitches, the technician took the carrier and shook it until Cat "fell" out (from about 6 inches). That's why when we decided to move a few years ago I purchased an inexpensive cardboard carrying box from a major national pet supply store where we could just drop her inside, close the top, and then she'd have a bigger area to escape from once we got to the new house. Easy as pie.

Harley isn't paying any attention to Cat. She's already tried all of the chasing and playing and getting whapped on the nose. She's had three years with Cat and they've finally come to an understanding -- I don't bother you and you don't bother me and neither of us has to shed any blood on Mommy's new couch/pillows/rug/etc. They're finally able to walk past each other as if they don't have a care in the world. They do that "as if" because you can bet your sweet patootie when it comes to feeding time or, even worse, when the vacuum cleaner comes out, they'll tackle each other to be the first through the doorway. Neither likes it and all of the behavior training we've done to get them to at least tolerate the sound of the vacuum still hasn't worked.

The day is getting colder and now there's a forecast for ice/snow/mix for our area beginning tomorrow and into Monday. If it's just snow, the dogs will love it. Both think they can burrow under even the tiniest dusting and it's pretty hysterical to watch. But if there's ice, that's going to be a whole other issue. They may have four-paw-drive when they're running, but we all know it doesn't work on ice. Last thing I need is them being stupid and one (or both) ending up at the vet's for either falling off of something or sliding into something else. I guess we'll have to wait and see.

Feeling like death-on-toast lets "voices" speak.

Yay!! Jackie's feeling under the weather today, so we get to write!!

Who are "we," you ask? "We" are the "voices" from her head, and we're all trying to figure out what to post.

There are lots of things going on -- rehearsals for the Community Theatre play; getting the new fence constructed; dealing with the new neighbors behind the house with a pack of dogs that won't shut up -- and that's just the short list!

However, she's a smart cookie and has taken her medication for the day plus a flu-fighting kicker. "We" are still busy with our lists, arguments, worries, etc. But she's got a comfy couch and blankets to curl up with which allows sleep to shut us up for a little bit.

This post is just being placed here 'cause "we" convinced her that she could do this and mistakenly promised that as long as she would be able to type somewhat legibly, "we" would help keep the posts coming. "We" forgot that the laptop works in the bedroom, too....an oversight we stupidly made.

Ooh!! Puppy Bowl advertisement on TV!! That's always cute (though Jackie will deny it) but it won't be as much fun as the Super Bowl tomorrow. Gotta make sure she's ready for the game tomorrow. Youngest Son is practicing his trumpet. Husband already did grocery shopping and dealt with the dogs when they barked at someone coming up the drive unannounced. Now he's doing laundry. Harley is laying the in the floor and Celeste is staring at "us" like it's a mortal sin that "we" are posting online. And Cat is....well....she's being Cat and staying away from everyone.

And now Celeste is really starting to stare so "we" are going to go for now. Nice doggie....putting the laptop away....

Where do you get squirrel-flavored cake at this hour?

Today's post is going to be very short because I have two birthdays to celebrate today. And, as anyone who's had to organize birthdays for a 3-year-old and a 5-year-old will know, it takes a lot of time.

Fortunately, though, these two celebrants aren't going to mind that there are no decorations, cakes, or overly-expensive presents with which they'll never play.

I'm sending Happy Birthday wishes to Harley and Celeste, my pet and service dog respectively. I know Celeste's birthdate because of the papers that came with her since she's an AKC registered dog. Harley is a shelter rescue and we can only estimate when she was born based on her age the vet gave us when we adopted her. So, why not have them share a special day? Makes it easier on us owners who have a lot of dates to remember!

Happy birthday to them both! They're both two of the best dogs I've ever had in my life and I'm very thankful they're here.

Four-legged inspiration for today

Here I sit, another blank blog page in front of me with nothing of quality to write about. Oh, I could go on-and-on about my childhood or the political season and today's primary election in South Carolina. Or I could sit and poke a fork in my eye and probably feel better than writing about those topics.

Celeste is staring at me with her deep brown eyes -- the kind of eyes that you can get lost in and make people infer human emotions and thoughts onto their four-legged companions. And then she goes over to sniff the behind of Harley Quinn (our Schnoodle) and expects me to warmly welcome her back by allowing her to lick me on the face. Again she stares at me, looking as if she could say, "Mommy, hurry up and finish making those clicking noises on that thing that takes up so much of your time so we can take a nap on the couch together." Meanwhile, Harley -- whom I'm convinced is completely insane -- just looks at me as if this huge interloper who only joined our family last July (Harley's been around since 2009) has broken every rule in the house and should be the one left-behind when we go out.

Harley could have been a service dog and was adopted from the local Humane Society to be trained as one. My previous service dog, Cody (a Sheltie), was aging quickly and his health was very poor. Once Harley was added to the household, he began to perk-up and was even attempting to show her what she would and wouldn't be allowed to do in "his" house. Harley was basically a "nurse dog" for Cody -- licking his eyes and ears to help keep them clean, laying next to him when he'd fall asleep on the floor instead of his cushion, and was even there right beside him the day that he passed away. I used Cody as an example for Harley. I'd tell him to sit and he would. I'd praise him highly and then ask the same of Harley. She looked at me as if I'd just asked her to build a time machine and would walk away.

Cody was a "superdog" -- a phrase we use in our family for a dog that has fabulous talents and, yes, those human qualities that we shouldn't place on our dogs but we just can't help it. He was a puppy mill rescue. He'd been a breeder dog and had never known love or affection. Even toys baffled him. Roll a ball to any dog of most any age and they're going to go after it. Roll a ball to Cody and he looked at you as if to ask, "Why would you do that to me?" He never played catch; he never got into a tug-of-war; and he never tried to perform a trick or command for a treat. The only time he would ever jump on the bed was if it was storming outside. Not only could he jump up onto the bed but he could clear me and land right between Husband and me. But, if I forgot to take my medication or if I was having a panic attack, he was right there nudging me awake and looking at my purse where my meds are kept or laying on my chest to help me relax. He tried once to bring my purse to him, but the people who had him before me had so poorly taken care of him he didn't have many teeth left. Pulling with his gums was very uncomfortable yet he still tried every day.

So bringing in Harley was, I thought, a stroke of genius. She could see up-close-and-personal what was expected while hearing the commands and being able to be rewarded for properly completing them. Little did I know that when you have a dog with as much ADD as the owner, the dog isn't going to pay attention to crap. Actually, let me rephrase that -- because she did pay attention to crap. The cat's crap. And found it to be a delightful after-dinner dessert before trying to lick your face. That habit was broken VERY quickly!

But I thought that her being around a trained dog and having the structure of becoming trained as a service dog would help speed along the process. Schnoodles are Poodle/Schnauzer mixes. They're considered a "designer dog" and I felt very lucky to have found her at the pound and to give her a new lease on life. Poodles are very, very smart dogs and have hair instead of fur -- something that would be ideal for a family of asthmatics like mine. Schnauzers are terriers and are also supposed to be very intelligent with very little odor or shedding. Again, that was a big plus for us. And Harley showed every bit of the Poodle in her with the exception of the Schnauzer beard that no matter how you trimmed it still wanted to stand-out as a Schnauzer trait. I had hoped that it was the only stubborn part of the Schnauzer we'd gotten but I was wrong. So very wrong. As she got older the terrier part of her personality became very prominent. She to this day still growls and barks at every squirrel, bunny, or leaf that passes her view as if they're the largest threat ever to mankind and she's the only dog that knows it or can do something about it.

You can just say the word "squirrel" in our house and she'll bolt for the nearest window or door and begin to stand guard.

The more I worked with her, the more she tried to learn but just wasn't able to keep it all straight in her head. Plus, add a hyper dog to a person with anxiety and you've got a bad mix. She was very good at mimicking Cody by trying to lay on my lap or my chest to calm me down during moments of panic. What she wasn't good at doing was staying there until everything had passed. What was more likely to happen was she would be there for me to pet and try to calm down before she would jump off, growling loudly at something only she knew about which would then increase my anxiety even more because I'd become worried over something that I'd missed or that could actually be dangerous. I started freaking-out on my own over leaves tumbling down the driveway for no apparent reason!

Soon, the State of Missouri passed a law that only service dogs (and grandfathered service horses for the blind) would be recognized and that they had to be trained by an accredited and certified service animal trainer. That effectively put an end to my continuing to self-train Harley for the job I needed her to perform but certainly wasn't going to get. However, she was definitely assured her continued place in our household because once you've met her you can't forget her. She's hysterical and, as I said above, almost certainly insane. She's just the right size for cuddling and picks-up quickly on emotional changes of not just family members but also anyone she's around.

And if you recognized where we got the name "Harley Quinn," you'll understand that the insanity was aptly named before we ever encountered it.

So, I began my search for a service dog that would comply with the new State laws and was paired with Celeste. She had been trained very well and it took a week of training me to get me up to speed enough so that she'd realize that I was the new person in charge and that I had worth to her. That "worth" being food, water, shelter, and affection. That's another reason why I have "DO NOT PET" on her vest -- she needs to have her entire attention on me and if she gets lots of attention from others, why would she want to keep protecting me?

Celeste has tried to blend in with the family and not usurp much of Harley's "dominance" (for lack of a better word). However, when Harley has her bits of insanity and believes that a 30-pound dog can go toe-to-toe with an 85-pound dog in No-Holds Barred Hardwood Floor Rambunctious Roughhousing, Celeste is quick to put a paw on Harley's shoulders as if she could say, "Look squirt....you think you're big but you have NO idea what you're getting into and I'm gonna let you off easy even though you've been trying to bite at my ear for the past 10 minutes. How about you calm down and we'll all get along?" When that doesn't work, she just grabs her by the nape of the neck and moves her out-of-the-way. Celeste was raised in a pack and learned pack mentality. Harley was abandoned on the side of the road and we have no idea if she understands the standard pack pecking order. But she's learning it now.

While I've been typing this Harley has decided to come in and join the staring. They both are looking as if no one has ever, EVER in their lifetimes given them a pet or food or any attention whatsoever. They try to push my hands off the keyboard and, especially Harley, get into things they know they shouldn't but they also know will annoy the crap out of me and make me get up to see what they're doing. I guess I'll end today's post.

Plus, when they act like that it usually means they need to go "walkies" and that's a whole other adventure in itself.