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The BOMB

Welcome to the BOMB.



The Blog Of the "Mother" of Bandit.
Bandit is my Hairless Chinese Crested--he's the "normal" one. I, on the other hand, am unrepentantly "pet-crazy." You know the type--the spinster who lives in the haunted house three blocks over with 72 cats...okay, so I don't have 72 cats, and my house isn't haunted--but my dogs wardrobe is better than mine! Need I say more? :~)
I've never been consistant at journaling, so the timing of my blogs will be sporadic at best. I just hope they are as entertaining to you as they are to me; however, be forewarned: Most of my blogs will be about The BaldOne. In spite of his Don King "do," I think he's just as cute as any of the Brothers B!
Now, if I can just remember not to get him wet--or feed him after midnight...

About Me

My photo
My bags are packed and I'm always ready to seek out an adventure with Bandit and Moggy in tow. Bandit is my ten year old Chinese Crested, who I frequently call The Bald One or The BaldOne Boy (like he was one of the Baldwin Brothers). Moggy’s full name is Pip-Moggy. He’s my gansta-resuce kitty. I couldn’t decide between Pip (which are the spots on die and domino tiles) and Moggy (or Moggie when I mistakenly thought he was a she), so I combined the two. Moggy refers to the British term for "cat of unknown parentage .” So in essence, I have an almost bald dog, and I’ve named my cat “Spot.”

Fun Stuff (I'm doing now or have done)

  • Artistic Attempts weekly (alternating between Painting With A Twist, That Art Place, and Peniot's Palette).
  • Bunko with the Belton Bunko Babes monthly.
  • Participating in the A to Z Blogging Challenge.
  • Spades and Liverpool Rummy with the Spadetts weekly.
  • The Mighty Texas Dog Walk, Austin (fund raiser for Service Dogs, Inc--they train shelter dogs to be Service Dogs, then give them free of charge to people with disabilities.)

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Rough Moggy-less Day

I had a rough day wondering where Moggy got off to this morning. I thought I heard him very faintly next door just before I left for work, but saw the black and white neighborhood cat--not Moggy. I called and called but to no avail--but I kept hearing the faint mewing--at least that's what I imagined. 

And a bird chirping. 
And a squirrel chittering. 
When I finally had to leave, I drove through the neighborhood with my windows down calling for him. It's a sight the neighbors are sort of used to--except this time it was daylight, I was dressed in something other than my nightie, and I was calling the cats name. My neighbors probably wonder if anyone minds me--nope! Well. Sometimes a Resident I've terrorized and who needs my assistance will mind.  On occasion. 

After work I came home and started calling a couple of blocks away. Once I was home I called in ernest.  

After a few minutes of the same bird chirping and same squirrel chittering (at least they were in the same locations as this morning), I thought I heard the faint mewing again. 

I looked up in the tree. No cat. Just Squirrel giving me what for!  

I looked on all the rooftops. Again, no cat. 

I kept calling "Moggy! Moggy! Moggy!" (The way people say "Here kitty, kitty.")  Which is the way I call Moggy for din-din. Only he's above responding to his name--he only comes running when he hears the "pop" of the kitty food tin. 

Over and over I called:  "Moggy! Moggy! Moggy!---Moggy! Moggy! Moggy!---Moggy! Moggy! Moggy!" 

Finally, I heard it. That faint mewing. It sounded like Moggy. Up in the tree. I looked up and saw the squirrel. He stopped chittering at me.  

My calls of:  "Moggy! Moggy! Moggy!---Moggy! Moggy! Moggy!---Moggy! Moggy! Moggy!" became more urgent. 

I shifted my stance and gaze. 

And, finally! There was my Boy!  He was a good 20 feet up, lying in the fork of tree limbs, softly mewing,  scared, and unsure how to get down that dratted tree.  But safe. Thankfully safe. 

But there was a problem. The tree would not hold me even if I could get my fanny up it. And Moggy was not budging. 

Doug and Harriet came to our rescue. One ladder, a truck, open can of kitty food, bare-handed tree trimming, slight mis-step coming out of the tree, and a flying leap off his rescuers shoulders at about 15 feet off the ground, and Moggy is now safe and sound inside, eating and drinking, pottying, and snoozing in the doggie bed he has claimed as his own, whist cooling off in front of the AC.   

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you Doug and Harriet!!!!  

In addition to lessons in coming when called, walking without slinking outside, and pottying while on a leash (the last two will aide him in practicing appropriate travel protocol), we may need to learn the fine art of "getting down"--specifically from trees and other places higher than Mommy's reach. 

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

I Scared a Small Child Tonight.

I scared a small child tonight. It was not my intention, but it happened nonetheless.

I was leaving a store in a strip mall and a young girl, about two years old, gave me a dazzling smile, waved enthusiastically, and hollered a hearty "Hello!" as she approached me.

I'm used to total strangers talking to me--all my life people have stopped me and asked for directions, or my advice on everything from the best place to eat (of which I am an expert), to the perfect greeting card for a teenager (for which I am clueless). While I am obviously approachable, I have also been informed I can be quite intimidating--especially when I am focused on a task.  I have a tunnel vision. A dogged determination. I am in a world unto myself. However, since Bandit came into my life, most of my interactions with strangers revolves around my educating people to the Chinese Crested breed, both the Hairless and the Powderpuff varieties. I have even been known to talk about the unofficial designation of the "Hairy Hairless."

Tonight I was thrilled to be acknowledged although I was Bandit-less.  I had a small Sally Field moment in which I thought, "she likes me!  She really, really likes me!"

I was so thrilled when the two year old said hello so earnestly, I followed suit.

Perhaps I over-did my, "Well hello! How are you?" response,  because she shrunk against her Mothers leg and the smile vanished from her face. Luckily her Mother and Father were aware their Little Darlin' had initiated our conversation, and did not view me as a threat or pervert out to harm their child. The Mother proceeded to school the child in an appropriate response.

Tonight, the girl chose unto raise her hand and claim "Blessed."

I returned the hand raised claim, and the two year old and I once again bonded with a couple of brilliant smiles. She was scared of me no longer.

How Long?


To the inhabitants in my house who are not me: 

How many months (years) have I provided you a safe and comfortable place to sleep and chill out? 

How many months (years) have I provided you crystal clear drinking water and high quality, locally sourced, USA processed food and treats? 

How many months (years) have I provided you toys and pet furniture for your educational advancement and entertainment pleasure?

How many months (years) have I provided you nationwide travel with pet-friendly accommodations—how many family vacations have been planned solely around pet-friendly activities? 

How many months (years) have I provided you love, nurture, and encouragement to grow and develop into your best, most productive member of animal society selves? 

How many months (years) have I kept you UTD in medical appointments, procedures, emergency Vet visits, and routine health maintenance shots? 

How many months (years) have I provided you with gym memberships, spa treatments, and higher education opportunities?  (Okay, Agility classes, Drool in the Pool opportunities, and Paw-d-cures at the groomer for Bandit might be stretching it a bit—but none of  it comes cheap!) 

How many months (years) have I provided you a wardrobe of clothing, and costumes, to rival that of any two-legged fashionista (okay technically, this only applies to Bandit—so far!) 

How many months (years) have I policed litter boxes and outside grassy areas so your precious paws would never come into contact with your waste byproducts?  (Or cause environmental runoff problems?)  

How many months (years) have you lived with me and you still have a problem remembering I have a first thing in the morning mission—you still do not know to move outta my way when I'm making a beeline for the bathroom?!

...I'm sorry I stepped on your tails this morning.  Both of you.






Saturday, August 22, 2015

Invaders of Personal Spaces

The inhabitants of Mary Lou's Zoo are not feelin' the luv this week. It's been less than harmonious. Invaders of Personal Spaces, which includes the air space involved in the dreaded Stare, have been the most flagrant violations of Family Bliss. Insert childhood memory:   Hey! Stop lookin' at me!  Maaaaahhhhhhhmmmm!  He's lookin' at me!  Make him stop!  Maaahhhhhmmm!

I believe relationships are strongest when you partake of interests common to all,  as well as embracing individual hobbies independent of each other.  Everyone needs their own space. So, when Moggy did not join his Brother and me in the bathroom this morning, I thought this was a good thing.

Naivety, thou beest my name. 

In recent weeks Moggy has indeed taken up a new solitary hobby--that of interior decorating. And he's quite fast. In the time it took me to brush my teeth and wash my face, he once again drug the pet bed across the room, and placed it alongside the foot of my recliner, tossed a couple of Bandits toys inside, and flipped the cat rocker on it's head--turning it into a Cat Cave.  Upon seeing said Cat Cave, I, being a sixties theme song junkie, immediately broke into song, "Nana, nana, nana, nana. Nana, nana,  nana, nana. Cat! Cave!" You're welcome for the uninvited ear worm. Blame Moggy each time you humm it.

When I left for work this morning, I recited my normal litany of:

Be sweet to your Brother while Mommy's at work. 
Stay out of the trash.  
No peeing in the house. 
I'll be home soon. 
I love you!

This morning, since the Snippy Snappy Attitudes were in major overdrive I added:
No bloodshed or killing! And then, because I want the last words they ever hear from my mouth to be, "I love you." I threw in a second I love you! I'm trying to say this to my friends and family as well. I tend to take The Next Interaction for granted. However, we are not given any assurance there will be another interaction.  I don't want to have guilt or regret if it turns out to be The Last Time We Spoke.  Therefore, I'm trying to end all my exchanges happy. Sometimes it's hard. But, it remains my goal.

When I arrived home after work tonight a semblance of peace had been restored in The Zoo.  Somewhat. Oh, I'm still stepping on cats, dogs, and assorted toys. And stumbling over rearranged furniture. And there are still angry voices raised when air space has perceived to have been invaded. But there has not been a Bloody Battle. At least not yet.

Alas, Mr. Rocky the Squirrel has not fared well I'm afraid. His crinkle-guts are being disembowled even yet now. It would seem frustrations continue to run a tad high.


Wednesday, August 19, 2015

I Just Don't Have a Thing to Wear

A couple of weeks ago I washed the wrong mountain of clothes. This means the only clothes that are are clean, and matching something else that is clean,  are either:

1). Too dressy for work (in other words:  require panty hose--which is not happening during a Texas summer) or

2). Are casual enough for sandals (which are prohibited on the Ward) or

3). The mountain consists of skorts, cami's, capris, tanks, tubes, or sundresses (which are  pretty much my summer-time chillaxin' weekend-wear).

In other words--even with a mountain of clean clothes, I have nothing to wear to work...

So, is buying a new outfit just to wear to work considered a bad thing?

Even if it's two days in a row?!

I will be washing a mountain of work clothes tonight.

Sunday, August 16, 2015

What's the Connection Between Lay's and Books?

I haven't been shopping in a while so I thought I'd go to Austin after church today. 

I wasn't really looking for anything in particular. I thought I might pop in a few places I like. Just to see if they have anything I can't live without.  Places like The Container Store, Crate and Barrel...a book store. 

Yeah, I know...I've got about 250 books in my "to read" boxes--actually, I've read quite a few of them so I've probably only got about 100-125.  I think I was feeling so antsy because I'm getting kind of low on reading material. 

Before I left Belton I used the last of my "little" cash so I knew I'd either break a big bill, use my card, or just look. I'm fine with just looking--but I will use one of my cards if I find a good deal. I really hate to break a "big" bill. It makes it way too easy to spend the resultant smaller bills. So I felt like the cash I had was pretty safe. 

My first stop was Half Price Books in Cedar Park--one of my all-time favorites. 

I found bundles of books for $2 that were also on sale (3 bundles for the price of 2).  I dug through their bundles--mostly harlequin-style romance novels which are not my favorite genre.  I was able to come up with three bundles that had at least two titles each that were somewhat intriguing. Or were written by writers I have read and enjoyed in the past. But I could only find three bundles. And one was kind of iffy--I'd only take it as a freebie.  But I faced a delima:  there was no way I was breaking a big bill or charging my card for $4. I'd either have to find a couple more expensive books to justify a purchase, or I'd have to leave the bundles behind. 

Cheapskate that I am, I went to the clearance  rack where the books are $1 each. 
Nothing interested me.  

Moving on to the sale rack where the books are $2-3 each. Still nada.  

Finally, I did something I rarely do--I browsed in the the regular half-price racks--still a great deal--I just usually limit myself to the really good deals. :~) 

I'm leaving HPB now--half a day, a new book bag, and nineteen books later. 







Saturday, August 15, 2015

Did I Die Last Night?

I'm not entirely sure--but I think I died last night.

I'm slightly confused since there was no bright light at the end of a dark tunnel. No glowing ephemeral ascending staircase.  No gates of pearl. No entertaining harps or lyres. No breeze from softly fluttering wings.  No tears wiped away. No contentment. I was not in the presence of Perfection, so I didn't go to Heaven.

But I know I was in the right place, because I'm assured of where my place will ultimately be--besides, there was also no fire and brimstone.

So where was I?  It's a question I may never know the answer to; however, I must have died--otherwise how can I explain not knowing how the following occurred?

Pet Product Dissimulation:
Someone tore the cat self-brusher from its base. Someone dumped the toys from the toy box.  Someone removed the slumber pad from the pop-up cat carrier. Someone added non-waste products into the litter box--namely, the sifter and the box of ziplock baggies used to police said litter box thrice daily. (That last thing might be somewhat telling--I went to bed last night before completing the final sift of the day.)

Redecorating:  
Someone moved the recliner about two feet--I did not care for the new placement as it was directly in my path. Someone removed my window treatment from one of the windows--I'm sure the windows are in need of a good washing, but I prefer to adhere to a cleaning schedule of my own choosing rather than being dictated to (is Someone channeling my Mother?!).  And horror of horrors, Someone removed several of my PWAT masterpiece from the walls!

Arts and Crafts: 
But it wasn't all destruction--Someone also had time for an arts and crafts project--shredded shabby chic lampshades!

Someone is so tuckered out today Someone is now the one sleeping the slumber of the dead--and that Someone is not me as I deal with the cleanup of my apparent death last night.

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Today the Circus Came to Town.

I have a fascination with Internet Memes.  For the uninitiated, Paul Gil a self-proclaimed Internet Basics Expert,  who can be found at http://netforbeginners.about.com/od/weirdwebculture/f/What-Is-an-Internet-Meme.htm has said “a meme (rhymes with ‘team’) is a virally-transmitted cultural symbol or social idea.”  When one of these things is extremely relatable between people and is shared all over the Internet, it’s usually called an Internet meme.


In an online internet article Internet Memes 101: What They are, Where They Come Fome, & Where to Look for Them,  About Tech  Trends Expert, Elise Moreua  writes,


“An Internet meme can be almost anything—which is why it can be difficult to define. It can be a photo, a video, a person, an animal, a fictional character, a quote, an idea, a GIF, a symbol, a word or anything else.”


Her full article can be found at: http://webtrends.about.com/od/reddit/a/Internet-Memes.htm

I have fun reading the memes my friends post on Facebook.  I’ve been known to save  a few to my overly full iPhone photo storage to share on my FB page as well.


Right now, the Internet Meme that I most love is:  “Not my circus. Not my monkeys.”   It’s a great reminder for me that I do not own that piece of crazy, and am not responsible for it. That’s really easy for me to say, and a whole lot harder for me to put into action.  I might have some control issues. So I periodically save that image to my iPhone, and I tell it to myself when the world gets crazy. 


Until today—when the circus came to town.  


I kept asking if Monday had come twice this week, or if it was a Full Moon. Or if Friday the 13th fell on a Tuesday.  It felt like it was all of the above.  It was c-ray-zeeee! 


I put out fires left and right—so many fires in fact, I think I will add Fire Fighter to this year’s list of accomplishments  (my proficiency will be due any time now).   At one time, I had both my VA Cell and landlines ringing, two Lync conversations in progress, three people waiting in line to talk to me in person, a text-storm on my personal phone, and I was charting firefighting results in six charts—all at the same time! It was such a hectic morning with so many problems needing to be solved, I didn’t get to even start writing the basic outline of my care plans for the day until well after my 1:30 lunch.


It was so crazy, I decided even though it’s  NMCNMM,  if the Circus is going to throw itself at me, I’m going to claim ownership, embrace the dang monkeys, and take a few lessons from the Lion Tamers—so I can adjust some behaviors.  Ha!  People  just thought I was bossy before!  


While I’m adding Fire Fighter to my proficiency, I think I’ll  go ahead and add: Circus Owner, Monkey Tamer, and Absolute Dictator Of The Known (and Yet-to-be-Discovered) Universe. 


(I just threw that one in to see if you read this all the way through.)


Watch out Monkeys—I’m getting the chair and whip!

Monday, August 10, 2015

Bandit has a “Gibbs Look”


If you watch NCIS, you know what I’m talking about. It’s that silent, unsmiling stare former United States Marine Corps Scout Sniper, turned Special Agent for the Naval Criminal  Investigative Service, Gibbs, uses when he is not pleased. I liken it to The Mommy Look. 

It’s not a look of condescendence or arrogance. But it is a look of total control and authority. One that communicates extreme displeasure with words or deeds occurring, or being contemplated. It evokes total confessions from hardened criminals and insolent teens alike. It dissuades terrorists, hooligans, and other assorted bad guys from continuing in their wicked ways. In fact, on NCIS  it stopped an armed attack on a women’s shelter. It’s a look that demands respect and corrective action, usually resulting in questionable or undesirable activities coming to an  instantaneous halt. When performed correctly, the look is effective as a stand-alone—no words required. It’s a look of which most thinking people do not like to be recipients.

Bandit gave Moggy that look this past weekend.

It occurred during a quick trip to Houston to check on elderly relatives.  The weekend was one of confinement to the close quarters of the car and hotel room. As you know, close quarter confinement can induce fighting amongst even the most loving of families. Our little traveling  zoo, I mean family,  was no exception.

The Boys actually did quite well for most of the weekend. They respected each other’s personal space and played well together. They raced against each other to fetch the raccoon when I tossed it. Bandit retrieved it every time; however, because he had the competition of Moggy, he actually played fetch for more than his normal 1-3 retrievals before settling down for a good death shake and chew. Competition, it would seem, is the way to entice Bandit to play a socially acceptable game of fetch for a fairly extensive period of time—as opposed to his normal passive-aggressive game of, I’ll go get it, if I feel like it, and stop just short of your reach—if I decide to return it at all The time I spent in the presence of The Boys was pleasant (i.e. no barring of teeth, growling, barking, pawing, or bloodshed). And then the inevitable occurred—one trespassed on the others personal space. As usual, the trespasser was Moggy.

I was impressed with Bandit’s restraint. He didn’t growl or bare his teeth at Moggy. He didn’t strike out and paw him. He didn’t yank anything away from Moggy—well except for the one time Moggy got a hold of the tip of raccoons tail—but, in Bandit’s defense, the majority of the raccoon was in his possession.  Bandit didn’t sulk or pout.  He didn’t hid or pee on anything of Moggy’s—except for the tunnel—but that was my fault because I was taking my time before taking Bandit outside—I became absorbed in writing an email at the time Bandit first told me he needed to relieve himself. I didn’t want to lose my train of thought, and I distractedly murmured “We’ll go outside in just a minute.”  Bandit  had been good all day while I visited the relatives. When Moggy started playing Pawsie with Bandits paws, Bandit decided he had had enough!  And since he was fully loaded, he pranced over to the tunnel and hiked his leg. I was able to call him down before he soaked the tunnel—and I finished the email after we attended to Bandits facility-visiting needs. The next time Moggy got on Bandit’s nerves, and he was tired of Moggy’s incessant kitten-ness, Bandit could have become aggressive, or even passive-aggressive, but he didn’t. He simply stood stock-still and starred at Moggy. He gave Moggy The Look—and what a look it was!  His stare down was worthy of any Mother, or even Leroy Jethro Gibbs himself.

And it worked.

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Unexpected


When I awoke bleary-eyed this morning I was in desperate need of the facilities; however, I couldn't find my house shoes. I have pedal neuropathy which makes barefoot walking very painful, so I shoved my feet into the nearest shoes I could find for the short trek into the bathroom. The shoes I found were the slides I normally wear to work. 

As I lurched in the dark toward the bathroom, I realized something didn’t feel quite right. Adjusting my foot in the shoe did not alleviate the sensation. Quite frankly, I have been having problems with the cheap shoe inserts ever since I put them in, so I thought they were the problem.   A remote second possibility, not one I wanted to consider due to the health ramifications, was that of swelling.

Stumbling into the bathroom, I turned on a light, kicked off the shoes, and did a double take—something fist-sized, brown, and furry starred up at me.

Luckily for everyone in the house, it was neither carbon-based—dead or living—nor waste product.

Evidentially one of The Boys had “gifted” me with a small floppy cat-dog toy.