It May Not Look Like Much...

You might think I write a lot about the eating habits of my dogs… and I do, but only because I think they are peculiar, especially the habits of a certain little black terrier mix named Chica…

Chica is rather eccentric, especially when it comes to her food. We’ve already discussed how she likes to cover it up, bury it, etc. So, now we are going to discuss how she likes to sort it… yes, as in categories, organizing, by like attributes sorting.

You see, Chica has particular food tastes. We feed them hard food, but Chica prefers the kibble that has softer pieces in it. She also hates anything other than meat flavored food. For a while, we used to buy them a home-style type food that had fake green beans and carrots in it… Chica would seriously pick around the green beans. After she was done eating, the bottom of the bowl would be nothing but green beans. She would even pick them out of the bowl and set them aside. I can’t tell you how many of those stupid green beans I stepped on because she didn’t want to eat them.

Now we feed them a brand with several different kinds of pieces, and she continues sorting. She will pick the food out of the bowl piece by piece. She will make two piles. One, a pile of the pieces she likes to eat. The other, a pile of the ones she does not like. She will then proceed to eat the good pile, and will leave the bad pile behind to be scavenged by the unpicky Dachshund. Want proof? Here is a picture of her food mid-sort.

The pieces on the right are the piles... a little pile of the good food, a bigger pile of the bad food. The pieces on the left are just rogue pieces. It may not look like much, but this is a picture of the hard work of a very industrious, picky, old and crusty dog with a mohawk...

                               

I quite adore her, I do.

My New Favorite Things...

I love lots of things. My KitchenAid stand mixer... my shoes... tights... Thai food... ellipses. But, my current favorite things are these new additions to our household...

I don't know why I love them like I do. They were a total impulse buy. I was cruising along in the thrift store, when I spotted them on a shelf, being pawed over by a middle-aged couple who obviously didn't appreciate them as much as I did. So, I sidled up, took on down, and started exclaiming how wonderful they were, all innocent-like. The poor man had no choice but to concede that I obviously needed them more than his wife. Score one for me. I instantly put them in my cart, and headed to check out.

They now proudly sit on the piano, watching over the general goings-on in the house. I heart their tummies... and the fact that they look like they could have fleas. I had to live with them for a bit before naming them, but I finally decided on...wait for it...

Ham, Shem, and Japheth.

Awesome, I know.

Too Bad It's Not A Marketable Talent...

Remember this post about how the Chica dog covers up her food bowl in vain attempts to hide the food from the Dachshund?

Well, several days ago we decided to change their feeding schedule. We used to leave food out all day, filling the bowl before we went to bed. After noticing how rotund the Dachshund was getting, we decided to only put out the food twice per day for a limited time. Plus, we were hoping to cut down on the begging at mealtimes.

So, it's a few days into the new schedule. We put the food bowl out in the evening and pick it up before bedtime. You might recall that at night is when Chica scavenges for objects to cover the food dish with... but, apparently the other night she realized that the food bowl was no longer there to conceal. So, what's an intelligent dog with a purpose to do?

Well, attempt to hide the water dish, of course. Look closely. Yes, that is a bobo (disemboweled stuffed pig, courtesy of the Dachshund), in the water dish. She's a stealth, that Chica dog. Guess Ginger will have to figure out how to drink out of the toilet now that the water dish is incognito.

My favorite part is that she matched the colors... blue dish, blue bobo... genius, that one.

The Proposal

*This Should Have Been Posted A Couple of Days Ago*

So, my grandmother told me that she was tired of looking at a picture of my new mixer, and that she expected a new post ASAP. I, of course, obliged. Not that my mixer isn’t the most gorgeous thing in my kitchen, all shiny and stuff… but anyways. It is Valentine’s time… Sugarbear and I have never really been big on the whole Valentine’s thing. We usually just keep it low key, dinner at home, nothing fancy.

But, I did want to point out that the day before Valentine’s is more significant to us. You see, Sugarbear asked me to become Mrs. Sugarbear ten years ago, 2/13/00. And, I think the story is too precious not to tell.

So, let’s begin about 9 months prior for a little background.
 
I told about our first date in this post. A little more detailed story was that, around that time, we were doing the Experiencing God study. We met at our youth pastor’s house. One night during the closing prayer, Sugarbear, in his new found boldness, held my hand. And continued to do so after the prayer. Later, I learned that that it sort of astounded everyone the room. Well, not to be outdone in the boldness department, I decided to kiss him when he walked me to my car. It was raining. It was June. Stars were out. Music was playing… not really, but it should have been. We were standing in our youth pastor’s front yard, on this spot that had no grass by the curb. I got tired of him shuffling his feet and stammering while I stood in the rain. So I kissed him. And the rest is history. On a side note- he later confessed that he immediately went home that night and began writing a song for me entitled "Will You Marry Me"... true story, as that song actually ended up on the small album of songs that Sugarbear wrote and recorded for me for as a wedding gift... but that is another schmoopy story for another day!
 
So, fast forward nine months. We are in our second semester of college. Valentine’s Day is coming up. I’m starting to get the ‘proposal’ vibe. But, true to form, Sugarbear was a master at keeping me guessing just enough to think that I was mistaken. As Valentine’s approached, I get a raging sinus infection. Romantic, huh? Sunday was the day before Valentine ’s Day. I wake up with the WORST. HEADACHE. EVER… like, not getting out of bed, make me nauseous and dizzy kind of headache. No way am I going to church. I call my mom, and drag myself to her house so she can give me medicine and make me lunch. I then fall asleep for most of the day, and wake up slightly less ill than I was earlier. I felt well enough to go to the evening service, so off I go, sniffling and squinchy-eyed from the painful sinuses. The first thing that should have tipped me off was that before the service, Sugarbear and my mother were talking off by themselves, and my mother was acting all squirrely. The service ended, and Sugarbear and I head out to grab some dinner. I had to run some things by our youth pastor’s house too. The second thing that should have tipped me off was that Sugarbear wanted to run by his apartment and get the Chica dog. The Chica dog is a very important member of our family. I got her for Sugarbear for Christmas the first year we were dating. She is very special to him. Seriously, we’ve already started the savings account to have her cloned. (then we’ll have a whole litter!) Not really, but we would if we could:-) The third thing that should have tipped me off was when we were grabbing dinner at Wendy’s, and Sugarbear made a comment about how broke he was. I laughed, cause I thought he was just kidding, (eventually it was clear that the he was actually broke was because he had bought me a diamond ring, of course).
 
So, we then run my errand by our youth pastor’s house. We get out of the car at the curb, and Sugarbear starts looking around the ground, asking me where the spot we first kissed was. I point it out to him, as it is still the spot with no grass by the curb. He pushes me onto that spot, and hands me the Chica dog. He then starts begins this romantic, lovey-dovey speech that I contribute to the upcoming Valentine’s Day. It was one of those "you make me a better person, i want to  spend my life with you" movie script kinda speeches. It was lovely.  It wasn’t until he did the whole ‘ down on one knee’ thing that I even realized what was happening… hey, I’m pretty foggy with decongestant by this point. I, of course, said yes. Hilarity ensues as we make our rounds of telling everyone, beginning with our youth pastor and his wife, who had no idea what was happening in their front yard.

Later I learned that Sugarbear had actually bought the ring about a week before, and had spent the week showing it to people. So, pretty much everyone knew but me. My mom had even tried to convince him to propose during the evening church service, as he was playing guitar during worship. That explained the private conversation and squirrelliness. But, Sugarbear took the moment and made it simple and meaningful.

That is just like him.

Ooooh... Shiny....

475 watts, baby.

Pretty, isn't it?

Choices

Choices. Most people have choices. Chicken or Steak? Cat or Dog? Skirt or Pants? Other choices are more profound. Where should I move? What job should I accept? What house do we buy?

And then, there are the choices that aren't really choices. What do I mean? Well, the choices like "Do I treat my illness with medication or surgically?" "Do I want this divorce attorney or that one?" Choices that are about anything but choosing.

Do I want to go through this fertility treatment or not? Is this worth it? Am I making the right choice?

I don’t talk to a lot of people about our babymaking issues. In fact, I could count them on one hand, even if I’d had a horrid shop class accident leaving me with just two fingers. Well, I write about them occasionally here, but I’m talking like, actually completely talking about my “feelings” talking about it… you know, if I had feelings:-)

I go through this cycle of thought sometimes where I start to question the choice we’re making. Usually it starts during a Dr’s appointment, like when I’m in the middle of what feels like my five hundredth internal ultrasound (seriously… I’ve given the wand a name… we’re that close)… when my arms are black and blue because apparently I’m harder to get blood from than the proverbial turnip… (seriously, the nurses draw straws when I walk in the door)… or when I start thinking about money as “treatment” currency… (as in, the electric bill this month was one vial of Follistim… my student loan this month was three-fourths of one Ovidrel syringe, etc)

Then, I get angry because I tell myself that this isn’t a choice… that if this was a choice, I’d be knee-deep in dirty diapers by now. If this was a choice, I’d be choosing baby names, not naming the very cold ultrasound wand that, if it were a gentleman, would have bought me like, 100 dinners by now.

The choice that is about anything but choosing.

In reality though, I have a choice. We could do nothing. Remain childless. I’m not in the state of mind where that is even registering as remotely okay, so scratch that. We could adopt. There are multiple barriers to that for us right now… not least of which being my job that prevents us from fostering (just our preferred method of adoption… but to each his own), and a whole wide range of fears, most of which are too personal to get in to here.

So, where does that leave me at the moment?

With my feet in the stirrups, questioning my own sanity, wishing I had the guts sometimes just to get off this stupid roller coaster… but, the thought of getting off is just as scary as staying on. Nice choices.

Hunting and Gathering... or Maybe Just Gathering...

The Background-

A- For Christmas, Sugarbear makes a very large batch of Chex mix... and it is exceptionally good, which is something, as I do not generally like Chex mix. But, his is good, and this year, we had bags and bags of it. We gave it out to family and friends at Christmas. As we were preparing for what turned out to be a VERY long drive to Lubbock for Christmas, we organized all of the gifts into boxes, which explains why there was a box on our dining room table that containted zip-loc bags of chex mix.

B- When it gets really cold out, we leave our dogs inside when we leave the house. They are generally good dogs, and it is never a problem. So, a few days before Christmas, we went to church and left the dogs inside, as it was cold. We came home, and nothing seemed amiss.

C- I hate, hate, hate doing laundry... specifically, I hate folding and putting away laundry. I have been known to leave a load of laundry in the recliner, waiting to be folded for a couple of days... shocking, I know.

In THIS post, I have described how Chica covers her food... and how we can hear her at it in the middle of the night, pushing around in the dish with her nose. Well, that night, we heard her doing the same pushing and arranging in the living room. Sugarbear wondered what she was rooting around with, as her food dish is in the bedroom. I didn't think anything of it until the next morning, when I found this in the living room, under the table.

Yep... it is a bag of Chex mix hidden under a towel and a tshirt. The laundry is obviously from the recliner, but it took me a minute to realize that the Chex mix had to be from the box on the dining room table. As I uncovered it, Chica ran up all happy, obviously proud that she was providing for the 'pack'...with purloined Chex mix. You can't tell, but the bag is smooshed flat, Chex crushed... apparently she pushes and covers with force. I was laughing too hard to get on to her. I pushed in the chairs on the table and went about my way.

Well, that evening, we went out, leaving the dogs inside again. We came home, nothing amiss. We go to bed, and when I get up the morning I find this in the living room floor.

Yep... it is ANOTHER purloined bag of Chex mix... this time in the middle of the floor, covered in the same towel that she had used to cover the bag the night before... (as I hate laundry, and it was still in the recliner.) Again, she was pleased as punch when I uncovered her loot, and fully expected me to praise her gathering prowess.

Upon further inspection of the table, not only were the bags of Chex mix strewn about the table, the other gifts had been gone through and inspected... assumedly by a curious little black dog.

I can just imagine the Dachshund and the cat sitting on the floor, egging Chica on, snickering. What I can't imagine is, Chica is a healthy, smart dog... she went through all the trouble of climbing up on the table, going through the boxes, and hiding her booty...she could easily have torn open the bags and had a feast... but yet, she didn't eat any of the Chex mix. Weird little dog.