Animal Control

We had a nice Thanksgiving. Thanksgivings, I suppose I could say. With Frank and I being off, and the kids being off I hardly know my head from a hole in the ground. Eating, sleeping, merriment, a bit of shopping (in store and online)… it is quite enjoying. I can handle this. I also think I’m getting old, because I could be sleeping in, too (11am is a nice time to finally roll out of bed on a lazy day for me), but I’m waking up between 7-8am. I’ve been trying to lay around in the bed until 9am to at least grasp on to the feeling of being a teenager with the abandon of sleeping until my parents throw buckets of water on my face.

Didn’t work.

I’m up, showered and having coffee, load of laundry going… Frank’s vacuuming (getting ready to bring the tree up). Help us.

I was talking about Thanksgiving, though, wasn’t I? Ah yes. I don’t get a lot of pictures of my oldest child since she’s off “exploring her freedoms.” But this one was nice. Great-grandma was coming up to the door trying to navigate the stairs, and as Frank and Dante (and Carlito, sort of) helped her up the stairs and safely in the house, I asked Sophia to be on dog control. I took pictures of her misery.

dog control

The dogs were, naturally, excited to be part of the festive day (our dog is in her left arm, pleased to have not been left home – the host’s dog is in her right arm), and happily humping and playing to their heart’s content. Being picked up and taken from their play didn’t make them so happy.

dog control not working

Shortly after I took this picture I had to take one of the dogs. Shortly after that I let it go. It was like a furry piggy, squirming and bucking (like in the picture).

I am happy to say, however, that with the abundance of children running around the house making noise, it was both inviting and valuable. Sophia announced earnestly, about 3 hours into our visit, that the evening was the BEST BIRTH CONTROL SHE’S EVER HAD. Being one of the last of her friends that hasn’t yet made their mother a grandmother,  I was OK with that proclamation.

Uno The Guinea Pig Has Her Babies

Well, so much for wondering if Uno the guinea pig is pregnant…

Every time I walked by her house, I thought I might see some new additions to the family, but was really hoping we’d get to see her actually have the babies. What a joy – we did!! This evening, as I walked by I saw her squat in a way that was different from any other time she would squat. I quickly ran to tell the boys and we all gathered around (quietly, yeah, yeah – don’t worry) to watch.

First one
first guinea pig being born

Second one
second guinea pig being born

guinea pigs being born

The first one was born rather quick, maybe two minutes after she started pushing. The second one came within five minutes. More time passed, and we wondered if that could possibly be it. But it really (really, really) looked like she had one more in there.

guinea pigs birth

She cleaned them up between each birth. They were pretty active within minutes, little legs scratching behind ears, looking around.

guinea pigs birth

guinea pigs birth

But… one more?
guinea pigs birth

Sal said he saw a leg come out a couple times and I started to grow concerned that something was wrong.

And then out came number three.
third guinea pig being born

I was excited that he was brown. Franny called him “chocolate filling” – he insists on the honor of naming, since, technically, it is his piggy who is the mother.

guinea pigs birth

guinea pigs birth

guinea pigs birth

guinea pigs birth

The piggies gathered around to nurse on the momma, and she chowed down on some lettuce. Franny wanted to hold one of the baby piggies, but I think we’ll wait until tomorrow. I’ve read that it is good to start picking them up the next day to get them acclimated to being handled. I think we’re also going to need to get a little bigger crate for them.

Pregnant Guinea Pig

The twins turned 10 on March 27th. They had a birthday party. It was a sleepover, with a bunch of friends from school. Two of their friends, Enrique and his little brother, came in carrying McDonald Happy Meal boxes. I found it odd, but said nothing. Ten minutes after their arrival, my oldest son came to me and said, “They have a hamster in there.”

Are you kidding me?! What kind of kid brings their pet hamster to a birthday party?

Turns out it was a gift. Not a pet. A… gift. And it was a guinea pig, not a hamster.  And Franny, who loves animals, was delighted. Trying not to panic, I remembered our old hamster cage, and hoped that there were enough accessories to use in a pinch. I had just gotten the piggy settled, when out came piggy number Two. Apparently the kind boys brought a guinea pig for each of the twins. Two was Sal’s, Uno is Franny’s. I realized then what the McDonald boxes had contained.

Shortly after that day, Franny was hit by a car and everything seemed to be upside down. Then Two died, and Uno survived. Sal was not upset, as Sal never really took to the pig, and doesn’t exactly care for animals.

Uno became progressively fatter. We thought maybe she was depressed after losing her buddy (who was also female, we were told). But in the past week, I’ve started to think that she’s not just fat, she has a distinct… look to her.

So I googled “pregnant guinea pigs” and found this, which looks strikingly similar to Uno:

I’m not positive, but I’m getting to the point where every time I look in her cage I’m expecting to see more than just her.

If Pets Could Talk

If my pets could rat me out…

She doesn’t manhandle me too much, but talks to me a lot. Pets me when I sit on her lap. Fondles the bump between my ears. Leaves my tummy alone; I hate having it touched.

Her hair makes a nice bed. When she’s sleeping I like to knead it with my paws. I purr and drool, in ecstasy. When it is fluffed to my satisfaction, I curl up on it. Sometimes she makes a loud noise when I’m kneading and pushes me away. But I’m patient. Persistent. I wait. Then I sneak back and try again. Sometimes she sleeps through it, sometimes she makes an even louder noise than the first time and pushes me away again.

She sings. A lot. Usually on key, but sometimes in weird voices, using strange words that I know aren’t her native language. Sometimes I join in. Sometimes it scares me, her singing like that.

We howl together. I throw back my head Woooooo-woooohhh. Good times.

She talks a lot, even when nobody’s there to talk with her. Her attempts at conversation intrigue me. But I’m a dog, why’s she think I’m gonna talk back?

Cat in a Box

I like ya, Nance. It sucks you don’t have comments, but somehow I’ll survive. Comments, shmomments. Speaking of, I’ve tried responding on two Blogger blogs today, but the comments didn’t go through so forget it, I gave up.

. . .

I’m feeling lazy, so I’ll do a meme of sorts.

1.) How many links to do you have on your blogroll/link page? Do you visit all of the sites on your blogroll?
Too many. Not going to count them, either. No, I don’t visit them all. Not anymore. I just don’t have time or desire. But I keep them there for a rainy day.

2.) Does anyone you know in real life have a blog? Who?
Besides me? No. Well maybe. I’ve met Becky. She hasn’t updated in a while.

3.) What three sites do you visit every day?
Definitely Gmail (for personal and work)
my site (but sometimes skip a day or two)

. . .

I think I may turn down both job offers that I have right now. They are both in semi-regret. Money, I need more of. Time-hogs, I don’t. It is a balance. I will keep my ear to the ground, though, and will continue to try to be more thrifty. Frugal. Frank, on overtime, makes 4x my hourly salary. The smartest bet is for him to work overtime when possible.

. . .

Who says cats don’t have personality? As much as Fred is void of oodles of brain cells, he’s a sweet cat. Who loves boxes. And dog cages.

Click any for largerWho says the dog house is just for dogs? – Picasa
Food. Box. I need nothing else – Picasa


Why I Hate My Dog

I was on time, everything on schedule. Kids out for the bus (early actually), my eggs in the pan, coffee brewing. The twins were already at the bus stop and the Squirrel Trapping Son had just walked out the door. As I waved to him through the window, he mouthed something to me. I couldn’t hear, I mouthed back. He shrugged, motioning for me to open the window, but it is cold and I didn’t want to let the cold air in. My eggs snapped and sizzled in the kitchen, bringing a little panic to the situation because momma don’t like crispy eggs. Since he was early out the door, I motioned for him to come back in and tell me his oh-so-important news. Then I went to the kitchen to check on the eggs. And waffles. I’ll admit. I subbed my (regular) toast today for waffles, which is probably the evil in it all.

Read more