update

SHE POOPED!!

it figures...

For those of you who don't know already, I got my little Sheba last Friday. I spent the entire weekend looking at her, petting her, loading her in and out of the car, showing her off to everyone who would look. And dragging her. Because as I am finding out, Sheba is one stubborn little doggy. I am far from a dog expert, but I have walked my share of animals in my day and she is the first I have experienced who will simply refuse to go any further. In that way, she is like my sister, who I am told would stop in her tracks at any given moment when she'd decided she'd had enough of the forward movement and just stand there defiantly. So...great, i have the canine equivalent of my sister. Other than that and the fact that she hasn't defacated since Saturday, things are going wonderfully. Should I be worried about this? I wonder if this is what my friends and family had in mind when they expressed their concerns at my getting a pet: that relatively soon after, I would be seen forcibly dragging a constipated, shaking terrier across the asphalt at 7AM demanding her to do her business and cursing the gods at the irony of having to train her sister in dog form. Everything's coming up Millhouse!

I think my peanut butter is turning gray

This is a little alarming, but not enough so that I have stopped eating it. Question: who brings home a partially used tub of skippy on a 5 hour flight from Maui to San Jose because she can't bear to throw it away so full? Answer: I do. And after only a month, it seems to be turning on me. I noticed the other day as I was artfully slathering it onto my freshly toasted home pride slices that it didn't look as brown as it should, but chalked it up to the lighting in our breakroom. Now, there's no mistaking it. This peanut butter is getting stale. However, I am a pro at ingesting things past their prime. Two week old spaghetti? No problem. Three year old frozen hamburger meat? Down the hatch! Pizza left out on top of a heater for two days? Mm Mm good! My stomach, surprisingly, takes it all like a pro and hardly complains. I can either take this as a testament to how much my body wants me to be a sack of lard, or I can put a positive spin on it and say that my digestive system is much more highly evolved than most. In a hundred years, I may be the mother of the next generation of superbeings capable of feeding on steel and cardboard. You heard it here first.

Shebacakes

I have been meaning to get a dog for a while now. And by "a while now" I mean since I was old enough to know what a dog was. Over the years I’ve been teased with cockatoos, bunnies, fish, kittens, and a turtle but this shit is for real. I’m a 28 year old woman with no husband and no kids, and it’s time for me to get myself at least a starter dog to fill the emptiness that a severe lack of human contact creates. Enter, Sheba.


Sheba is a toy fox terrier mix who is living in a foster house with 10 other dogs. She’s two and she weighs only 7 pounds. Oh and Sheba is deaf. Deaf! This is the second deaf dog I have been interested in since the beginning of DogQuest 2007-8 so i pretty much feel like it’s a sign from the heavens that Sheba should be mine. I am going to visit her after work today to see if she likes me and I’m seriously contemplating stashing raw meats in my pockets to ensure that she does. But with eleven total dogs in her home, I’m worried that the foster mother isn’t going to give Sheba up so easily. She has already warned me that she’s extremely picky and has a tendency to keep her foster animals permanently. I’m trying not to get my hopes up too much about this, but I find myself quickly reverting to age 6 when I would pray every night that my mother would finally give in and buy me a pony. I feel like I’m being interviewed (which I am, I guess) and this worries me because I typically don’t do well in interviews. Unless the interviewer is male between the ages of 30-50 and I am wearing a particularly revealing top/ no bra. So...fingers crossed on this one.

Side note: they are building a Hooters at the old Spoons by my house. Janessa feels that we are shoe-ins for waitress positions and free implants, but I am a little more skeptical about this. Laura thinks we would make our mom proud to see both her daughters in scrunch socks. And I am a huge fan of nude pantyhose. So, who knows? Hot wings, anyone?