Last night at approximately 12:52, the cat freaked out, jumped onto the bed, and attacked my feet. It was a three Band-Aid attack, and it has set the mood for the morning. (If I was a mood ring wearing person, today would be something like black or red or flame throwing or whatever color symbolizes I Should Probably Take a Xanax.) ((My kids complimented me a LOT this morning, which they tend to do when I’m shooting sparks out of my eyeballs.))
I love Scout. I love Henry. I’m having a difficult time loving Scout AND Henry. (Don’t get me wrong. I will get through this.) The dogs are at each others’ throats from the time they are released from their crates in the morning (at approximately 6:00) until they are put back into the crates for bed (at approximately 10:00). During their awake hours, they are fighting and/or growling at each other. Constantly. About half of the time, I can tell that they’re playing. The other half? It starts off as playing, but then leads to something else entirely. SO, I’ve been spending my days trying to engage them and/or separate them. Henry is eleven weeks old, and he was just diagnosed with a bacterial infection as well as a skin infection. In my mind, he needs rest. (Perhaps I’m projecting!) Scout won’t let it happen. SO, I put Scout in her crate so Henry can have Henry time, and both dogs end up yelling and growling through the crate door. (Oh, man. I’m boring you again! Wake up! Please?) They love each other. They hate each other. I just want to eat falafel and sit on the couch…
Oh! Oh! (I really am good at whining! Buckle up!) Scout is pretty good at the whole training pad thing. Henry? Not so much. (Yet.) SO, I take both of them outside several times each day to do their business and run around. Because of our outside time, I now have ten (TEN!) of those big nasty swollen mosquito bites on my arms, and several more tiny ones on my ankles. (I smell really good, people. I’ve been using blackberry scented lotion! Bugs are really drawn to me, as are women in the freezer section of the grocery store. (I don’t know.))
When Jeff and I are complaining about silly things and we catch ourselves losing perspective, we tend to say, “It’s a living hell.” If you look at the big picture, we’re dipped in Nothing To Complain About. Oh, but the growling. The GROWLING! And the fighting. And the bug bites! And I’m limping today because I Was Attacked By My Own Cat. Living hell? Living hell.
Always End On A Good Note: Tempe and I had lunch yesterday at VegaDeli, where I enjoyed a Greek Wrap and some apple/beet/carrot juice. This may just be my new favorite place in St. Louis.
Someone make the fighting stop. (I know it will eventually stop.)
Poor Itchy Bullied Henry.
And Poor Mean Girl Scout.