The unbelievably adorable Mabel, a shih-tzu/maltese, was two weeks old when this photograph was taken, and will be coming home at roughly 9 weeks on October 28th.
Mabel is my sister’s (she spent weeks checking out different breeders and pet shops, calling them and investigating the different breeds… along with picking out the most fashionable-hispter dog supplies known to man; luckily, only some have been ordered so far) but I can’t wait to give that tiny little fuzz ball a cuddle! And I think introducing our cats – especially the ‘baby’, Oscar (who is four this year; not quite a kitten anymore) – to a rowdy little puppy is going to be hilarious!
(Sorry about the picture quality, they were all taken on the spur of the moment with my phone and pieced together with the PicFrame app. Still, how darn cut is she?)
Wow. The weekend was kind of crazy.
Thursday: Mum went up to the hospital for seven hours with severe dehydration. My sister went with her, and I stayed how to feed the pets and get some sleep, since we were meant to be going to Sydney early Friday morning (we didn’t know that Mum would be up there quite so long. She left just after 4pm, I expected her to be home by 9pm. She didn’t get home until 12am.) I ordered pizza for tea, and my dad yelled and bitched and complained because we had no white bread or potatoes for his dinner; he wanted meat and vegetables. Apparently potatoes are the only vegetable in the world. By 10pm, I was crying because he was so nasty . At 11pm, I fell down our concrete laundry stairs and cracked my bad knee (I’ve done something horrible to the muscles in my right thigh, so that all the tendons are getting trapped … or something. It’s super painful and feels like felt ripping every time I walk).
Friday & Saturday: My mother and sister undertake a massive, incredible, huge task of cleaning out our laundry and the kitchen. We had so much stuff we don’t use anymore. We have two giant bags of things to donate to the animal shelter (beds, coats, blankets, bowls and food) and two giant bags of food to give to one of my sister’s university friends. Plus five huge bags of things that couldn’t be donated, recycled or repaired. It’s crazy, we have so much space! I spent most of my Saturday cleaning out my tiny closet of a bedroom and studying.
Sunday: Oh man. Part of the ctazy-laundry-clean was because we were ‘interviewing’ a dog for a possible adoption. Meya is a 2 year old beagle that was being rehomed. Now, we originally had one sort of beagle – they had hunting instincts but were ultimately affectionate, friendly and obedient dogs. We got a pair of white rabbits, Blossom and Harriet, when Molly was roughly 10 years old and Bella was 8. Normally, beagles hunt rabbits. But we managed to introduce our rabbits to the beagles to the point where they liked them and considered them pack of the ‘pack’ (well, when they got out, Bella like to herd them, but she never hurt them. Molly was better, She’d get in their pen with them and just lie down with them.
Meya was taller than Molly and Bella were, and full of energy. We were leaning towards no in the first fifteen minutes, but it was when she made eye contact with Harriet that it was a firm and fast no. Then she worked out our neighbours had guinea pigs. She was determined to have two guinea pigs and a rabbit for lunch (and I learnt that the old gate between us and our neighbours’ property isn’t as strongly blocked off as I thought (next time we go to the hardware shop, we’ll have to get some kind of bolt or something). We quickly put Harriet back in her cage on the verandah and blocked off access to the verandah completely. We couldn’t keep her – we could never leave her alone with a rabbit on the property and the guinea pigs next door. It would end in tragedy. (It didn’t help that she was frightened of our cats and once she realised we had five of the scary, fluffy things, she waited at the gate for ‘Mum’ to return.
Alls well that ends well, though: Mum learnt that we’re not ready for another dog and that she’d like a puppy she can train to suit herself, and Meya’s owner made the decision to keep her, since we couldn’t take her, and the first family she visited were… well, idiots (they had a toddler and another beagle in a townhouse with a courtyard. Beagles need land or roughly 10km of exercise a day. Anything else is cruel.)
The only vaguely amusing thing was that the owner brought her daughter and she went to City School. Mum mentioned that my sister went to Another City School and the daughter glared and sneered at my sister and I the entire time. God, we are ALL in our 20s. Who cares where we all went to school? Grow up, no one cares about high school rivalry anymore.
And now, today? My knee is going again – I can feel the clicking, the next stage is the muscle ‘ripping’ sensation. My father is still an ass, my printer refuses to scan and the software updates are for a newer OS release than I have and I think the frelling optical drive in my Mac Mini has died on me. So I can’t even dig out the original printer CD and reinstall from that because the drive is probably dead OR install the software for my DSLR. (I wasn’t going to install it at all, then I figured I better since I know diddily squat about photography and DSLRs and cutting corners is always a bad idea.)
I don’t want to have to go to the local Apple Store. I know and dislike several of the Geniuses – wouldn’t trust them with a glass of water, let alone my computer. This blows. I’d say next week HAS to be better but at this week I will end up at the Apple Store and that will not improve my mood at all. Upside: at least I’ve got repairs covered. Nothing would tick me off more than having to have the same problem repaired twice in twelve months and have to pay for it (last time, the quote for repairs came to more than I paid for the actual computer and the monitor… and the keyboard and mouse. Luckily, it was within warranty.)