Filthy little bastard.

Jamie is fighting a losing battle against crickets in her garage.  I’m fighting a losing battle with millers in my bedroom.  Little bastards.

At the end of my day I like to get in bed and read.  This last week I’ve been swarmed by millers.  They land on my face and when I try to shriek, “KILL THE NASTY!”  they fly in my mouth.  Then they tangle in my hair, crawl on my arms and try to pluck out my eyes.  Last night I discovered they feel moist when they do the creep walk, which sent me into screaming heebie jeebie convulsions.

Otis and Maggie used to be Miller Killers.  I would shriek, “KILL THE NASTY!” and they would leap to the head of the bed and snap them out of the air.  This summer Halo and Arlo have decided to pitch a bitch fit if anyone moves on the bed, so when I shriek, “KILL THE NASTY!” Maggie and Otis look at me like I’ve ordered their execution.  Otis still tries.  He worms (fat ass in the air, front legs by his sides, top of his head on the bed, back legs pushing) his way up me, lays on my chest and tries to catch millers, but to be frank, he sucks.  He snaps, drools, decides he wants to be a baby, and rolls onto his back while millers pummel both of us. 

Otis looking for Nasties.

This has turned my relaxing time into an hour of screaming, flailing and name calling.  When I turn the light out I fall into a terrorized exhausted sleep.  It’s helped my insomnia, but at what cost?  I’m supposed to be the boss, but I’m reduced to giving orders no one follows.  What’s next?  Will intruders be given a cup of coffee and a donut? 

You just can’t find good help these days.


Good Morning Starshine

This is how I woke up this morning.

Dog feet hovering over my face.

I guess it could have been worse, it could have been dog ass in my face.

Yeah, like that’s never happened.

Halo is part hound dog so she sleeps flat on her back with her feet in the air.


She usually sleeps down by my knees so it isn’t an issue, but when she creeps up by my waist I have huge, nasty dog feet in my face.


Sleeping with 5 dogs is a delicate balance.  Everyone has their place:  Sienna & Otis at the foot of the bed, Maggie on one side, Halo on the other and Arlo by my head.  Arlo tends to use my face as a pillow and that’s almost as annoying as dog feet in my face, but not quite.  Most of them sleep on the floor in the summer, and I don’t know what to do with all the room in my bed.  It’s a little slice of heaven.  But in the winter when it’s freezing outside and I’m between two bitches with head and foot warmers, it’s a slice of heaven too.  With all that warmth and love I guess I can’t complain about the occasional feet in my face.

I had to look carefully to make sure my kids didn’t take the picture on the right..



Not a Good Day to be a Dog

I spent most of yesterday reminding my dogs who’s the alpha.  It was exhausting for me and traumatic for them.

Otis knows he’s not the boss.

The day started at the crack of one in the afternoon.  I was barely awake at the computer when Sienna attacked Maggie for no apparent reason.  They have two types of fights…the shovey bossy kind and the fight to the death kind.  This fight was one of the latter.  Before I could get Sienna off Maggie, Halo joined in and she was grabbing Maggie’s parts (legs, tail, hide) and shaking them like a dead rat.



Out came the choke collars and down the hall they went for time out.  Oh, and they both got spankings like they’ve never had before.  Then it was time to clean up the blood and hair and tend to Maggie’s wounds.  Poor Mags.


Later, Otis and Arlo, my son’s dog, went outside with me to get wood.  Arlo’s never seen ducks before so he started chasing them around.  He made Miss Duck do a backwards somersault and land on her face.  He usually listens really well for a puppy, but he would NOT get off the ducks.  I finally cornered him, grabbed him by the scruff, spanked his butt, shook him and intended to shove him out of the yard, but he doesn’t weigh as much as my dogs and I ended up throwing him.  He landed on Padawan, the cat. 

I don't think you're funny.

Padi was very offended, so he slapped Arlo around with his claws and made him cry.  Then Otis, who knows this is not the accepted standard of behaviour, rolled him in the dirt and made him cry some more.  Right after that, Arlo started listening again.

Bad Arlo

Some times relaxing at home is more stressful than working.

Major Suckage

Winter in Wyoming

It is eight degrees below zero right now (For those of you on the metric system, that means it’s freaking cold) and we have 6 inches of fresh snow.  I’ve been home for about 2 hours and the wood stove is finally overtaking the chill enough that my teeth have stopped chattering.  I hate winter.

Cold weather means fewer people are willing to eat out.  This sucks because not only is the restaurant making very little money, but all the locals who think a $2 tip on a $40 ticket is cause for celebration are driving me into the poorhouse.  If it wasn’t so cold out I’d chase them down in the parking lot and tell them what cheap fucks they are.  For the last week, I’ve made enough each night to put gas in my van so I can get back to work.  I have GOT to find a second job.

Freezing temperatures means I can’t leave my house to visit my kids in Laramie for Thanksgiving.  That’s right, I’m stuck here alone and broke for the holiday.  It’s swell to be me.  I’m sure I’ll end up hanging out with some coworkers on Turkey Day, so it won’t be as bad as it seems right now, but I feel like wallowing in self pity for some sympathy.

One nice thing, a friend spent the night last night and it was fun having someone to hang out with.  I made turkey pesto pasta and we watched movies until the sun came up.  I never have company and it upset Maggie so much that she crapped on the floor and puked all over the kitchen.  She puked on my bed again today just to show me how unhappy she was with the whole deal.  Stupid dog, you make me look bad.

Best of Times, Worst of Times

My day off was spectacular.  Saturday night I bought a full rack of spare ribs, potato salad & cole slaw from the restaurant and on Sunday some friends and I had an indoor picnic.  Then we went for a short hike outside of Meeteetse.  Still full of energy, we did a little off-roading so we could get some good pictures of the sunset from the hills above town.  Back in town, we moved some around some lawn furniture and took more pictures.  The whole time we laughed until our ribs ached.  I haven’t laughed that hard in a very long time and I went home with a silly grin I couldn’t wipe off my face.

When I got home my dogs decided to fight over food and tore the hell out of each other.  For the life of me, I do not understand why they fight over food.  There’s always plenty of it and none of them are starving.  It took me two hours to clean up the blood, dirt, and slobber and un-traumatize them.  This was the worst fight they’ve ever had and it traumatized me as well.  I seriously considered finding new homes for two of the dogs last night.  That wiped the silly grin off my face.

Today I went to work with a heavy heart because I had to get pretty physical with Sienna in order to get her to stop killing Maggie.  I don’t like to beat my dogs any more than I liked to spank my kids, but sometimes it has to be done.  As soon as I got to work, Dani told me Boy Cook Jarrod wrecked his bike and was in the hospital.  A few minutes later he walked in the restaurant looking all glassy eyed and wobbly. 

Silly Boy, making my heart stop like that.

Thankfully, he was wearing his helmet.  He has a concussion, bruised ribs and he’s missing skin, but he will live.  The last time I was at his house, he had nothing other than beer in his refrigerator, so after work I bought him some groceries, fixed him something to eat and sat with him for a while so he didn’t fall asleep.  I don’t think he realizes the level of headache he’s going to have tomorrow.  Poor Boy Cook. 

The dogs are still subdued tonight.  Well, all except for Halo, the one who started the whole fiasco.  Stupid dog.

Play, Dogs. Play!

We went to the lake today and boy did the dogs have fun.

Otis is insane about sticks and he immediately found one for me to throw.

But then I surprised him with a ball.

Otis says, “Hey, I’m a cow dog not a retriever!”

Notice who’s standing on the shore waiting to steal the ball.

Eventually, Maggie took the ball and lost it.  Stupid Maggie.

So Otis and Halo picked out a stick.

Yeah, it was about 3 feet long.

Halo gave up on the sticks and settled on chasing birds.

Maggie doesn’t know how to swim.  Yes, you read that right.  She can’t swim.  She tries to stay close enough to shore to only get her feet wet.

Occasionally she ventures too far out and falls in a hole.  Stupid Maggie.

And where was Sienna during all the play?  Standing on the shore eating a log.  Lazy dog.

Now they are home and sleeping like dead dogs. 

Sleep, dogs.  Sleep!

Burial Day

Yesterday I decided I couldn’t stand the dead pig in my yard one more day.

Years ago when my daughter still lived at home, she insisted on having a pot bellied pig.  Our neighbours raised them so, oh well what the hell, (my new mantra stolen from here) we got one.  My daughter named her Gwennivere or something like that.  I called her Pork Chop, Pork Rind, Pot Roast, and sometimes Gweny.  She lived in the duck yard and it took me about two seconds to realize pigs aren’t nice.

That look right there meant I was seconds away from being knocked on my ass by a bowling ball with eyes.

 The pig HATED me.  If I went out to feed the ducks she would either charge me or she would go in the shed and let the door slam shut on me.  She was rude.

Well, she croaked a couple of years ago for no reason.  Yes, I said a couple of YEARS ago.  She has been in the duck yard, under a tarp, not decomposing for about two and a half years.  No shit, she looks just like she did when she died.  For all I know, she’s just being really lazy.

I’ve tried to get rid of her non-decomposed body, but it just never worked out.  Friends with trucks were always “too busy” whenever the subject of the dead pig came up.  Other friends suggested I drag her down to the highway and let the Highway Department take care of her carcass.  I could see a fine and possibly my name and/or picture  in the paper with that course of action.  There was no way in hell she was getting in my van since I knew she would spontaneously decompose like that guy in X-Men, right in the back seat.

Tonight, just before dark, I had an epiphany on how I was going to get rid of the pig.  There is a gigantic hole in the dog yard that was there when we moved in.  I figured I could dig a little more out, drag the pig to the hole and roll her in.  Problem solved.  My other neighbour has this massive pile of dirt (don’t ask ‘cuz I don’t know what he’s doing) and I figured I could trot over with my wheelbarrow under the cover of night (it’s always best to do these things in the dark) and get enough dirt to fill in the hole.

Overall it was a good plan and it went off without a hitch, unless you count the time I stepped on the edge of the partly filled grave and fell in.  My neighbours really should invest in a video camera. 

I wasn’t prepared for Otis’ reaction, though.  He and Maggie were around the  pig for about 2 years.  The pig hated them, too.  When I dragged the tarp to the hole and rolled her in, Otis completely freaked out.  He hit the ground all wide-eyed and panicked with his tail between his legs.  When I started shoveling dirt into the hole, he ran about 10 feet away and howled.  I think he had some concept that hole + dirt = bad news.  The other dogs were happy to have a new toy and they were digging as fast as I was filling until I threatened them with the shovel.  Otis sat by the fence, panting, shivering and howling.  When I finished Phase I (the pre-dirt stealing phase) he attached himself to my heels like he does when he’s traumatized by thunder.

Look at his scared little face.

 Maybe some animals do have a sense of what death is.