Protective Custody With A Lazy Guard

We got a new dog named Zoe.

She's a puppy and probably a pit bull, but she doesn't know what a pit bull is. Zoe just likes everybody. She may change later, but Zoe is really sweet right now.

She is so sweet in fact that she wants to be friends with Honey. Zoe wiggles and runs to her every chance she gets! Zoe play bows and shows Honey her belly. Honey shows Zoe her teeth but she's not smiling.

Honey hates Zoe's guts.

It's nothing personal. Honey isn't even that crazy about Harry and she's lived with him for about 4 years now. Honey is old and cranky and has arthritis in her hips. She's in a bad mood a lot of times. I can relate.

This will all work out. It's just stressful until it does. It helps that I'm having Todd, (the poor woman's Cesar Milan), come and work with us this week. Todd is a canine behaviorist and a trainer. He's funny and I like him a lot from our emails and telephone conversations. He has a website where I found him at "Your K9 Guy" Cool, huh?

In the meantime, I'm keeping Honey and Zoe away from each other. Zoe is spending time in the backyard and in Harry's closed off apartment. Honey is plotting her demise.

Anyway, until it is worked out, Zoe has to spend a little time in protective custody with Harry on guard duty.

Working Girls

I did it for 40 years of my life.

I got up at an ungodly hour, drank coffee, and got ready for work. When I wasn't working, I was thinking about work.

What on earth was the point of that? Oh, wait! The same thing that I think they will put on my tombstone: She Needed The Money.

I went to work two weeks following my high school graduation. (I had worked part-time gigs in high school, but it was now time for the big leagues.) I was hired by an insurance company and it was an amazing job. I got to sort mail and push a cart down long dark hallways and deliver the mail to different offices. The office was located in San Francisco's financial district. It was really fun, challenging and great for the first week, then I got the cart and my hand stuck somehow in an elevator door. I went home early because of my bruised hand.

I never went back. I decided I would rather face death by firing squad. Bad enough, I had to tell my mother. My decision didn't please her at all. (In our family, you graduated from high school and you were on your own. Oh, you could live at home, but, you worked and you paid rent too.) I was 17, but by today's standards, I might as well have been 27. I was grown with responsibilities. I quickly got another job and this one was more to my liking.

I worked for the Emporium Capwell Department store and I sold first fine china and then housewares. This was a fun place to work. There was a really cute store detective named Ed and he was pretty old but I sort of liked him. Ed was probably 25 or so and when he asked me out, I was thrilled. He took me to dinner and bought me two martinis. When Ed took me home after a couple of hours at his place to look at his etchings, (I mean examine his gun), he nearly had a heart attack when I told him I wouldn't be 18 for another 4 months. Sheesh!

Ed more or less avoided me for the next 3 months. Right before I turned 18, I got another job at different insurance company office. This time I was a file clerk. (I know, it really pays to aim high.) We worked on Worker's Comp stuff and it was actually pretty interesting. Plus, unlike the first insurance firm where the average age for employees was about 60, everyone at this place was young! I met and moved in with some girls from the office who were looking for another housemate.

I celebrated my 18th birthday living in a downtown apartment with 3 other girls. We worked hard all week and went to parties on weekends. The only challenging part was not starving to death. Life was good!

I met my first husband at my next job. We married right after I turned 19. We got a really nice apartment and I found a job at Sears selling linoleum flooring. Uh, yeah, that was a problem for me because I can't do math, plus, I didn't know the first thing about flooring. I worked there for two months and didn't make a sale at all. I was bored and found another exciting job as an instructor in a health club. I also took in ironing for extra money. I probably would have gotten a paper route too if I had thought of it.

I've walked dogs, arranged major events, written proposals, designed presentations, and groomed the presenters. I've prepared press releases, wined and dined clients, and taught English. I've also ghost written term papers, prepared resumes, and helped people get their US citizenship.

Frequently, I've done these things concurrently while going to college at night and working full time while raising my two children as a mostly single parent.

I think it was probably all very hard, but it was also very good. I've seen most of the US on various business trips and met a lot of really fascinating people.

If push comes to shove, I am very adept at supporting myself and that's a good thing.

Sitting Around Looking Cute

Have you ever noticed?

When you sit around looking cute, good things happen. You get out of the bubble bath and go and put on something cute. You are inspired to put on a touch of make up, maybe some beefed up eyebrows, a little shadow, a touch of concealer for those pesky shadows under your eyes, mascara (of course) and a touch of lipstick! You also put on just a touch of perfume, and lotion your legs and arms. You also fluff up your curls, or in my case, I fluff up my semi-crew cut with a little goop.

Sure as shooting a friend will call, a stranger will knock at the door, or the house will suddenly smell like smoke so you will have to call those cute firemen. (Yes, you grab your pretty robe first if someone is going to see you.)

Maybe it's the old girl scout (or boy scout) motto of "Be Prepared" that's at work here. Since I was never a girl scout, or a boy scout either for that matter, I'm not sure.

There's another side to this post. Somedays you just don't care one way or the other. You wake up and think about taking a bath and getting dressed and then you think "Naw." You turn on the television and you sit around looking totally dorky all day.

You don't bother even washing the night goo off of yourself. You sit in front of the television with your ashy legs and arms and don't care. There won't be any calls unless the are from the IRS or Franchise Tax Board.

If someone comes to the front door, it'll be somebody political looking for money for their "cause", and they will even look worse than you do. If the house smells like smoke you will trudge from room to room with your extinguisher in hand because you would rather burn to death than let those cute firemen see you in that ratty dog hair covered black tee and your husband's shrunken and probably none too clean boxers, with night goo all over you.

I'm just not an "either / or" kind of girl.

Drunken Encounter With A Cat

My cousin, Kelly, is a whimsical girl.

I love her with all my heart, but I also know she's a little goofy. (It adds to her charm.) My husband was on a trip (when isn't he?) and she and I were on the phone. Kelly lives in Oklahoma.

I was bored and sick of being home alone and I started begging Kelly to fly out for the weekend. She replied "Oh, I wish I could." Well, hells bells, what's keeping you from doing it? "Money." Oh yeah, that. Never mind, I'll pay for the ticket. Just get the flight you want and I'll book it and put in on my card. Kelly hemmed and hawed over it until I threatened to catch my house on fire just to get firemen to come over and entertain me.

She finally agreed. I arranged for a limo to pick Kelly up at the airport and rather than go straight home, we had the driver take us up to the Napa Valley for wine tasting. This was about noon so we stopped first and had lunch at a beautiful bistro and shared a wonderful buttery oak infused Chardonnay with our lunch.

We visited a couple of wineries after that and had the limo take us home. Both of us were having a little trouble walking at this point. Naps were in order. We slept for a couple of hours and then got ready to go out for dinner.

Kelly is very meticulous about her dress and she asked me for an iron to press something. While searching for the iron (that I do not use), I decided to open us a lovely bottle of wine. Probably not my best idea ever after drinking the afternoon away.

We had a lovely dinner with, yes, more wine. When we got home and opened the door, our new cat, Smokey, slipped past us as we were walking in and ran out. He was not really an outdoor cat so I was concerned. Kelly said, "Oh, he'll be back when he gets hungry," but that really didn't satisfy me. I told her I was going to change clothes and go out looking for him and she said that she would come with me.

It had to be close to midnight at this point since we had taken a long time at dinner, oh yeah, and then we stopped in the Biker Bar and had a drink or two with some motley guys.

If you are keeping score, we had quite a lot of booze in one day. This did not deter me at all from my quest to find Smokey. We walked the streets calling his name. After about a 1/2 hour, we were ready to give up when we called his name one last time. A pretty white cat (Smoke is black) came running to us out of the shadows making a jingle sound when she ran from a bell on her collar.

We sat down on the sidewalk and Kelly started talking to the cat. The cat vocalized right back at her. Kelly said "That cat knows right where Smokey is and she wants us to follow her." So we got back to our feet and followed the cat as she kept looking back at us.

About 3 houses from my own, the cat took a turn down a driveway and under a fence into a back yard. Quietly, we opened the fence and whispering "Smokey" we started to go into the yard. (This was a house where a single man lived, but I did not know him and had only seen him once or twice before.)

"Hold it right there!" a loud voice came. "What are you two doing in my yard?". Kelly and I grabbed each other in terror. A man with a flashlight came out the back door. At first I thought he had a gun. We froze. Kelly started explaining that we were looking for my cat. I tried to interject that I was actually his neighbor from 3 houses down, but Kelly kept talking and telling him that this pretty white cat had told her to follow her and that Smoke was in this back yard.

The guy sort of chuckled and said "Have you girls been drinking?" Well, of course he already knew the answer to that question.

He flashed his light around the backyard and Smokey gave a little "meow" and ran out from behind a bush. I grabbed him in my arms.

We apologized to the man, David, we learned by then and after offering him a drink that he wisely refused, we went back home.

Kelly still swears that white cat talked to her.

Are They Going To A Prom?

The blonde is my daughter, Sheila. The brunette is my granddaughter, Ari Yasmin.

18 year old David was sure they were sisters and going to a senior prom. David is my neighbor boy. Well, neighbor man, since he's almost 21 now. I have secured David's services now because my husband is away and a woman's got to do what a woman's got to do.

Okay, the kind of services I'm hiring David for are dog walking services. Harry is a big orange dog and while he has great manners and understands commands, the sight of a squirrel sends him airborne. This could be a problem for me walking him. Harry knocked Honey (my older and smaller female dog) down the stairs this afternoon ass over tea kettle, trying to get to a squirrel on the fence in our back yard.

Harry is what Double O refers to as a "potcake". Potcakes are dogs of dubious heritage where she lives on an island in the Bahamas. She says they are the color of burnt rice. Harry is orange, and that is close enough.

David agreed to walk Harry for me. Since I have known David since he was an 8 year old boy scout selling me magazines I didn't want, I expected him to be fairly reasonable about his price. Also, I know from his dad, that David's currently working at a part time job making $10 per hour. I figured walking the dog would have the same approximate price tag.

I figured wrong. I mentioned 20 minute to half hour walks every afternoon and suggested $5 per 20 minute walk. David looked slightly offended, but quickly recovered and said "Well, whatever you want." I asked if he had another amount in mind, and he allowed as to how a friend of his walked a dog for $25. That seemed a touch high to me for 20 minutes to 1/2 an hour.

I inquired how long his friend walked the dog for, and David said "Oh for an hour or so." Uh huh. Well, we compromised and agreed on $10 for 1/2 an hour. He took Harry out and came back in about 10 or 15 minutes. David took the $20 for his 10 or 15 minute walk that would include walking Harry tomorrow as well.

Somehow I feel this is not going to be a great business arrangement for me.

Maybe my daughter or granddaughter will date him and I'll get a better price.

Alex In Amsterdam

This is where I hope Alex goes tomorrow.

Alex and his friend Brian are driving to Amsterdam. This is the interior of Coster Diamonds, a very famous place in Amsterdam to buy jewelry. I'm sure he could find something really spectacular for me in this shop for our Anniversary on September 29th. Of course, he won't be home for the occasion, but he just might have something special he's bringing home as a late gift. That would be nice, right?

This is where I don't hope Alex goes to spend his time in Amsterdam. Oh I don't care if he walks past the windows because we all know there is nothing wrong with window shopping. The real problem is that if he goes to the Red Light District, he may end up buying me smaller diamonds because he's used his money unwisely. All right, the truth is I don't think celebrating your anniversary month with a prostitute is the least bit kosher either.

I do concede that spending a period of time with a lady of the evening might be cheaper than going to Coster Diamonds for a gift for your wife. But you have to think about the long term with these issues. You spend a half hour or so with Brunhilda, and that's fine. It might cost you $100 or so if you don't ask for anything "fancy". Let's face it, that's not a huge sum compared to $10,000 for a carat of superior diamond. But there's an old adage, you get what you pay for.

Now keep in mind that I am currently crotch sprung. Or maybe it's crotch sprained. No, I think they call it "I've sprained my groin", but then isn't your crotch and your groin sort of the same thing?

Now this sprain has me sort of lying low for a bit of time. I'm hopeful it will be gone by the time my husband comes home with my diamonds.

He knows with me it's always "fancy".

When Harry Met Zoe

Zoe - Pronounced Zoh- eee.

Call the men in the white coats.

I wasn't looking for love, or a new family member but there she was.

Traci, a friend and waitperson at a bistro I frequent in town, was telling me about Zoe, a rescue dog she was fostering. She and her partner would have to surrender the pup to the SPCA next weekend, and Tracy was sick about it. They were under contract with their landlord to not have a Pit Bull in their apartment. They could not keep Zoe.

Traci and her partner had taken Zoe with the idea that they would be giving her to friends of theirs within a couple of weeks, a couple who wanted her. The couple apparently has decided to get a divorce and they no longer wanted a dog.

As I listened to Tracy, I felt like crying. Here is this maybe 9-month old dog who would be put into the "system" and lose her sweetness and her innocence. Shelters are stressful places and Pit Bulls are a dime a dozen in the Bay Area.

Some punk might want to use her as a fighting dog, or as bait for a fighting dog. Or, she could be recruited by a big-bellied biker to guard his meth lab. This just wouldn't do at all.

I told Traci I wanted to meet Zoe. I was totally charmed when I met her. Zoe is very small (about 45 pounds), and very young. She is a loving and sweet girl who is already house-broken and crate trained.

Traci and I decided to introduce Zoe to Harry last evening. (Harry has been down in the dumps since Alex left on his month long trip.) We took both dogs on a walk to let them get acquainted and they did fine after some initial posturing.

We came back to the house and repaired to the garden where the dogs would be able to interact off-leash and they had a marvelous time. Zoe let Harry dominate her and she loved it when he chased her. They ran constantly for about 2 hours.

Although Harry is neutered (and Zoe is fixed too), he was very romantic toward her. Zoe seemed no worse off from his clumsy attentions. In return, he bathed her with drool and love nips until she was soaking wet from head to toe. Harry for sure thought this was a love connection, even if Zoe did play a little hard to get.

I need another dog like I need a hole in my head. But, good sense has never been high on my list of worthwhile qualities. I sent Zoe's story and her photos to Alex and he agreed that we might want to take her. (But then Alex has no more good sense than I do, and perhaps even less.)

This is not going to be easy, but we can do it. Honey will not like Zoe, but Honey doesn't even like Harry for that matter. Harry badly needs a playmate. Honey is more "prison warden" than "playmate". We'll adjust.

Zoe is just too young, sweet, and pretty to be turned into a gang banger's Pit Bull.