Well, that didn’t work out

Did I mention I was adopting a dog?

What I really meant was renting.

I’d been warned  that some of the rescues are… optimistic about the dog’s temperament, and this (nameless) rescue did just that.

It all started out so well. The foster person brought the dog over and we sat and chatted while the dog explored. The dog seemed friendly – tail wagging and everything. While said dog was wandering around my apartment sniffing everything, the foster person said she was going to sneak out since everything seemed to be going well.

And everything did, until the dog realized that she was in a strange place with a strange person.  She was sitting next to me chewing on some bit of animal carcass, and then she jumped away and bit me.

Not snapped. Bit. Hard.

Lucky for me I pulled my hand away and only got grazed, but the dog started growling, snapping and baring her teeth.

Look, I get being scared with a new person, but I didn’t sign up to adopt a miniature hell-hound.

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t enjoy being bitten. Or potentially sued.

“Oh, what a cute little.. OUCH!!!! I’m calling my lawyer!”

I’ve had enough experience with trying to get cats into carriers that I know the oven mitt trick – you sneak up behind the animal (WAY easier with dogs, BTW), grab them with the oven mitts and then deposit. In this case, a roomy crate that the dog was happy to enter.

I draped towels over the crate to make her feel more secure, and then decided to sleep on it instead of calling the foster person and telling her to turn around and come get the fucking dog.

In the morning, I lifted up the towel to check the dog’s food and water and she bared her teeth and snapped.

That was it.

I called the rescue and told them to come and remove the beast.

They sent the same foster person back to get the dog, and upon arrival, she blamed me for getting bitten. Apparently, it was all my fault because I put the dog in the crate.

When I mentioned that the dog bit me before I put her in the crate, she just turned her back and told me that they were going to have to board the dog at a vet where they’d keep the dog in a very small cage and force her to listen to Justin Bieber. Or something.  At that point, I just wanted the dog and the crazy lady out of my place.

Oh, and don’t even ask how I found out the dog wasn’t potty trained.

Cat people have a reputation as being crazy, but I have to say my experience with a dog rescue makes me think that dog people take the crazy cake. And the candles.

Since it’s Friday, here’s a photo of a calm blue ocean:

Filed under: Non-Work, crazy, dog, holy shit, Justin Bieber, rescue

Guess I’m playing for the other team now.

I had a cat for a very, very long time. I got her when she was 6 weeks old and had her for 17 years. She was my best friend, and once-in-a-lifetime special.

Since she passed away, the house has seemed weird and empty, but every time I went to adoption events and looked at the kittens they didn’t measure up and it just hurt too damned much.

So now I’ve gone completely off the deep end and am getting a dog.

Actually, I’m technically just a foster home for the 10 lb terrier mix so I can figure out if this dog thing is for me or not.

I’m still not sure.

They do seem like an awful lot of fuss, and today, as I stood in the middle of Petco, I realized I have no idea what dogs like.

I know they like sniffing crotches and rolling in filth, but who doesn’t, really?

But toys? Once I get out of the squeaky mouse aisle I’m kind of lost.

Ditto chewy bones. Why the hell are there so many different kinds of fucking fake bones to chew? Are dogs really that picky?

Does the blue one taste like a different kind of ass than the red one?

And the clothes. For dogs.

Jesus tap-dancing Christ, people. We live in Southern California. The fucking dog has a fur coat. It does not in any way, shape, or form need a parka.

Or shoes.

Or sunglasses.
Or a novelty sombrero.

Okay, maybe the sombrero.

At the checkout, a fellow customer accused me of animal abuse because I mentioned I thought the dog would be fine without a wardrobe.

And I thought cat people were crazy.

Filed under: california, dog, life in LA, Los Angeles, Non-Work, pets, crazy, dog, pet, terrier, time off

Panic and downtime.

After an incredibly busy April (I had two days off. TWO. All month), May is dead. I’ve gotten two days this month so far, both 8 hour days below scale.

But I was so busy last month that I wasn’t able to overspend (breakfast, lunch, and wrap meal at work mean no grocery shopping), so aside from all the food in the fridge going bad, everything was wonderful.

And if I’m working that much I can buy more food.

But now it’s totally dead and I’m trying to fill my time with the gym and home-improvement projects. Like putting earthquake film on the largish windows in my bedroom, getting the bike tuned up, selling the extra bike I never ride any more, weeding the garden (VERY important!), getting the car tuned up, and other general unemployment stuff.

And today it’s raining – in Los Angeles, we all know what that means – widespread panic and even worse driving than usual.

Although I like money, I also like not white-knucking it through panic-induced gridlock.

So I walked today.

I walked to the post office to return an Amazon purchase. I walked to the store to load up on groceries before the urge to hoard set in and the lines got too long. I walked to the recyling place and dropped off my plastic bottles (dammit, I paid that 5 cent CRV, I want it back).

And while I was walking, the rain started.

I don’t know if it’s years of having to stand out in rain all night or that over the years I’ve invested in really kickass raingear, but I don’t mind walking in the rain.

I’m wrapped in Gore Tex, I’m good. Bring it, skywater.

Filed under: Los Angeles, Non-Work, apocalypse, Los Angeles, panic, rain, weather, winter