Now What?
Blogs, like people and certain bacteria, evolve over time. One that is started for one purpose, shifts to another as times and circumstances change.
I’ve been giving a lot of thought recently to the fate of this blog since its purpose has changed. I started it to chronicle my break from infertility, but that break is now over. And, let’s face it, my energy has focused away from my stated goals – the biggest one of which I fulfilled spectacularly – and back to getting knocked up. So, what to do with this here blog of mine?
Seeing as how I did not manage to last a year – hell, I didn’t even last six months – before hopping back onto the A(ssisted) R(eproductive) T(echnology) Train, one could say that this experiment has failed and I should pack up my crayons and go home. I did manage to fulfill some of my goals, chief among them adopting a pooch (who I hear softly snuffling in the kitchen at the moment), while others I didn’t actually do much to achieve (yoga? didn’t happen). I feel like a bit of an imposter now posting here about my goals for stepping away from treatment since I am back in treatment.
On the other hand, I have really enjoyed blogging about topics other than infertility. When I started my infertility blog, it was to chronicle my infertility. It seemed like cheating to add non-infertility stuff in there. But, now I view it as blogging about the whole me – because I still do have a life outside of the big IF. So, for now, I’m going to call a hiatus on this blog and will start integrating some of the stuff that I would have posted here into my other blog.
Thanks for cheering me on during my quest!
Miss Post’s Doggie Finishing School
G is officially a student. We have enrolled him – and ourselves – in basic obedience classes, which I prefer to call Doggie Finishing School. Our first lesson was last Sunday and let me say that our Golden Retriever represented the breed. If it had not been for the overachieving Labrador Retriever, G would have been the star pupil of the class. Yes, I am that kind of mother.
We were somewhat concerned that he would get overwrought with meeting all of the other dogs, but he did very well. He also made a new little friend – a Catahoula/Australian Shepherd mix puppy who just adored him. Unfortunately, that puppy is going to puppy school next time, since Basic Obedience is for adult dogs. There is also a German Shepherd who Mr. X has labeled “Cujo” since it does the whole scary-attack-dog bark very well. G has no interest in her.
We’ve been working on this week’s homework – learning ‘down’ from a standing position (which he picked up on about the fourth try – my boy is so smart!), walking on lead – he does beautifully when there are no other people around, but typical Golden that he is he wants to get to the people and so we are learning to be patient and let the people come to us, and come. G is so food oriented, though, that the minute he hears the cabinet open, he comes anyway for the treat, so I’ll have to get a little more sneaky on how I can get him to actually come to me on command rather than because he hears the treats.
There is no class this week, so we’ll have an extra week before we can go back and G can confirm all of the best Golden stereotypes (and I can be a showbiz mom).
I Have a Twisted Sense of Humor
I think I got it from my dad. Anyway, it has produced these gems recently:
1) I’ve decided that the best way to deal with telemarketers is to make a recording of G when he’s panting and play it whenever they call rather than answer as myself.
2) I actually told G that he has a bush fetish. I said this in the middle of our street after he investigated the umpteenth bush on someone’s front lawn. I didn’t realize the other meaning until two seconds later. Luckily, no one was around. Which then reminded me of this:
I first saw this as a campaign protest picture which I promptly sent to my lesbian friend who roared – and I mean ROARED – with laughter.
3) I nickname everyone who I don’t like. Well, Dr. Uterus I like but he is one a few members in a select profession and could be easily identifiable (thereby helping to identify moi) so he doesn’t really count. But, everyone else is fair game! Our next door neighbors are Boris and Natasha because they are from Eatern Europe and we are convinced they are operating a secret Communist cell next door. They recently got a puppy who I’ve named Sputnik.
4) One of my favorite nicknames I’ve ever come up with is for my podiatrist. I have to see him again next week because I think I broke my toe last week – number three on the left foot. His nickname: Dr. Dorquemada, a hybrid of Dork and Torquemada. He’s a dork (a sweet one, but a dork nonetheless) and he puts me through exquisite torture. And, I think he’s Catholic so that just adds to the whole Spanish Inquisition atmosphere of having your toes tortured in the name of podiatric health.
5) I find this absolutely hysterical.
I’m sure there will be more. There’s always more.
The Post in Which I Brag
I know someone in real life who feels that blogs are essentially narcissistic enabling mechanisms. He’s absolutely right. I rarely talk about other people on my blog, the topic of course being moi, but I also feel as if I don’t exactly aggrandize myself either (feel free to disabuse me of this notion!). Well, for one night, that will change.
I saw this on Lemondrops’s blog and I was intrigued, voracious reader that I am. Apparently, the National Endowment for the Arts believes that the average American has read only 6 of the books on the list below. Ouch. But, it is a great opportunity for me to parade around my ability to read books (oh, and show how well-read and rounded I am. Yea.)
My total: 31.
Better than six, but damn, who decided that Thomas Hardy and Jane Austen must take up seven spots between them? I think that most will agree that Thomas Hardy is the ultimate buzz kill, but I have to admit I am likely the only woman in the world who doesn’t like Jane Austen. Charlotte Brontë summed up my feelings perfectly when she opined,
“What sees keenly, speaks aptly, moves flexibly, it suits her to study: but what throbs fast and full, though hidden, what the blood rushes through, what is the unseen seat of life and the sentient target of death–this Miss Austen ignores…”
Anywho, on with the rules:
1) Look at the list and bold those you have read.
2) Italicize those you intend to read.
3) Underline (or mark in a different color) the books you LOVE – my favs are in red
4) Reprint this list in your blog so we can try and track down these people who’ve read 6 and force books upon them ;-)”
He Poops, He Scores!
Sorry for the lack of G updates this week. It has been crazy busy and my blogging time has been limited due to Mr. X requisitioning my lap top. But, it’s Friday and I will be damned if there isn’t a margarita, mojito or other ‘m’ alcoholic beverage in my immediate future.
Anywho, I did want to post about G’s play date last Sunday. When we first got G, we were very interested in getting him socialized with other dogs. We didn’t think he had a lot of exposure to other dogs in his previous life and since we have no other dogs, we wanted him to have doggy friends. Kind of like my parents did with me since I was an only child, except with other kids, not dogs. Just wanted to make that clear.
So, my wonderful neighbor who also adopted her Golden from this rescue organization agreed to bring over her Golden for a play date with G. We met outside in the front, with the dogs on leashes. G went nuts at the sight of the other dog and was acting like a puppy! He was so excited to see another Golden. He’s also 70 lbs so when he gets excited it is like trying to control a freight train. We walked down the street and back together so they could get to know one another and then headed to the backyard.
My boy definitely has some etiquette lessons in his near future. He started humping the other (boy) dog (and yes, he’s neutered). It was so embarassing. G was all about letting this dog know who was King of the Backyard! Eventually they settled down a little and we could take them off of their leashes. Then the next contest started: the peeing and pooping contest. First G peed, then the other dog peed where G peed, then G pooped and the other dog pooped where G pooped. It was an orgy of marking.
They stayed about an hour and then it was time for the other dog to go home. Apparently, my friend thinks that they managed to get along well enough that they can have another one. I hope so, but G will mind his manners better next time!
Show and Tell: G’s Not-So-Secret Lay-air
G is averaging about one new behavior per day. Today’s latest: he has found himself a secret fort in the backyard, which I refer to either as Fort G or G’s Secret Lay-air (said in my best Austin Powers impression). It’s in the very back of the yard near the fence line in an area of bushes. Unbeknownst to us (since we NEVER go back there) there is a break in the bushes that is the perfect size for a dog. He shimmies in there, usually with his favorite toy, and then watches me try to lure him out. I think he finds it very amusing.
Here he is in his Not-So-Secret Lay-air:
Dog Moms Anonymous
[The Scene: a dimly lit basement of a church or civic building. Women enter furtively, usually wearing a hat or other disguising paraphernalia. A circle of chairs is set up in the middle of the room, under the sole light. Slowly the chairs begin to fill, although no one speaks to each other. Finally, when all of the chairs are filled, a woman stands up.]
Group leader: “Welcome, ladies, to our weekly meeting of Dog Moms Anonymous. I know that you all want to get down to business, so we’ll get started. This week, we have a new member joining us. Mrs. X? Would you like to tell the group about yourself?”
[Mrs. X gets up, slowly and waits a moment before speaking.]
Mrs. X: “Hi. My name is Mrs. X and I have been a dog mom for almost two weeks now.”
Group: “Hello, Mrs. X.”
Mrs. X: “My husband and I adopted G, our Golden Retriever from a local rescue organization. He’s six and we were sold on his wonderful personality and gorgeous looks. He hardly ever barks and he just loves attention. He sits to be petted and doesn’t try to knock people down. We are trying to teach him some leash manners because he does like to pull us toward a person so he can meet them. He has a mild thunderstorm phobia, but as long as he can get under my desk, he’s ok. We walk him twice a day and let him out in the backyard for play time two times a day. We try to give him lots of love.
“It all seemed as if it was going so well. And then, today, he did something that I just cannot understand: he ate another dog’s poo. It makes me nauseous just thinking about! I did some research on the internet about why he could be doing this. I don’t think it’s his food as we are feeding him what the rescue organization recommended (plus green beans). He’s not left alone for long periods of time, he’s never crated and we do try to play with him so that he doesn’t get bored. He is not hyperactive by any stretch of the imagination, so I think two walks a day is just fine.
I just feel so inadequate as a dog mom! You know the saying, there are no such things as bad dogs, just bad owners? What does this say about me that my dog eats poop?! Oh, I am so ashamed!”
[Mrs. X collapses in her seat, crying. The other members try to comfort her.]
[Group leader stands up again.]
Group leader: “Mrs. X, I’m afraid what you have told us is sadly common. And, we all know how disturbing and disgusting it can be. I know you’ll be more vigilant when taking G on walks to make sure he doesn’t get to the poo or eat it. And, you should clean up the backyard so he doesn’t develop a taste for his own. Just remember this does not reflect on you as a dog mom, no matter how it might seem like that. Am I right ladies?”
[Other ladies agree and Mrs. X begins to smile, tremulously.]
[Fade to black]
Oh, Sweet Mystery of Life
We had a bit of a crisis in the X household this past weekend. It seemed as if G had already hidden his new toy ring that sqeaked in the backyard and it was no where to be found. Mr. X kept telling me to look on the side of the house, all in vain, though. There was no tell-tale day-glo green, no squeak, no nothing. It was as if it had vanished. G, I’m sure, was crushed.
And then, we were finishing up a walk and I happened to look to my left. There, peeking out of the inky darkness of the neighbor’s bed was bright, unnatural green. Could it be? Is it possible? I nimbly ran over and there it was, a little dirty, but still squeaking, G’s toy. Now, how it got over the fence into the neighbor’s yard is truly a mystery. G is quite talented, but that might have been a stretch even for him.
Suffice to say, he is thrilled to have his toy. He carries it around the house in his mouth and occasionally lets out a squeak. We also play fetch – well, I throw it, he runs after it and then doesn’t let me have it. The universe is back in alignment. Now if only we could find his squeaky tennis ball, we’d be set.
This Dog’s Life
1) He is still camera shy, but my father-in-law tipped me off that if I took pictures outside when the red light flash doesn’t work, I’ll have better luck. And, he was right. There’s a pic of my new man at the end of this post.
2) He farts daily. The silent but deadly kind, and uniquely doggie. I don’t think I need to state that we have plenty of gas in the house already and don’t really need anymore. Just when I begin to articulate this particular thought out loud, he gives me that How-Could-You-Not-Love-Me look and all is forgiven.
3) He’s not above pooping in the street. That was yesterday’s revelation.
4) While he’s partial to ladies, he loves anyone with two legs. Men, kids, ladies. He must. get. to. them. And, they must pet him. We think he’ll make a wonderful therapy pet.
5) He’s not much into retrieving. He will happily chase after the ball, but then he’ll toy with it and ultimately hide it somewhere in the yard. I’m still searching for the tell-tale day-glo green peeking out of the bushes.
6) He loves to go through any and all bushes, plants, planters, etc. He is particularly partial to monkey grass and boxwoods. He has transported quite an array of fauna into the house via his coat this way.
7) He sighs. A lot. As if the burden of being a dog is sometimes too much. Life is rough, buddy, and if I had to lay around all day with regular breaks to go run in the sunshine and roll around in the grass, with catered meals everyday, I’d be sighing too.
8) One brushing will yield enough fur to constitute a tribble. And there’s still more fur. I have tumbleweeds of fur floating around my hardwood floors.
9) He will try to cram all 73.8 pounds of himself into impossibly tight places, usually during a thunderstorm, despite the fact that we got him a perfectly lovely crate and covered it so that it’s nice and dark and enclosed and give him Quiet Moments tablets. He still prefers to cram himself under my desk.
10) He must roll in the grass at least once a day and pause in mid roll to give me that, oh don’t you pity me look. And then he sneezes.
11) He has the most wonderful habit of laying down next to the bed and throwing his weight against the sides so you can feel the gentle thump as he eases down next to you while you sleep. And then he sighs.
12) He has discovered the forbidden joy of kitty kibble. I was struggling to open a can of green beans with which I was going to supplement his diet, since he’s a bit on the pudgy side. While I was doing this, G mysteriously disappeared. I went around the corner and there he was, head fully engrossed in kitty bowl chowing kitty food while kitty looked on. Now, the kitty who’s food was being purloined himself has been guilty of stealing food from others, namely his brother. So, I could not help but feel a little poetic justice while reminding G sternly that we do not eat the kitty’s food. So, now Fluffy eats his dinner in the laundry room to prevent the Bad One from stealing it. The Bad One now eats in the guest bathroom to prevent G from stealing it. I don’t think G will have any worries since Mr. X and I are not into dog food, or green beans for that matter.
Despite (or in spite of) all of this, how could you not want to take this home?
I wasn’t able to resist either.
He’s Just Not that Into You
I’ve been having a hard time convincing the kitties that their new doggy brother, G, is frankly just not that into them. They have put on quite the show for him, too: hissing, doing the Halloween cat, glowering at him. But, bless his Golden little heart, he could care less. He gives them a wide berth and heads in search of his peeps for a head scratch and general adoration.
The kitties, however, watch him like a hawk. Their eyes narrow whenever he lumbers near them and they peer imperiously from up on high at this shaggy four-legged creature in their midst. When they do deign to come down from their perch in search of sustinance, they mew at him as if to say, “I know what you are and I’m not going to let you get anywhere near me.” G, for his part, just kind of looks at them, maybe takes a tentative sniff and then looks at me as if to say, “what is their problem?” Oh, G, I could write a book on that one.
G, however, is not a push over by any means. The other morning I was sprawled over the bed since Mr. X had since departed for work and I was enjoying my extra 20 minutes of bed dominance. G was issuing large sighs at the foot the bed but then made a loud, “rrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmphhh” noise while quickly getting to this feet. My first thought on hearing this was, “This is not good.”
I got out of bed to inspect that all limbs and fur were intact on both sides of the Animal Kingdom. Everyone appeared to be intact, although the kitties were standing in the doorway, backs arched with large puffed tails and very, very wide eyes. I knew pretty quickly what had transpired. They tried to sneak up on G and he had very plainly stated that this was not allowed. The kitties retreated to the safety of the top of the kitchen cabinets and G just went about his day. They must have either forgiven him or were driven past their fear by hunger, because they began to mouthily indicate that it was time for dinner as usual and ate with gusto.
I suspect in a few weeks, G will be as much of a novelty to them as we are: not much more than furniture upon which they may drape themselves or otherwise climb over. It’s not such a bad life, G.
image: applesticker
A Year of Inconceivable Living 
