Saturday, July 2, 2011

from 3/21/2007 - Cookie

Cookie

What a freaking SWEETIE!!! I've added new pics of her to the PLR page (in my top friends). There's a little info about her as well, but I was only with her for a few hours...

She would probably do really well with kids, not so sure about dogs though...she doesn't seem to like the "in your face" dogs, but she may have just been a little weirded out today...

She's a little underweight and has some dry skin, but she should be looking good soon. I gave her double what I normally give my dogs. Probably about 4 cups of dog food, 2 cups of home prep food (didn't measure either one though), 2 teaspoons of yogurt, 2 fish oil capsules and 2 vitamin E capsules...The fish oil should really help with her skin if we get it into her on a regular basis.

She took her shots like a CHAMP!! Every dog has argued with me about the kennel cough vax, but she did the least arguing. She even let me pull on her ears a little with no problems. My fuckhead roommate was waving his hands in her face to get her to move and she didn't even flinch. I picked her up and carried her around and she didn't care.

She loves car rides and especially liked getting in my lap while I was driving. I pushed her over and she was fine with that too. I'm hoping all works out with her foster home and she won't have to stay in the kennel for longer than a week.

Check out the pics of her on the PLR profile...

from 4/5/2007 - Things to Ponder If You’re a Biker

Things to Ponder If You’re a Biker

Four wheels move the body. Two wheels move the soul.

Most motorcycle problems are caused by the nut that connects the handlebars to the saddle.

Life may begin at 30, but it doesn't get real interesting until about 60 mph!

You start the game of life with a full pot o' luck and an empty pot of experience... The object is to fill the pot of experience before You empty the pot of luck.

If you wait, all that happens is that you get older.

Midnight bugs taste just as bad as Noon time bugs.

Saddlebags can never hold everything you want, but they CAN hold everything you need.

It takes more love to share the saddle than it does to share the bed.

The only good view of a thunderstorm is in your rearview mirror.

Never be afraid to slow down.

Don't ride so late into the night that you sleep through the sunrise.

Sometimes it takes a whole tankful of fuel before you can think straight.

Riding faster than everyone else only guarantees you'll ride alone.

Never hesitate to ride past the last street light at the edge of town.

Never do less than forty miles before breakfast.

If you don't ride in the rain, you don't ride.

A bike on the road is worth two in the shed.

Respect the person who has seen the dark side of motorcycling and lived.

Young riders pick a destination and go...
Old riders pick a direction and go.

A good mechanic will let you watch without charging you for it.

Sometimes the fastest way to get there is to stop for the night.

Always back your bike into the curb, and sit where you can see it.

Work to ride & ride to work.

Whatever it is, it's better in the wind.

Two-lane blacktop isn't a highway - it's an attitude.

When you look down the road, it seems to never end - but you better believe, it does!

Winter is Nature's way of telling you to polish.

Keep your bike in good repair: Motorcycle boots are NOT comfortable for walking.

People are like Motorcycles: each is customized a bit differently.

Sometimes, the best communication happens when you're on separate bikes.

Good coffee should be indistinguishable from 50 weight motor oil.

The best alarm clock is sunshine on chrome.

The twisties - not the superslabs - separate the riders from the Wanna Bees.

When you're riding lead, don't spit.

A friend is someone who'll get out of bed at 2 am to drive his Pickup to the middle of nowhere to get you when you're broken down. Without asking "What the hell were you doing?"

Catching a yellow jacket in your shirt @ 70 mph can double your vocabulary.

If you want to get somewhere before sundown, you can't stop at every tavern.

There's something ugly about a NEW bike on a trailer.

Don't lead the pack if you don't know where you're going.

Practice wrenching on your own bike.

Everyone crashes. Some get back on. Some don't. Some can't.

Don't argue with an 18-wheeler.

Never be ashamed to unlearn an old habit.

A good long ride can clear your mind, restore your faith, and use up a lot of fuel.

If you can't get it going with bungee cords and electrician's tape, it's serious.

If you ride like there's no tomorrow, there won't be.

Bikes parked out front mean good chicken-fried steak inside.

There are drunk riders.
There are old riders.
There are NO old, drunk riders.

Thin leather looks good in the bar, but it won't save your butt from "road rash" if you go down.

The best modifications cannot be seen from the outside.

Always replace the cheapest parts first.

You can forget what you do for a living when your knees are in the breeze.

Patience is the ability to keep your motor idling.

Only a Biker knows why a dog sticks his head out of a car window.

Keep the paint up, and the rubber down!

There are two types of people in this world, people who ride motorcycles and people who wish they could ride motorcycles.

Never try to race an old geezer. He may have one more gear than you.

Gray-haired riders don't get that way from pure luck.

from 6/5/2007 - No Place Like Home

No Place Like Home

So, I got up at 3: fricking 30 this morning to drive to my parents house to take them to the airport...I came back to her house to get some sleep before driving home...Jen doesn't come home until later tonight, so I wanted to let the dogs out for a little while rather than leave them locked up all day...and I had to get Capone to try to alleviate some of the stress on Jen for the week since I just left her with all the dogs last week.
Capone and I get back to my mom's house and her 2 dogs come outside to see who it is...Side note, Capone stayed here with both of her dogs for a week last year when I went out of town and he's the most submissive dog I have, he's NEVER started trouble with any other dog...all was fine outside, sniffing, running around and what not...my mom can leave bones down with her dogs with no problem...i don't/can't do that at my house and it's not something Capone is used to and he will growl if another dog comes near him when he has a bone...So, Capone is chewing on a bone and Bear (mom's male GSD) gets too close, Capone growls, I yell...I got up and took the bone away and put it up...well, 2 minutes later, one of them snaps at the other, I'm inclined to believe it was Capone that did it...I got up, ready to separate them and yell at them at the same time and they stop...Capone ran under the coffee table and Bear was whining...Capone was made to lay down and hasn't been allowed to get up...Bear was bleeding under his chin, nothing serious but he whined a little - such a sissy, not that my dogs aren't...
So that better have been a one time thing or my week is going to SUCK...or Capone will have to go back home...I was thinking he'd be able to run around with Tasha and get Bear to run around a little too since Bear is WAY overweight...

from 7/14/2007 - DC and Agility

DC and Agility

Current mood:satisfied

I went to do agility with Capone this morning, well get a basic introduction with a pro anyway...

I picked her up in DC...I HATE driving in DC and of course I ended up way off from where I needed to be...I managed to find Mike's favorite take out place, YUMS, though...

Some guy comes up next to me and makes a reference to the new magnet Adriane got me...He let me know that he wanted to pull my hair and do many other things to other parts of my body...I kinda laughed and thanked the traffic Gods that the light turned green right after that...

So the nice lady that was helping me ususally charges $60 an hour for training...and I got a free 30 minute lesson...

Capone picked up on the tunnel in a snap...the jump was a bit harder since he's used to jumping up, not up and forward...she showed him the weave poles and gave me a few things to work on that will really help if I decide to take him to trials and stuff. She also said that Capone has a great build for agility and his drive will really help him with it as well...

from 9/10/2007 - I’m such an air headed bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steele novels

I’m such an air headed bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steele novels

The professor told his class one day: "Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. As homework tonight, one of you will write the first paragraph of a short story. You will e-mail your partner that paragraph and send another copy to me. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story and send it back, also sending another copy to me. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back-and-forth.

Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. There is to be absolutely NO talking outside of the e-mails and anything you wish to say must be written in the e-mail. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached."

The following was actually turned in by two of his English students:

Rebecca and Gary.

THE STORY:

(first paragraph by Rebecca)
At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.

(second paragraph by Gary)
Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris to Geostati on 17," he said into his transgalactic communicator. "Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before he could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.

(Rebecca)
He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. "Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel," Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth, when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspaper to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.

(Gary)
Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu'udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dimwitted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace disarmament Treaty through the congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu'udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized poor, stupid Laurie.

(Rebecca)
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic semi-literate adolescent.

(Gary)
Yeah? Well, my writing partner is a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. "Oh, shall I have chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of FKING TEA??? Oh no, what am I to do? I'm such an air headed bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steele novels!"

(Rebecca)
*******.

(Gary)
Bitch.

(Rebecca)
F&*%K YOU - YOU NEANDERTHAL!!

(Gary)
Go drink some tea - whore.

(TEACHER)
A+ - I really liked this one.

from 5/6/2008 - One Man’s Good Fight

One Man’s Good Fight

One Man's Good Fight

I went grocery shopping recently while not being altogether sure that said course of action was a wise one. You see, the previous evening I had prepared and consumed a massive quantity of my patented "You're definitely going to mess yourself" chili. Tasty stuff, albeit hot to the point of being painful, which comes with a written guarantee from me that if you eat the next day both of your butt cheeks WILL fall off.

Here's the thing. I had awakened that morning, and even after two cups of coffee (and all of you know what I mean) nothing happened. No "Watson's Movement 2". Despite habanera peppers swimming their way through my intestinal tract, I appeared to be unable to create the usual morning symphony referred to by my next door neighbors as thunder and lightning.

Knowing that a time of reckoning had to come, yet not sure of when, I bravely set off for the market; a local Wal-Mart grocery store that I often haunt in search of tasty tidbits.

Upon entering the store at first all seemed normal. I selected a cart and began pushing it about dropping items in for purchase. It wasn't until I was at the opposite end of the store from the restrooms that the pain hit me. Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm referring to that "Uh oh, gotta go" pain that always seems to hit us at The wrong time. The thing is, this pain was different.

The habaneras in the chili from the night before were staging a revolt. In a mad rush for freedom they bullied their way through the small intestines, forcing their way into the large intestines, and before I could take one step in the direction of the restrooms which would bring sweet relief, it happened. The peppers fired a warning shot.

There I stood, alone in the spice and baking aisle, suddenly enveloped in a noxious cloud the likes of which has never before been recorded. I was afraid to move for fear that more of this vile odor might escape me. Slowly, oh so slowly, the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my body, and I began to move up the aisle and out of it, just as an elderly woman turned into it.

I don't know what made me do it, but I stopped to see what her reaction would be to the malodorous effluvium that refused to dissipate, as she walked into it unsuspecting. Have you ever been torn in two different directions emotionally? Here's what I mean, and I'm sure some of you at least will be able to relate.

I could've warned that poor woman but didn't. I simply watched as she walked into an invisible, and apparently indestructible, wall of odor so terrible that all she could do before gathering her senses and running, was to stand there blinking and waving her arms about her head as though trying to ward off angry bees. This, of course, made me feel terrible, but then made me laugh. Mistake.

Here's the thing. When you laugh, it's hard to keep things "clamped down", if you know what I mean. With each new guffaw an explosive issue burst forth from my nether region. Some were so loud and echoing that I was later told a few folks in other aisles had ducked, fearing that someone was robbing the store and firing off a shotgun.

Suddenly things were no longer funny. IT was coming, and I raced off through the store towards the restrooms, laying down a cloud the whole way, praying that I'd make it before the grand mal assplosion took place.

Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time I got to the john, began the inevitable "Oh my God", floating above the toilet seat because my butt is burning SO BAD, purging. One poor fellow walked in while I was in the middle of what is the true meaning of "Shock and Awe". He made a gagging sound, and disgustedly said, "Oh my God!", then quickly left.

Once finished I left the restroom, reacquired my partially filled cart intending to carry on with my shopping when a store employee approached me and said, "Sir, you might want to step outside for a few minutes. It appears some prankster set off a stink bomb in the store. The manager is going to run the vent fans on high for a minute or two which ought to take care of the problem."

That of course set me off again, causing residual gases to escape me. The employee took one sniff, jumped back pulling his shirt up to cover his nose and, pointing at me in an accusing manner shouted, "IT'S YOU!", then ran off returning moments later with the manager. I was unceremoniously escorted from the premises and asked none too kindly not to return.

Home again without having shopped, I realized that there was nothing to eat but leftover chili, so I consumed two more bowls. The next day I went to shop at Albertson's. I can't say anymore about that because we are in court over the whole matter. They claim they're going to have to repaint the store...

from 5/14/2008 - Craigslist is a beautiful place...

Craigslist is a beautiful place...

Current mood:sick

Now, I know that there is a lot of embellishment that occurs on this group and I am aware that a small number of things are perhaps sheer fabrication, but I have a story to tell that is the absolute truth. Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me.

A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar.

Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you-in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated.

Perhaps a bit too much, however.

I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble.

There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without to much concern.

Unfortunately, that was not to be.

After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress...

I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wirecutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a shit. I went to the normal stall.

In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions.

I began "The Move."

For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances.

There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of shit at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat.

Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.

I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall.

Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex.

And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch.

What happened next was so quick that the exact sequenceof events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can.

In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus.

Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death.

My attention was thus diverted.

At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar.

In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down.

Recall that when that event occurred, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be.

Needless to say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.

Now, back to the vomit...

While all the shitting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed.

OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting?

One bends over.

So I bent over.

I was still sitting on the toilet, though.

Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles.

Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles.

In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet.

In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in shit that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid shit. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.

And there was no fucking toilet paper.

What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically.

I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next.

I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help.

Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately.

Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left.

The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned.

Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation.

Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions.

He hooked up a hose.

Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels.

Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife.

I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom.

I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.

The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.

from 3/18/08 - Dogs and NASCAR

Dogs and NASCAR

Current mood:tired

Someone needs to tell Shae and Daisy that my bedroom is way to small for them to be running NASCAR around it at 10:45 at night...Daisy will be standing on the floor and Shae will be on the bed staring at each other...you can just see them waiting for the other to make the first move...then Shae will launch herself off the bed and onto Daisy, then Shae jumps back and forth onto Daisy and the bed...really funny...and they are looking at my chair like it's in their way, which it is, and they tell me this by slamming into the footrest of it...Chaos has closed himself in one of the crates with an old marrow bone and Capone is on the back corner of the bed in a nest of blanket with a bone...
I spent about 6 hours in the truck today...Jen and I drove to PA this morning with Skye to do a home visit for her...She is now living with a nice family with a 4 year old boy, 2 year old girl and another 4 month old girl...She loved the kids and mom and dad...There were even 2 of mom and dad's friends there to meet her and bring some stuff up for her...We got there around 1:15 and left around 3:15...We wanted to give them and her enough of a chance to get used to each other and see how they interacted...dad, son AND the friend all got on the floor with her to play...dad called her up into his chair and cradled her like a baby...she didn't stick by me and Jen, but was checking the place out, sniffing and playing with toys...I loved the family, really liked them as people, not just a new home for my Precious puppy...hell, if they were closer, I'd want to be friends with them...But they even offered to meet us partway if we wanted to visit with her...So everyone keep your fingers crossed, do a little dance, shake some booty that it all works out...

Comments from myspace:
Danielle O Connor - well i hope it works out for the dog..and about ur furry kids playing at nites..it used to be that way at my house..