Oh Calvin.

So Lexy’s dog sitting right now…

He’s adorable, and chubby, and very different attitude-wise than Gwynn.

I’m not saying he’s unfriendly, no, but it’s mostly in body type.

And also commands, but that’s something else entirely.

He’s just short and stout… I actually think his ears are longer than his legs. (For visual, I’m pretty sure he’s some sort of Corgi mix. Pictures later perhaps.)

His People gave us his stuff for the time they’re gone, and included in that is his bed… That he apparently doesn’t really use as a bed.

Gwynn likes it.

Dis is my bed now. I love to curl up on and in things too small for me. It proves I *am* in fact a lap dog. Pet meh.

Dis is my bed now. I love to curl up on and in things too small for me. It proves I *am* in fact a lap dog. Pet meh.

But… The other night I had some friends over to bake and start watching Doctor Who… K has seen some of the series, but not enough to be a Whovian, form a mix of watching some scattered episodes and from the inevitable spoilers from Tumblr.

But I’m not certain that Doctors 9-11 will happen this summer, not sure if there’s going to be enough time for her to catch up in time for November, so we’re dealing with only 11 right now.

It’s good. We watched 1 episode. I was happy. my Dr Who merch at my side…

9th/10th sonic screwdriver (Left), TARDIS diary (Middle), 11th Sonic screwdriver (Right)

Yeah, but afterwards, when they left, I had some time to see Calvin and Gwynn interacting… here are my notes:

Adventures after hours.

  • Calvin apparently doesn’t sleep in his bed. Gwynn has taken advantage.
  • Gwynn eventually leaved Calvin’s bed when Calvin makes demon pig noises beside him.
  • Gwynn looks alarmed and offended when Calvin stalks to his crate, calms down to only being suspicious when Calvin drinks from water bowl instead.Gwynn is a hypocrite.
  • Calvin has apparently decided that his bed is good for sleeping after all
  • —No. No. Apparently bed is for staring soulfully at Gwynn and making demon pig noises.
  • Gwynn leaves.
  • Mosquitos let in from departure of friends keep after me. I fear blood loss problems
  • Demon Mosquito bites itch like a bugger.
  • Gwynn returns and curls himself under chair for comfort.
  • Calvin is heavy breather. Always sounds like vague growly demon pig noises.

I switched focus somewhat part way through, but it’s all good.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, baking this time was much less frustrating than last time. I did very little of the mixing and everything. I just put things on sheets, and provided the ingredients.

No stress. And then Dr Who, so it was all good.

All good.

Yes.

🙂

 

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It’s One of Those Ages

I turned 19 on February third of last year (2012). And now I’m 20.

(SURPRISE!)

But…

19 is one of Those ages, I’ve figured out…

Those ages, in case you’re wondering, are usually ages in which it’s hard to multiply to get without 1 being one of the multiples.

You know, 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23 etc, etc, etc…? I’m probably missing a number in between that, but…

Well, from what I can figure out, most of these numbers are significant ages to be, either to parents or to society or to you, as you are at that (or before that) age. It is from these ages you compare yourself to your younger self.

A baby turning 1 year old is a landmark in aging. But, like with dogs and pets in general, it’ll probably be until that baby is close to or past the 2 year mark before your age will be measured by years consistently, rather than by months.

If you ask Lexy how old Gwynn is, she will respond with “Almost three” or “Three in March” but once, for a while, she used wild numbers like 13/14/15/… months old.

It was a strange time that made me have to think a moment as I subtracted 12 from that number, and then… wait no, that would make him…

Ah.

(You redevelop math skills like this when you get a pet, or a baby, by the way. You don’t realize how much simple math you’ve lost until this time comes)

Turning 3 seems like an important age to me, as it is the first year after you’re two, giving you one full year of being referred to by year-age rather than by month-age. I don’t have a baby, and Gwynn is not yet 3, so I wouldn’t be able to tell you any other significance, except that maybe at the 3 year mark Gwynn, and possibly babies in general, will have learned a few new tricks.

Perhaps he will have learned not to go ape-shit over cats.

Unlikely, but a hopeful possibility.

5 seems to be that age that you’re constantly hearing/reading/seeing children being thereabouts. They are either almost 5 or are corrected to that they are only 5, not six for a couple of months yet. Or, they “Justh turned thixth”(say with clear lisp) and have likely lost a tooth. 5 is that age that you just want to BE. You never hear about your inner 4-year-olds or 6-year-olds. That’s because 5 is infinitely better than either of those.

Because you’re FIVE.

Later in life you will find out that you like fives even better, especially when learning your times tables, and find out that multiplying 5 is even easier than multiplying by 2’s.

But enough about 5’s, let’s move onto 7.

7 is important for a number of reasons, and not just because Voldemort had 7 Horcruxes and you always forget the last one or two from the list you try to keep in your mind, and not just because it was one of the most important numbers I learned because Mom sat me down and had me learn the days of the week. This was when I once thought that it was the weekend on a Wednesday based wholly on the fact that the alarm hadn’t gone off. 7 is important because you can finally leave 5 behind.

The memory of 5 is an immature phantom of a memory, filled with scuffed knees, grass stains, hair pullings and crying for no good reason. You have moved past the age of 6, even, with all the reminders of being 5 being brought up, and you are now free to luxuriate in your maturity and lording your advanced age over those stuck in the vortex that happens around 5.

Writing down your age becomes a skewed checkmark of age and maturity, writing it in letters gives you the chance to write a ‘V’ for something other than ‘GIVE’, and you take something from that and maybe think if there’s a number out there that has an ‘X’ in it, or maybe a ‘Z’ because you really don’t get to use those that often.

Of course, Lexy has a friend she’s known from childhood whose name is Aziza.

I doubt she had thoughts like these.

(I think I stopped having this wonder for the letter ‘Z’ when I realized fully that one of my middle names could be spelled with a ‘z’ and decided to spell it as such, and it was only in the past couple of years that I have confirmed that on my birth certificate the possible worry of being an Elisabeth Rose was left for the certainty of being an Elizabeth Rose. Because I’m trying to be as honest as I can be while on the Internet, I’m going to admit that for a while there I think I was overzealous and decided I was an Elizabeth Roze)

(It made sense at the time…)

While moving on to 11 I am going to stop for a moment and take away the notion that 9 or 10 are important figures.

9 is a multiple of 3 and while it may seem mysterious by being almost as hard as your 7 times tables, it is not. You are past the smaller vortex (in comparison to 5) of 7 and are next to the little ball that is 10.

10 is insecure but vicious. If 9 tries to pull weight, it simply rolls over and squashes 9 with the fact that 10 is better than 9. 10 has 2 numbers.

It’s Double Digits.

9 can’t get past that. If you’re 9 YOU can’t get past that.

You must remember here that I’m not making up personalities for numbers, this is how I half remember/half imagine a child’s mindset is like. I wrote a great deal of my Harry Potter fanfiction “It’s Green” going on this, and managed to get a number of reviews on my realistic and odd young Harry… Which is flattering, but also makes me think that I won’t be able to write the personality of anyone over the age of 11…

And that would suck.

Back to numbers.

10 is insecure because while it has lorded its double digits-ness over 9 and occasionally 8, it IS right next to 11.

As grand as entering the double digits of age is, it’s not nearly as awesome as moving past that pinnacle to a new height of age.

11.

10 has the misfortune of having a zero in it.

Zeroes, as we have been taught in school, means nothing.

10, as great as it is, is written down as a 1 and a 0, a something, and a nothing.

11 has the amazingness of being the first number in the double digits that doesn’t have a 0 in it. 11 is also when you leave all the 9’s behind, because you are beyond being 10 and have no time to play with babies. Because that is what anyone is if they are still stuck within the limitations of the single digit of age, at least compared to you.

12 year olds matter nothing unless you yourself are a 12-year-old with other 12 year olds, or you are a 12-year-old who knows or encounters a 13-year-old.

Because, a 13-year-old was once… not a teenager.

But is one for the next 7 years or so.

(it’s hard to shake that image from The Adult’s minds)

Yes, when you turn 13 you are experienced in the ways of the double-digit-age enough to be accepted into the ranks of teenagerhood.

I imagine it’s very much like being accepted into street gang. Or maybe the Mafia.

It’s dark, it’s dirty, you are going to be introduced to a whole slew of sights, experiences, smells that you would have liked to be spared from, you will meet people who you may not like but are now part of different rules, ones that will remember you if you report them to the authorities of the Parentals… the ones from their district or yours, it matters not, they will remember and do their best to repay in kind or else find some other way to return the favour.

They will shank you for your candy…

And give bald-faces lies to the Adults about what happened, and you can say nothing.

I know (for the most part) that that’s not how it works, not exactly, but if someone can come up with a better example of what you are getting yourself into by unknowingly agreeing to join this… group… well. Feel free to step forward with your own post, and link me 🙂

But, regardless of your newby status, Parents will expect just a bit more from you, as the Responsible Teen you are, perhaps playing on your sense of new duty and responsibility to get you to do more around the house, set a ‘good example’.

This is an important stage in your life.

The next is 17.

I think that people will think that 16 should be one of Those ages, but aside from “Sweet 16” what is there, really? You can now get your driver’s license… Wonderful.

Due to new laws (at least in Ontario) you must wait a full year after getting your G1 to get your G2. You will be 17 when you are even remotely close to getting your real license.

17 is important for more than this real license, though, and it’s the reason why, in Canada at least, 18 is only really important if you’re in (or, I guess, beside) Quebec.

17 is when you’re preparing yourself for the fact that you will soon have to take the consequences for things that may or may not get you into serious trouble.

18 is when you are putting to use all these thoughts or concepts of responsibility, but 17 is for where you can get paranoid.

It’s about this time when you also have to start thinking about the Future… about University and College, what your major will be, what you want to do with THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.

It’s scary.

Feel free to feel paranoid.

Be afraid.

It’s be a whirlwind, gale forces of GRADESGRADESGRADES whipping around you, sharp rocks of EXPECTATIONSEXPECTATIONSEXPECTATIONS will give you shallow cuts that sting, and you’ll be desperately trying to stay near the eye of the storm.

You’ll be desperate to stay there, because there’s always that possibility that the winds and rocks will chuck you any which direction, and you could land anywhere.

It’s not likely it’s going to be a place you like.

A few will actually be able to stay in the eye of this storm… until they’re turning 18 that is.

Those who have been struggling to stay near the centre will have gained endurance, will have scouted were they could land, and will have calmed down some by this time, but those who were suddenly jolted from their place at the Eye…

Well shit it’s scary being plucked from your comfortable place, isn’t it?

17 is the slightly more significant time, I think, and if you think it’s actually 18…

Well, of course you’d think so.

17 is desperately gripping at 18 and trying to stay grounded in that shit-storm as drama and grades get thrown around in school, jobs and money problems biting at tender unprotected areas like vicious mosquitos, and 18 is freaking out.

17 has already screamed itself hoarse, why else would 18 be louder?

For those who have later birthdays, it IS 18 that’s scary, but I’m talking from my own experience, so stick with me okay?

19…

Well 19 is scary.

And fantastic if you happen to live somewhere that the drinking age is 19.

Like, perhaps… ONTARIO???? Or Canada… (I live there, whaddya know…)

I was in luck while in Ottawa in that Hull (sketchy part of Quebec, drinking age 18, sketchy party/club central for the underages of Ottawa), in that for the few months before my birthday I could get alcohol, and afterwards I could still go out drinking with my friends whose birthdays were in Oct-Dec, and so were less than legal in Ottawa.

(I’m not saying anything about having an apartment-style res and being legal in a group of under-aged friends. Also, yes, 2+2=4)

But yeah, 19 means first year uni/college, or else it means succeeding in surviving first year, or not.

(Me? Kind of not, but I’m working on getting back in that tipped canoe, it’s a bit hard, but I’m doing it)

It means you’re trying to find the friends you’ll likely be closest with for the next four-or-so years, making connections, keeping your head above water and clothes the least wet…

Stressful.

But a very important time.

20…

Well, I’m only turning 20 now (Happy Feb 3rd everyone! Happy Birthday to me!), so I don’t know how it’ll pan out, but I have hopes.

I feel like I’m significantly more mature (Maybe… My mom would laugh, as would Lexy and maybe just about everyone who knows me), but it could just be because now I can say “I’m 20”

Because hell yes! I’m 20!

But on the other hand… I’m two decades old.

I feel like I should be whipping out cocktail dresses and be brushing off cobwebs at the same time.

This is said because of the two decades thing…

It’s not two centuries, no, but it’s a bulk unit of time.

Seconds, Minutes, Hours=Nothing.

Days, Weeks, Months= the make up of a year. So?

Decade= Impressive. That’s a bulk unit of time, the likes of which you haven’t been able to process by the time you’re 1 decade old. You have no idea.

Literally, for em, since i think I was still spelling ‘idea’ as ‘ida’ because I thought the ‘de’ in ‘idea’ was satisfied with just the letter.

No idea, I tell you.

(only Ida’s)

2 decades= 2 FREAKING DECADES! That seems like a lot! That’s MORE than ONE!

WOW!

Whoever can count their age by more than one decade is obviously super OLD!

And now I’m part of that group.

I’ve been kicked from the Teenager-Gang and have joined the Decade Group.

I don’t know what it’s going to mean for me, and I don’t know what it’s meant to other people…

I hope there are more cookies in this group though.

Happy February 3rd everyone!

 

But I’m Orange Too!

So, Lexy left to go to a friend’s house for a pumpkin carving party (pictures later) at about 2:15-2:30, and this is what I’m seeing Gwynn doing.

In both Light…

…And in Darkness, he waits…
For Her return…

(Seriously, he didn’t even twitch when I turned on and off the lights. And sorry about picture quality :D)

I’m sure he wishes he could be there for her, WITH her, right now (RIGHT NOW!!!), but as he would try to eat the pumpkins, he’s been left behind. “But I’m orange too!” He would likely protest. “Why can’t I come too?”

Lexy is probably going to bring him some pumpkin guts for a snack later, but as far as he’s concerned, she’s gone to war and he’s stuck at home awaiting her return.

There will be lots of bouncing and love and kisses when she returns. If I can, I’ll try to capture it on camera.

Family and ‘Family’

Time with the family is always fun, and as I’ve said before, I’m really glad for the new 2 reading weeks.

Currently, I am again writing on the go, this time in the car.

The family and I are heading out yonder to visit with other family and ‘family’ who all happen to live about 3 hours away.

‘Family’, if you don’t know the term (commonly said with ‘air quotes’) are family friends who you have known since you were little, or have become the ‘chosen’ family of the family.

The ‘family’ that we visit are people who when I was younger I thought that they were aunt/uncle and cousins.

They are still sort-of relatives, but in a secret way.

A ‘secret’ way.

(When I start to mention them, I still refer to them as family though I don’t call them my aunt __ or uncle__ or cousins __, __, and __, but instead call them family while a sort-of twitch/grimace overcomes my face, and then I repeat family with air quotes and then try to explain. It adds about a minute and a half to my explanations, though I’m getting better at shortening it to “They’re family friends”. ‘Secret’ family.)

This ‘Secret’ family has two cats now, the two most adorable tuxedo-ed balls of fluff I’ve see in a while, and Gwynn has very little cat-conversation skills.

This means that he goes ape-shit crazy over felines in general.

We are trying to civilize him to the manner of don’t-try-to-lick-or-drool-on-the-cat Cat manners.

It’s taking some work.

But some family of ours has farm country (I believe that Lexy has mentioned it in her blog at least once) and two dogs, so now that we have Gwynn we have to trust Sammy and Odie to teach our city slicker puppy to NOT go to the other farm turf, and to tire him out suitably. Farm dogs can do that.

In the cartoon world Insanity has made in my mind, cartoon country dogs always have a stalk of grass poking out the corner of their mouths. They’re relaxed, and tired, but turn into army commanders when the dog from the next property over tries to invade their Territory, and savage gang fighters when they meet raccoons.

Army commanders have shades suddenly.

Savage gang fighters style their now-raised hackles into punky spikes.

Insanity giggles.

Eventually I will figure out my scanner and will be able to post my own pictures…

We are also visiting Grandma. She has Alzheimer’s.

Sometimes it’s funny, but generally it’s sad.

One other thing about the relatives with the farm, they have a 4 year old.

We take turns amusing her. I’m posting this (we’re out of the car now :D) and she’s asking me if my laptop is magic.

I didn’t want to lie like I did when she was two, so I pointed to the lights and said that it was as magic as the lights. Of course, lat time I lied to her about electricity being magic, it was asking why a lightbulb works, sooo…

Young kids are adorable, but when you want to do something else, you don’t really want to hook monkeys in a barrel together. What a surprise.

Gabbie says ‘Hi’

ffffffffff FFFFFF fffff  (this is me showing Gabbie how the keyboard works)

Here is Gabbie typing her name:

gabbi sullivan

Isn’t it amazing? mom (also her spelling mom)

Calling all Ottawarriors! A Dog Park if you Please.

Lexy has recently posted a blog (HERE) about the awesome dog park that’s not close to Toronto, and is also not close to where I live, but is significantly closer to me than her… Well, reading it, I was reminded of the Googled searches for a dog park to bring Gwynn while the fam-jam was visiting.

Of course, he got lots of walking opportunities, and we met a lot of dogs and their owners at the Byward market,but still, it would have been nice to know that there was a dog park near-by so that we weren’t limited by the flow of humanity who had to get past Gwynn and his new friends.

Surprise surprise, the Byward Market (a Farmers market and kind of like Kensington Market in Toronto) is busy on weekends.

On a quick side note, I thought it would likely be a bit less busy than it was any other weekend that I’ve gone down there, what with most to all students being away with their families, but no, Thanksgiving weekend is a huge lure to the tourist traffic.

So yes, we got lots of exercise while exercising the puppy, my feet had that stretchy ache of too-much-walking, but one of the great thing about Dog Parks is that you can walk around and then stand still for a while and your dog STILL gets exercise, going on a rompage around you with the other poochies.

So, Ottawarriors and visitors of the Ottowarian areas, could you please help out by telling the secrets of where the good dog parks are?

Where do you go when you want to hand with the other dog-owners and let your dogs frolic?

Where is it that you know where a dog park is? Even if you only know it’s there because it’s on the way to ___, or because you live near there, I’m calling for help!

Where do YOU park?

Lisa is a Buddhist!

I am not religious.

I like the Addams' philosophy a bit better... Accept the Unconventional as matter of course.

I am not Religious

I am not ReLigiOuS.

At all.

BUT, that doesn’t mean I’m not open to the ideas in religions, as many Religious people are.

I am Agnostic.

ag·nos·tic/agˈnästik/   Noun: A person who believes that nothing is known or can be known of the existence or nature of God or of anything beyond material phenomena; a person who claims neither faith nor disbelief in God. (or, someone who is open to other beliefs and is not actively for or against any belief system

At some point I had the idea that I was Atheist, because I didn’t necessarily believe in God, but was open to the idea, but was informed by my family that no, that means that I’m Agnostic.

I asked if it was contagious.

Agnosticism sounds like a disease, or some sort of ailment, or perhaps some sort of mangled word that’s the result of a sneeze, and I’ve explained what being Agnostic means to several people over the years, and in the way that comes about from explaining something a couple of dozen times, I feel I know a lot more about my beliefs. This doesn’t mean that I like explaining them to people who want to know what it is so they can convince me that their ‘-ism’ is better than my ‘-ism’, and I will go to some sort of Hell if I don’t Change My Ways, and, in fact, I like the people who respond to me saying I’m Agnostic (though why so many conversations turn to who practices what religion, I don’t know) by saying “Bless you” or “Gesundheit” better than the people who recognize it by the fact that it isn’t their ‘-ism’.

I’ve heard a number of reactions and thoughts about Agnostics, and while I don’t agree with all of them, I find it interesting in the same way that I find it interesting to hear about other beliefs and belief systems.

Agnostics are

  • People who don’t want to commit to one religion.
  • People who are too lazy to go to church.
  • Sinners
  • Smart enough to wait until one religion is finally proven, and not be one of the other millions of n00bs who have to actively change their belief system.
  • Indecisive.
  • Aliens

Again, I don’t believe in all of them, but it’s interesting to hear it.

I also enjoy hearing about why people believe in their beliefs, even if some of the answers are rather similar. I don’t particularly like it when I hear about how their parents were ___ so they grew up being ___. I also don’t like the people who believe what they believe because a book told them so.

I think that religions should be more about believing in a morality. I can respect the Ten Commandments, and also believe that homosexual relationships are acceptable, and I can believe in not being overly judgemental over people as Jesus and a number of other religious figures would tell you (isn’t it funny that Christianity says all love is great, so long as it isn’t for someone of the same gender? And so many people judge people of different religions? Hah!), and also admit that being truthful is the way to go but being truthful wouldn’t have let me pass my Grade 12 Religion class.

Then again, none of the questions had an option like “Jesus didn’t rise from the dead, and Christianity doesn’t believe in Zombies” or something like that 😀

One thing I REALLY like about being Agnostic, is that I don’t have to put up with a lot of the Must Beliefs.

I do not have to Believe that it was a woman who created the original Sin.

I don’t have to believe that homosexuality is a Sin. (*2)

I don’t have to believe that I have a billion of other lives to live after I die until I’m good enough for Nirvana.

I don’t have to believe that I’m constantly being judged by a higher power (God), or by someone else who is much easier to get to and say “F*ck off”

I don’t have to try to get other people to believe in the things that I believe in, in an attempt to help them Change Their Ways and Save Them.

I don’t have to believe on either Heaven OR Hell.

I don’t have to feel guilty believing that my Dog has a soul.(*1 at bottom)

There are so many things that I don’t HAVE to do that I sometimes wonder if that belief that Agnostics are lazy is true. It IS rather tiring to have to constantly judge myself as not good enough, and judge everyone else as worse all the time.

Lisa Simpson, the person who taught most of us all we know about Buddhism

Lisa Simpson decided that she would be Buddhist, because Buddhism reached out to her in her search for a Religion, and she managed to get her parents to support her by the fact that she was firm in her beliefs and because she explained that Buddhism allows other religions into it’s beliefs. If I had to choose a religion to take part in, I would probably also choose Buddhism, because I haven’t yet heard about how Buddhists were burning the books of a certain religion to prove a point, haven heard of how a bunch of Buddhists bombed a plane, haven’t heard about how Buddhists started a racist club that promoted actions against blacks (KKK), haven’t yet heard about how a misguided son was sent to a Buddhist Priest to see if that gay problem of his couldn’t be fixed, and haven’t heard about Buddhism REQUIRING, in it’s list of How-to-be-a-Good-Buddhist, that I go to the local Temple for a number of hours to show my belief.

I know that it’s not entirely fair, all that I wrote, but It’s true.

One of the things that comes to mind when I think of a Buddhist is a peace-loving buddhist priest. I also think of Lisa Simpson. I also think of cool drawings done with sand, and Sand Gardens in larger form than the miniature one my sister made.

One of the things that I think of when I think of a Catholic/Christian priest, is  reverend, but in the back of my mind I’m also thinking of the guy who sentenced thousands of witches to the stake, the guy who supports a Pope who once blessed the guns of a regiment (and lo and behold, the reason why my mom isn’t religious!), the guy who tries to tell the kids sent to him that yes, it’s okay to love, but you’ll be sent to hell if you love someone of the same gender.

Other animals also can have the heart shape...

Not all religions have this negative bit of backstory, but what comes to mind comes to mind. I think of the nice things, the orphanages, the donations, the nice, happy, wonderful image… and then I think of the bombings, the hangings, the fires, the murders, the wars, the absolute crap that has come up because some guy doesn’t like the fact that those other guys aren’t practicing the same religion.

One of my biggest beefs with most religions is the belief that gays are doomed to some sort of hell because they like someone the same gender.

The heart, the symbol of love, was made up from the image of the ass of a woman as she bends over. Romantic, isn’t it?

But men can have very nice bums too.

For more on atheism and funny pictures, check out HERE

(*1 from earlier: I also don’t feel too bad admitting that I would rather hit a random stranger with a car than hit my dog with a car. Not to say I’ll go out and DO it, but there it is.) (*2 Holy frig, spelling error with me saying homophobia and not homosexuality! Thank you Lexy for pointing this out!)

Yard Work Help

This weekend is a Working Weekend, where my family and I Work In The Backyard, and Clean The House as needed. We regularly try to minimalize any actual Cleaning in house unless Lexy puts on her Lex Luthor persona and encourages (read: forces) us.

Today was mainly working on cleaning along the side of our garage, where there was copious amounts of rotting, punky, nail-ridden planks of useless wood. This is a No, because as soon as we realized a couple of weeks back that Gwynn (our overly curious dog) has been chasing the squirrels there.

Even mostly empty, it's still so messy...

This is all the stuff (or at least a good portion) that we took from the side of the garage

There was a lot of stuff there, most of which we really didn’t want him getting into… There were just too many situations where we would have to bring dog into the vet for, such as him stepping on a rusty nail, him trying to eat the pressure treated wood (which is BAD for dogs, like poison and grapes), trip over one of the beams and break something, get trapped or squished when, after knocking into one of the taller piles/vertically leaning planks, everything falls on him, and possibly a couple of other things too.

We had had everything blocked off; using an ingenious wall made up from garbage cans and not-nasty planks, but figured the best solution would be to actually clean it…

Lexy used this for a lot of the planks... Gwynn was not inpressed

So we started hauling out all of the planks of wood to throw out, some of the thicker pieces requiring Dad to use an axe on the pieces, but otherwise we used power tools to cut the pieces into smaller sections.

It all needed to be able to fit into our Garbage cans after all.

We ended up not being able to get all of the pieces in there though, so we have to wait till next garbage day to get rid of ALL of it. That’s not too much fun, but we got a lot done.

One of the things that we found while pulling things from the side was a large orange tarp.

My family is a big believer in the usefulness of a tarp, so we spread it out to dry off for a bit, and quickly found out that a gigantic slug had been hiding out in its folds. Mom even made the noise that she usually reserves for earwigs when she found it, but that’s understandable… the Beastly Slug was bigger than her thumb, sooo…

Yeah. Understandable.

Now look at your thumb, and imagine it's a large slug. Go ahead, do it. Yes, eww.

What was not understandable was why I was the one who had to get rid of it. I mean, Finders Keepers and all that jazz right?

But no, it was me who had to roll it onto a leaf and put it in our compost bins…

Everyone else was happy (including the Slug Beast I bet, since we have a lot of good compost material in our bins, and that’s good slug food I bet), and I dealt with the slug.

Blegh.

So we spread out the Orange tarp, and I started to shake it out to loosen the dirt…

Dog helped.

And then ran away… and then helped again…

He seemed to really like playing with the tarp, but he kept on trying to chew on it, so that part wasn’t fun.

But, after the hose was turned on, I started spraying it down…

He also seemed to really like the hose, so that part was fun, and it was interesting seeing him slowly deflate as his hair got weighed down by water.

 Fun times with this, eh?

But hosing it down wasn’t going to do much, I have to admit… so Lexy helped out by bringing out a scrubby brush…

It was apparently a particularily ferocious looking scrubby brush, since Gwynn attacked it in our defense…

the entire thing was pretty hilarious, and it took up a good amount of time, so by that time Lexy suggested (reda: decided) that it would be a good time to start cleaning up inside.

We did a good general clean inside on the main floor, and then headed to the basement to get it looking like less of a war zone.

Our basement used to be an apartment, and up untill a little mor ethan a year ago, we had a tenant  who lived there. She was nice, and a bit of a shop-a-holic, and ended up giving up a LOT of her clothing to us. We never really had to go shopping…

Aah, those were the days…

Bou, since she’s moved out, we’ve been using it as a sort-of storage area, so even cleaning it up menat that there were some boxes along the walls, and things hung up around the room.

My primary job was to move all of my hockey stuff back into my hockey bag, since my parents had emptied it out to hold suits while they went to Florida for a week. Mom’s school participates in something called DECA, and regularily goes on trips. It’s a sort-of business club, and at these events they get prizes and the like, and Mom usually enlists Dad’s help in acting as a Judge/supervisor at these things.

They didn’t exactly ask if they could use my bag, but with the season being over, I figured that they were taking their own rishs with the suits that they were bringing up smelling of hockey equiptment, and got a good laugh at picturing my mom hauling around my hockey bag in front of her students.

But I still needed to clean out my hockey bag, and them removing everything from it gave me encouragement to get it over with already.

I had a couple of pairs of socks that were too small, and at least two jerseys that I wasn’t likely to use, as well as a number of tape wads that were just taking up space.

I narrowed it down to having four pairs of socks (I make them holy regularily, so spares are understandable), and three different coloured jerseys. The rest were going to be thrown in the garbage.

And it was–save one jersey.

Lexy suggested using one of my old jerseys and maybe stufing i with something, since Gwynn has always shown an interest in my equiptment, so I saved one for him. Perhaps we will make it into a large pillow or something… if anyone can think of anything else that could possibly be done by two amateur-ish crafters, feel free to mention.

But before we did that…

Yeah, put  yo paws in the ay-yer, a-a-yer, a-yer!

lol, ignore or accept my dorkishness, it’s still there.

Here are some more pictures inspired by my dorkishnes.

And he submerged his head, only to find that it was only dirty water, not beer, within the bucket. Alas...

We played for a bit before drying him off some more (minus the jersey)

 

He stands tall in his pride as a Hockey Supporter and Fan...

Lexy used her Boss charms to get him to consent to the Towel…
Quick explanation to Boss:
You know the dog owners who go overboard with the whole “Yes, look at mummy mupsy-wupsy! Oooooh, what a good girl/boy! Now give mummy kisses, etc, etc, etc…”?
 
Well, Lexy didn;t wnat to be one of those people…
 
Close quote: “I am not the dog’s mother, and will never be the dog’s mother. Gwynn’s relationship to me shouold be more like an employee to a bos… yes, I am the dog’s Boss. Bwahaha! Hear me roar!”
or something like that…
 

yes, Lexy can be entirely too cutsy with Dog, but still a powerful, almost Jedi force keeps Gwynn frrom fidgeting and attempting escape when she towels him... strange...

So we got a lot done this weekend, Lexy got the rest of the basement cleaned with my help, she had friends over to go to the bars for a belated birthday bash, the basement now clean enough for a few of them to stay the night, and oh!

Almost forgot to mention that I fixed up a small problem that we’ve been having with the mesh doors. Dog keeps running into the mesh doorways, and looking thoroughly disgruntled when he ouldn’t get past the invisible force-field, so I fixed it.

from left: star, swirl, X, flower... reflective and protective (TM) 😀

STICKERS! Yes, I cut out pictures from some shiny tape (not unlike duct tape), and put them on the screen door at the appropriate height for dog.  

I feel as though this would have been less of an issue had Dog not been very suspicious of his ability to get through doorways after his interactions with the screen door…
It’s not fun when You have to cajole and go outside yourself to get your pet to go outside to take a leak…
 
Yeah, not nearly as convenient as just letting him out…
 
So that was the weekend, and all of it’s productiveness!
 
Ciao~
 
~Doodled93~