Love and basketball

I love this dog.

He loves me. Mainly because I decorate with stuffed animals (holdover from owning cats) and I buy him Pupperonis. And gourmet dog treats.

He apparently does not love my alma mater, the University of Kentucky. He threatened to chew up our mascot. He would not give me my beanie Cat back. He did not really want to give it to his father either. See the contempt in his eyes? Instead he attempted to rip him limb from limb.

Show some respect, dawg! Mummy spent many a weekend day, with her face painted, in the front row of Rupp Arena, holding up a sign, trying to get on TV. The skills that enabled me to stand out in a sea of royal blue and white gave me my start in life!

He isn't even from North Carolina. I guess he's just a bitter Terrapin fan. I know, buddy, garish uniforms and they never make the NCAAs anymore. Get over it.

He spent the rest of the afternoon in the yard (don't feel too sorry for him, it was a nice day). The Cats went on to lose in the SEC tournament final (it's OK, the only game that matters is the last one you're in in the Tournament). Cat survived his trip into the mouth of doom, although a little more battered than he went in, and has joined the rest of our holiday decorations (because March Madness should be a holiday, like an adult Spring Break, let's start that petition, even if we don't watch the games, who's with me?). And, by the end of the evening, we were one happy family, I even gave him a chick pea to show I had no hard feelings.

Such is love . . .

Where have I been

I know I have been sadly neglecting my blog.

We had a bit of a rough week here in Crazyville. It's health-related, something I wasn't prepared for. I can't say much, except it's definitely not cancer, but it's worrisome. I spent yesterday in a daze at the doctor's office, scared and crying. However, my doctors are closely monitoring me, we caught it early, and they seem very positive that we can fix this. Left-brain is being my rock; he's confident this will be OK. He was trying to cheer me up while I was in the doctor's office, with silly inside jokes, and, because some witch lady got mad that my doctor got pulled out of a consult with her (I had an appointment with the physician's assistant, but she pulled him out of his appointment and started acting like a jerk in the hallway, which upset me more, because I don't like to cause problems), told me I need to not worry if anyone else is upset, that, for once, I need to put myself first. I'm trying that. And, as I so often do when it's too much, I put it in a higher power's hands.

The very wierd thing is, my stitching, which always gives me comfort when I am troubled, is the farthest thing from my mind right now. I got home last night (after spending 45 minutes trying to find the CVS for a prescription I need, because I was in a daze when the doctor told me where the prescription was filled), took a few stitches, and put my stitching down. Beazer crawled up on the bed with me, and I just petted him and petted him. He gave me a look, like, "You have no reason to be afraid, you has pittybull protecting you. Nossing bad will happen, Mummy," and then licked my face. He's a good boy, that old dog of mine.

I know I'll be back to stitching in a day or two. I just need a moment to process.

Lesson for the day

Pitbulls are not easy to stitch.

I'm almost done with my piece for Beazer, though I did have to actually use his real name in it for the sake of posterity. There is a cute little brown dog at the bottom. I decided to change it into a brown and white dog.

You would not believe the questions Left-brain and I have asked each other. Here is a sampling.

"Is Beazer's tail white or brown?"
"Brown. He has a brown tail."
"Are you sure?"
"Let me let him in." From the kitchen, "Beazer has a white tail."
"You've owned him since he was a puppy and you don't know what color tail he has? Are you serious?"

We've repeated this with his ears (he has two brown ears, we discovered), and his legs (all are white, no brown on those legs!), and his back end is brown on top, white on the bottom with a little heart-shaped spot to remind us Beazer is WUV. Unless you're his stuffed toys or a water bottle. The poor dog has been poked and inspected like a show dog. And he has tolerated it like a champ, asking only for a peanut . . . or two . . . or four. I'm hoping to have him replicated, as close as I can without going tooo far (and, basically, I'm there now), and have the piece finished by the weekend. Fortunately, the companion piece is a yellow tabby, sono changes need to be made to that. I'm glad--whew!