Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Gaslight



Poing!
"There, did you hear that?"
"Hear what? Alan, what are you talking about?"
"That noise. It sounds like some kind of electronic device."
"I didn't hear anything."
I heard it, I most definitely heard a noise coming from somewhere in the house. It sounds like some kind of warning or attention signal from something. I've checked the moisture detector under the air conditioning unit, the smoke detector, my cell phone, all the rechargeable devices that are plugged in around the house, but I've found nothing. If only it would make that noise at a steady rate I think I could find it. Unfortunately it only does it every fifteen minutes or so. I've tried to just sit and keep quiet for twenty minutes, but that is hard to do around here with two crazy dogs, three if you count Mark.
Poing!
"Mark, there it is again?" I call out. Mark has left the living room where I always hear the noise, saying he has better things to do.
"I didn't hear any goddamned noises. What the hell is wrong with you?" Mark yells back from the bedroom.
I know better. There is nothing wrong with me, my hearing isn't that bad. So I decide to get my flashlight and go around the house and re-check every electronic gadget we have.
"Mark, where's my flashlight? I've lost my flashlight. I'm always losing things, aren't I?"
"What, what are you blathering on about?"
"My flashlight. I need my flashlight to go around and check all the devices."
"You mean that flashlight, the one on the table next to you?"
Suddenly, I'm beginning to not trust my memory at all. I was sure I had looked on that table.
Poing!

Monday, August 3, 2015

That Nasty Little Hole



Oh my god it feels so good, I can't stop myself. I know that I shouldn't keep going, but it just feels so damn good. I am such a bad boy. Deeper, deep into that nasty little hole. Goddamnit I love digging in my ears with a Q-tip.

It's one of those things that you realize as you get older. Taking a quick, neat poop, sleeping all night without having to get up to pee, and scratching that itch deep within your big, hairy ear, can sometimes be better than sex. Scratching the inside of my ear is one of those things that I know is very bad, yet I constantly find myself doing it, involuntarily sometimes. The worst is when I use a toothpick. I'll be sitting there watching television after dinner, picking at my teeth, and invariably the damn toothpick ends up in my ear. If it is long, narrow, and fits in my ear, it's been there. I think it's the psoriasis that causes my ears to itch so badly, so I now rub some hydro-cortisone in there on the end of a Q-tip. Unfortunately doing that feels even better than doing it with a dry Q-tip and I end up digging in even harder. The good thing about that hydro-cortisone Q-tip, it works. In the end it does clear up the itching for a couple of days. Clears it up until I find myself watching television a few days later, and digging in my ear with the business end of a house key.

Friday, July 31, 2015

I See Your Offer, and Raise You $20,000



The dance has begun. Agent Al brought over the contract with the offer from the buyers. Of course it was way under the asking price, so Agent Al suggested a counter offer price. I immediately ignored Agent Al and told him to up that price by a bit. Now we are waiting for Agent Al to come back with the buyer's counter offer, or their acceptance of the price I gave them. I won't sleep tonight. No, not because I am worried about the price. If the price is wrong, I have no qualms about walking away from the sale and spending another winter in balmy Florida, pointing out to my friends an family how cold it is up north. What I will lay in bed worrying about is the move. As soon as we close on this place, Mark, the dogs, and I will be homeless. I can't buy another place until this one is sold and I don't really want to stay here, paying rent while watching somebody else alter everything I put together over the last twenty three years. So there is that worry. If we sell this place I have to plan the move, but I don't know where we will be moving to. I will have to pack up everything in this house with minimal help from Mark. I will have to figure out how to get his tons of books, his piles of posters, the dogs, the car, his stuff, my stuff, our stuff, all this goddamned stuff, up to Chicago. I have never planned such a large move before. When I moved down here with Garet (aka; Garrey, Garrett, Gary, Garfinkle) we fit everything in a small trailer that we pulled behind the car. This move will take at least a twenty foot truck towing a trailer with the PT Cruiser on it.

So here it is, five thirty in the morning. I was right when I wrote that first paragraph last night, I couldn't sleep. I'm figuring a  good sixty days of not sleeping, the time Agent Al told us it would take to close the deal. So I guess I should stock up on some of that ZzzQuil and a bottle of vodka.

Thursday, July 30, 2015

Bette Week Continues



Holy crap. Apparently our real estate agent, Agent Al, has an offer on the table. Unfortunately, we don't give a damn right now because Bette has me so upset I'm afraid to make any important decisions at this time. It all started yesterday afternoon when we took Bette to the veterinarians office so that we could address the problem of her seizures. Everything seemed to go without incident. The doctor checked her out, took some blood, and told us that after the blood work he would put her on an anti-seizure medication. But first he wanted to find out if she had diabetes. Fine, we paid the bill and started out the door with Bette. Just as soon as I opened the door for her to walk out, right there on the threshold, Bette went into a seizure. In my warped little mind I thought, perfect, now the doctor can see for himself. I picked Bette up and handed her off to the tech who had run over to help. She took little Bette back into the bowels of the doctor's office assuring me that everything would be okay. About two minutes later we started to hear an eerie howl coming from somewhere.
"That's Bette." Mark said.
"No, I don't think so. That doesn't sound like her."
Still, throughout the entire vet's office, the horrible sound continued. The nice man we were talking to in the waiting room looked terribly worried. From the back of the office the vet tech came out looking for us with an upset look on her face.
"Come on back." She told us.
When we entered the examination room, there was Bette being held tightly by another tech. Honestly, everybody in that room, including the doctor, looked horrified by the sound coming from that little dog. It was the same sound I've heard many times before from Mark. Usually when he steps barefoot into dog puke, pee, or poo. Anyway, I tried to calm poor Bette down. She apparently came out of her seizure in a strange place, with strange people, and was terrified. Before I could get her completely calmed down the vet tech jabbed her with a syringe.
"It'll relax her." She said.
And relax her it did. By the time we got home Bette was stumbling around like a drunk. She tried to drink water but could only look at it. She tried to jump up on the sofa, but the sofa might just as well been Everest. I asked her if she wanted to go out. She did, but she couldn't. Her legs were splaying out in four directions, so I picked her up and placed her out on the back porch. All she could manage was to flop over into the dirt and lay down, so I picked her up and put her back in the house. This sort of thing went on for a couple of hours. It wasn't until late yesterday evening that she was even a hint of herself. She came stumbling into the living room and gave me that "I have to pee" look. So I picked her up and put her back out on the porch where she immediately squatted and peed. Bette was back.

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Perilous Puppy Pee Pad Problems



At this point, two years in, I'm pretty sure that Bette will never be completely house broken. What she is, is house friendly. There are no more moist surprises when Mark walks around the house barefoot. No longer do I hear the cries of a wounded hyena when he steps into one of Bette's pee puddles. Just as long as I keep clean puppy pee pads swapped out over in the sun room, Bette will do her deed in there. There are even days, full twenty four hour days, where Bette will not even pee on the puppy pee pads, but will do all her stuff outdoors just as long as I let her out ten times a day.

The biggest part of puppy pee pad maintenance is the removal of the soaking wet puppy pee pads and then disinfecting the tray that they lay on. This involves large, thick rubber gloves, a heavy duty bleach based cleaning solution, and one roll of paper towels. There are times I have even thought about getting a hazmat suit. Yesterday Bette left me a nice pee soaked mess to clean up, but I was almost out of the bleach based cleaning solution, Fantastik Cleaner with Bleach. So I went searching under the kitchen sink for some another spray cleaner. What I found was something called Finazzle Grout Cleaner. Well if it can clean grout I figured it must be good enough to disinfect dog piss. Unfortunately the spray gun on the bottle didn't work, so I took the Finazzle and poured it into the Fantastik spray bottle. Bad idea. Very bad idea. Within moments the room filled with a noxious gas the odor of sulfur. As I reached over to open the windows for fresh air, a geyser of foam gushed forth from the Fantastik bottle. I don't know what the ingredients of Fantastik and Finazzle are, but they obviously do not mix well together. What they did was fill the room with a toxic gas that was even worse than the fumes from Bette's pee. I really should go online and see if I can find a nice second hand hazmat suit.