Tag Archive | Lulu

Why I love having dogs.

My Princess

Lulu just came up to me, looked at me with her big, doe eyes, scratched my knee to get my attention, and then, oh so delicately, farted.  All with a look of perfect dignity on her face.

I think she thinks the laughter is a sign of affection.

Ignore this post.

If I skipped yesterday, I better get a post in, even if it doesn’t mean anything, dammit.

Um, I spent Monday at my sister’s house, Max and Lulu usually go with me when I visit family, but they weren’t invited this time.  That turned out to be a good thing, I was able to spend a lot of time around E, then when I came home, I was so focused on Max and Lulu, that I wasn’t reduced to a blubbering pile of hormones.  They might not be invited back to my sister’s house–even though her dog kept looking at me as if she was wondering where her two little friends were.

So I haven’t had the depression that normally follows being around a baby, but I haven’t had much motivation, either.  I’ve been stuck in this apathetic rut the past couple of days–I’m not depressed, though.  At least, I’m not sad.  Maybe the Lexapro is changing how I experience down days.

I know what I really need is to find a job and to get out and interact with people on a daily basis.  Humans are social animals, and our psyches don’t fare well when we spend out time alone–even people like me who prefer to be alone.

Like I said, this post doesn’t really mean anything.  I’m just writing it to mark a space on the calendar.  Maybe tomorrow I’ll have something interesting to write about, or I’ll have enough of this story that’s been rattling around my head written that I can share.

We’ll see.


I’ve had a hard time coming up with a blog post for the past couple of days, so I thought that I’d post a bunch of random stuff about me and about the dogs.

About Me:

  1. I was born exactly one week before my sister’s first birthday.
  2. Even though I love to read and write, I’ve never been able to spell.  Thank goodness for spellcheck!
  3. I’ve ridden Willie Nelson’s horse.  Bareback.
  4. The hospital once told my mom I was dead. (She gets mad at me when she hears me say that, but then she’s thinking of a different trip to the hospital than I am)
  5. I have the most random food allergies:  I’m allergic to pineapple, raw carrots (but not cooked), soy (but not edamaime), and lychee.  Melons, bananas and tree nuts are on the ‘should be avoided’ list, but I don’t have a full-blown allergy to them.  When I have an allergic reaction to food, my throat swells up and I have a hard time breathing.
  6. I LOVE cooked carrots, as long as someone else prepares them for me (if I get carrot juice on my skin, I break out into hives.)  My favorite way to eat cooked carrots is to dip them in ketchup.
  7. I’ve always been better at telling stories than at math.  When I was trying to learn my times tables, I had to assign each number a personality, then make up stories with the location of the plot being the answer.–1 is just there, 2 is a reporter, 3 is an adventurer, 4 is helpful, 5 is a trickster, 6 is a peacemaker, 7 is a bitch, 8 is a romantic, and 9 is an entrepreneur.  (And, no I didn’t know all those words in the 3rd grade)
  8. I’ve seen a ghost.  Or something.
  9. I love working with my hands.
  10. I get annoyed with people who think their values and ideals are the only ones of worth, even if I share those values and ideals.
  11. I don’t remember the last time I saw a movie in the theater, but I like to keep track of what’s playing, and reading about the plots of the movies.
  12. I struggle in social situations, but I love to perform, give talks and speeches.
  13. I like to watch ScFi movies and TV shows, but I don’t like to read ScFi books.  Same goes for mysteries.
  14. I have a sweet tooth, but I still prefer carbohydrates. My perfect dessert is a slice of fresh, homemade bread loaded with homemade apricot jam.
  15. I love working with my hands.
  16. I’m a daddy’s girl.  I love to spend time with my dad, and to geocache and explore the desert with him.
  17. I love to sing, but I’m not very good.  Last time I sang to G, he asked me why I was crying.
  18. I also love drawing, but am not very good.  I’m much better on a computer than with a pencil and paper.  I think it all has to do with the “ctrl+z” function.
  19. Most people assume I’m a democrat.  I’m not, I’m more of an independent.  It’s just that I don’t think that the government should be the ones telling us who we can marry, what we can do with our bodies, etc.
  20. My favorite color is orange.  My favorite color is orange because when I was a little girl, I loved Rainbow Brite, and my favorite one of her friends was Lala Orange.
  21. I hate to wear shoes because they make my feet too hot.  I inherited this from my Grandpa.
  22. I sneeze and get a runny nose after I’ve eaten too much.  I also inherited this from my Grandpa.
  23. I love documentaries but hate reality shows.
  24. I’m obsessed with birds.
  25. I love water and swimming, but hate wearing a swimming suit.  I even like to wash the dishes because it’s an excuse to play in the water!

About the Dogs:

  1. Max won’t sleep without a toy.  It doesn’t really matter what kind.  It’s not unusual for me to get up in the morning and find a couple of soft toys, a rope and a raw hide on the bed.
  2. Lulu HATES to walk on wet grass, but she won’t pee on the sidewalk.  This makes for very interesting walks on rainy days.
  3. Max loves to watch TV.  He’s often more interested in the programs than I am.
  4. Lulu is WAY more social than I am.  In her mind, people=friends.  Unless Max starts barking at them.
  5. Both dogs snore.  Sometimes when they are awake.
  6. Max will bark at dogs on TV, even if they don’t make a noise.  Lulu barks at whatever Max is barking at.

The joys of dog ownership

I’ve had dogs my whole life, but Max and Lulu are the first that have been allowed to live inside the house.  Going from having a dog in the yard to two dogs inside my tiny condo has been full of surprises–I didn’t realize, for instance, how nice it is to have two warm little bodies curled up next to me on the bed.

I’d always heard that dogs don’t really pay attention to the TV, that they “see” the world more through the nose than their eyes and ears the way people do.  That may be true, but I find it difficult to watch the nature documentaries that I love anymore.  The sounds the various animals make drive the dogs nuts.  Chimps and dinosaurs seem to be the biggest culprits.  I have no idea how they distinguish the sounds these animals that I’m sure Max and Lulu have never seen from the random, weird people noises that come over the TV. (Granted, I don’t know what their life was like before they came to live with me, but I’m pretty sure that they wouldn’t have had any reason to see a chimp in real life.  If they’ve seen dinosaurs, then that means they are time travelers, and I officially have the coolest dogs on the planet.) When a dog or a wolf, and occasionally a fox or coyote come on the TV, it drives Max and Lulu insane, even if it’s not making any noise.

Need proof?  This is me trying to watch a show about the wildlife of Yellowstone.  At least I think it was about the wildlife of Yellowstone.  I had to deal with this every time a wolf came on the screen.

What’s been super-fun for my downstairs neighbors is when I play this video, Max and Lulu then bark at themselves barking on the video.  And up to this point in time, I didn’t think I had enough money for surround sound!


I recently came across Jessica of andiamo’s post about why she chooses to be childless. I found it interesting, and well written, and it made me think about my own situation.

When my sister brought E home, it kicked my biological clock into high gear.  When G was born, it made me husband hungry.  When E was born, it made me baby hungry.  My mom says that at least I’m doing it in the right order, but still, life would have been better if I had, you know, done something about being husband hungry three years ago.

I’m trying to align myself to a life without children.  I’m still (barely) in my twenties, and know, realistically, I have ten years or more where I could have a baby. Still, I feel like if I don’t have a child by the time I’m 30, I’m not going to.  As I  turn 29 in a few months, have no significant other, and very little of the self confidence needed to go out and find a mate, that’s probably not going to happen.  Yes, I know that technically, I could do it by myself, but, I think women who choose that route are nuts.  There is no way I’d want to be a mommy without any help.

At the same time, I wonder at the practicality of having children.  Take my dogs, for instance. The lady who I got Max and Lulu from used them as a breeding pair.  She couldn’t handle two kids and two+ dogs all begging for her attention, so Max and Lulu came to live with me.  I don’t have room or money to care for puppies, even if I could sell them at a profit later on, so I planned on getting Max and Lu fixed as soon as possible.  Well, a week before Lu’s appointment, she had an accident, and was rushed to the animal ER.  While the vet was checking her out, she told me that Lulu had a luxating patella (a loose kneecap) and it was probably congenital.  In the time between taking the dogs home, and Lu’s accident, I was beginning to waver on the ‘no puppies at my house’ policy, but I believe that it is irresponsible to know about stuff like Lulu’s knee, and still keep breeding her.

So, here’s thing is, my Mom has hip displaysia, and, although I haven’t been diagnosed, I probably do too.  Combined with my mental illness, plus my family history of epilepsy and type 1 diabetes, not to mention my weight, I wonder if it would be irresponsible to knowingly pass those genes on to my own offspring.  I know how depression has taken over my life since I was a child, and how hard day to day life can be, and can’t stand the thought of my children facing the same struggles.  I also know that the depression will keep me from being the best mommy I could be, even with the help of medication and therapy.  I get bad headaches frequently, and they are made worse by stress, noise and lack of sleep.  I’ve spent enough time around kids to know that they are made up of stress, noise, and where they go, a lack of sleep follows.  And I haven’t even begin to talk about the anxiety that always comes from the noise and confusion of being in a room with more than one other person…

But even with all this, the instinct to preserve the species goes on.  I want children.  I think I can be a good mother, if I could be a stay at home mom–I don’t do well when I try to divide my life into separate categories, such as school and work, and I don’t think I could work, at least full time, and still be an effective parent.

I know I shouldn’t worry, that things always turn out the way they were supposed to, and generally for the best.  It’s 1:30 am as I’m writing this, and I’m at the too tired to sleep stage after a rough day. But, I’m a worrier, it’s part of who I am.  If I could stop worrying, for even a minute, about the things I can’t control, I know I’d be ahead of the game.


A sort of homecoming.

I realized as I was leaving my parents house, that that is not my home anymore.   It was a little strange.  I’ve mentioned before that they still live in the same house I grew up in.  However, sometime between leaving for college and leaving after Christmas 2009, it ceased to feel like home.

They have remodeled the basement where my bedroom was, and most of my personal stuff has been boxed up and/or given to charity.  That was fine with me, I never had the attachment to my room that most teenage girls (at least the teenage girls I see on TV) have.  When I go and visit, I don’t even sleep in that room anymore.  But it’s been that way for years.

I think there were three things that prompted this change.

1) I bought my own place.  Yes, it’s a teeny-tiny condo, but it’s my teeny tiny condo.

2) Max and Lulu came to live with me.  Suddenly, I had two little souls to take care of, two little souls that are tolerated, if not welcomed in my parent’s house.

3) My roommates/renters moved out, and I wasn’t able to find someone to rent the spare bedroom in my condo.  I’ve been living alone for several months, having to worry about only myself and the dogs.  This is the first time in my life that I have lived completely alone.

I like being the head of the house.  I like being in charge.  I like being able to make decisions about when and were and what I eat.  I like not feeling like I need to turn off the TV and go to bed because I’m disturbing other people.  While I love my parents, when I return to their house, I revert from an adult woman living on her own to a child fighting her parents for autonomy.

I love my family.  I love the small town where I grew up.  However, I’m glad I don’t live there anymore.  As hard as it is for me to admit, I’ve grown up and moved on.  With a little luck, I’ll end up back in my small town, but I’m not counting on it.  For now, for me, home is my 1000 square feet of space 20 feet up in the air.

And so, this is Christmas. And what have you done?

My dogs, Max and Lulu don’t like it when we visit my parents house.  They aren’t allowed on the furniture, and at least half the time, my 3-year-old nephew G is there to pull tails and ears and steal toys, and to take all of his Aunt Cori’s attention.  But worst of all, they aren’t allowed to sleep with me in the super-comfy bed that’s one size bigger than the bed we sleep on at home.  Nights with the dogs at my parents house usually consist of me trying to convince them that their crate really is the best place for them to sleep (they don’t have a problem with the crate at my house) for at least an hour.

Last night, it was especially bad.  It seemed like they wouldn’t go down for more than a half hour at a time.  Every time I started to congratulate myself on finding how to get them down, they would start barking at me again.  Maybe they were excited about Christmas.

I guess the only way I tell that story is to offer an excuse in case for when I ramble.  I didn’t get more than four hours of sleep last night, and, if I’m going to stay awake all day to reset my body, I want to do it without chemical stimulation.  Now, if only I could come up with an excuse for the rest of my posts…

Not a good tag for Lulu to receive on Christmas Eve.

G called Mom & Dad’s house about an hour ago to tell all about Christmas morning at his house.  This kid’s been talking about Santa Claus since, well, last Christmas.  It didn’t help that one of my uncles, G’s great-uncle, told him that Santa wouldn’t come unless he learned to go poop in the potty.  G’s little three-year-old brain turned that into “Santa will only go to places where I’ve successfully pooped in the potty.”  So, random gas station in Minersville, Utah? Yep, Santa went there.  Aunt Cori’s house?  Not so much.  When G had diarrhea a week or two ago, and couldn’t quite make it to the bathroom on time, he was so distraught, not only because he made a mess in his pants, but because he thought it meant Santa wouldn’t come.

So, how did this post about Christmas turn into a discussion of my nephew’s poop?  Oh.  Right.  Back on track now.

G called about an hour ago, and was so excited to tell all about the toys and presents he got.  This is the first year he’s really been old enough to understand Christmas, or, at least understand getting presents.  However, when Mom did ask him what happens on Christmas, the first thing he said was “It’s Jesus’s birthday”, before he started to talk about his presents.

I’ve had a hard time getting into the Christmas spirit this year.  I’m really feeling being single and unemployed. And while I think there is no greater joy than searching out the perfect gift, and seen excitement on the recipients face when they open it, my unemployment checks are half of not enough, and I wasn’t able to get the things I wanted to give this year.  When I get depressed, my thoughts get scattered, and I get frustrated easily, so making gifts was also out of the question–not to mention that it’s often times more expensive to make a gift than to buy one.

It was therefore, refreshing to talk to G this morning.  To hear his child-like joy, his excitement over the gifts he got, and, more importantly, how hard it was to keep him on topic of his presents reminded me of what I posted a few days ago.  Christmas is about children, family and sharing love with others.

And spoiling my nephews rotten.

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