I have arrived

Finally, after over a year of blogging, I have been truly accepted by the community. I, my friend, have my very own troll. Yes, it's true. A lovely anonymous troll using the pseudonym 'snoop' (ironic, no?) left a message on my last post about my lovely little bulldog puppy. He suggested that she deserved to be abandoned because of her stench, and then should be 'finished off with a gun'. As far as trolls go, fairly benign I guess.

But none the less, I am honored to be inducted into the club and appreciative of the sentiment.

ps: THE Bossy commented on the same post, which totally negates the whole troll thing, but I'm keeping my membership card anyway.

I just don't understand...

...how anyone could abandon this adorable sweetheart.



She was dropped off at the vet for a slight respiratory infection and never retrieved. I can't fathom why. She's as fine a specimen of an English Bulldog as you'll find. Someone paid fat stacks for her and then just left her.





I'm sure there could be a myriad of reasons as to why she was left and I'm very sorry for the person who had to make that decision. I am, however, very glad they chose to leave her somewhere responsible instead of on the roadside.

So now, please welcome the eighty fifth fourth canine member of our household. Miss TrixieBelle Lollipop. Why yes! Silas did name her. How did you know? Trust me, the name fits in well as our other dogs are:

Gus, also known as, Gustopher, Gustafson and Gustafarian;

Penelope Pitstop, aka Nellie, Nellie Goat and Smelly Nellie with the big belly;

and Betty Boop, aka The Boop, Boop Boop a Doop, and The Big Booper.

So I believe she'll fit right in. I'll be applying for my kennel license tomorrow. If you have any experience with Bulldogs and have wisdom to share, I welcome it. Meanwhile, I leave you with some puppy butt. You're welcome.

Take a breath...

...September is almost over! What a crazy month it is for us. Silas had his first day of school in August, then, before I knew what happened, he woke up as a six guy:




There were wishes to be made and cake to be eaten:



There were parties to be had at the water park:

We had our first soccer game:

(somewhere in between here, we had my fortymumblemumble birthday and eleventh wedding anniversary)

Then we were off to the beach for my auntie's wedding:

Where there were dogs who wear eyeshadow:

and little redheaded babies that make my ovaries ache:

Then off to play in the sand before coming home:

Now for a slight breather before starting the holiday rush.

First Day

>

Mah baaybehh! He has gone to school.

For the whole day.

As in 8 whole hours away from me.

I don't know what to do with myself right now. I've spent the past six years with this child velcroed to my side. Sometimes by choice, sometimes not.

I'm sure once I get accustomed to having some free time, I'll find ways to fill it. Hopefully with something that doesn't involve mindless shopping to fill the void that is my broken heart.

At least someone is happy about it:







Here he is on the steps of his little academy. That's what it's called. The Academy. My heart. I can't take it.




Here he has to sign in. All by himself. Without me helping. I feel so superfluous.





And here is the sign that I'm putting up right down the street from the school. It reflects my mood wonderfully.

So here I sit. I've finished the post. I guess I'll go clean the house.

sigh

Sticks and stones

I met a little girl today with my name. She was probably around eight, which adds up. It was approximately ten years ago that the country singer Shania Twain became popular. Suddenly, I wasn't the only one who had ever heard my name. And I didn't have to spell it every time I said it.

Her popularity was both a blessing and a curse. As she got more popular and the name became more familiar, it was a relief not to be looked at askance whenever I introduced myself. Instead, I would get an "oh, like the singer?" More than once, I'd get an accusatory "that's not your real name, you changed it to be like her!" Which, no I didn't, but even if I had, how is it your business?

Living with an unusual name, you can understand my sympathy for children who have the same burden to bear. My compassion was kicked into overdrive at tennis roll call.

Argyle? Here.

Stetson? Here.

Paisley? Here.

Wrangler? Here.

Those poor kids.

Wasted money?

It's sad when all the years of my edumacashun can be summed up so succinctly.

New discoveries

Cavaliers don't like to swim. No.... no, they don't.