I'll write soon..

But this just made me laugh my ass off...

On vacation

We're going to concentrate on family time...

Stay safe!

Hugs, smooches and gropes (yup!)

gone too far?

I believe they very well may have...

Life is filled with lessons...

That's how I approach it, anyway.

So I promised details about a situation I was faced with... and you're about to get PLENTY of em!

Imagine it's dusk and it's the winter. It's somewhat cold and there has just been a dusting of snow. All the street lights are on and after a long day at work dealing with a bunch of babies, I head to school to pick The Chicklet up. She's miserable and crabby and she feels warm to the touch. I just KNOW she has a fever and I want to get her home and feed her some chicken noodle soup (Campbell's... yup).

I pull into the driveway and get this sense that something's not right (apart from the usual "you ain't right" kind of thing that people tell me all the time).

I notice that the gate to the backyard is open and I distinctly remember I had left a light on in the shed and I left it that way because by the time I realized the light was on it was late, we'd had a big dump of snow and NO WAY was I trudging back there through snow up to the middle of my thighs just to shut the darn thing off.

I tell Chicklet to stand next to the car as I decide this needs to be investigated further. So I move towards the gate and stop dead in my tracks. I can feel the vein on my temple pulsate and I'm pretty certain I'm going to contribute to global warming just from the steam I'm certain is now pouring out of my ears.

I turn around and direct my daughter to the front porch, open the front door and ask her to stay inside, go lie down on the couch and "mommy will be right in".

I head back to the gate and march down the newly shoveled path (who the hell shoveled this path?) that leads to the shed at the back of the yard. I open the door and flip the switch to turn the light on. It doesn't ... what?
So I reach out and having a pretty good idea where the lightbulb should be, I feel the back of my hand touch the cold globe. I grasp it and feel it's loose in the socket. As I screw it back in, the light comes on and...

&*?/%$@!!!!!!!!!

The snowblower, dad's snowblower, it's GONE!

Burgled! We've been BURGLED!

Now, let me say this: the snowblower is old. I have a snow removal contract. And the snowblower doesn't work as it needs a tune-up...

but

&*?/%$@!!!!!!!!!

Now I'm insulted (trust me, not a good thing)! It's the principle of the thing.

I head towards the driveway after closing the light and the shed door.

I now know why a path was shoveled (with MY shovel no less!) to the shed and I'm spitting mad.

As I'm about to go back into the house my investigator instincts take over - it's one of the things I do for a living and I'm pretty good at it from having a lot of practice and training quite a few people in how to investigate incidents.

The stinking little thief picked the wrong damn house to violate.

You see.. something caught my eye and I felt myself grin like The Grinch after he's grabbed up the last can of Who-hash.



You guessed it... footprints!



But more importantly...



WHEELPRINTS! MY Snowblower's wheelprints complete with chain pattern.

Now I know how Callie Duquesne feels when she gets a break in a case!






I follow the trail down the drive to the street and figure out where it's headed.

AHA! Little bugger is in for a surprise!


I'm concerned my previous near meltdown could cause my evidence to fade and time is ticking away... there are more and more cars in the neighborhood as people make it home to dinner. I rush back into the house and I grab a flashlight and tell Chicklet I'll be right back.


And I'm off... cell phone in hand.

After quite a distance and a few turns I followed the trail as it turned into a driveway and disappeared under a fence gate into a backyard...

I jot down the address and haul butt back to the house... my fingertips are frozen but I'm about to bust this case WIDE open.

I rush into the house and announce my triumph to Chicklet who tries to muster a "yay" and I head into the kitchen to grab the cordless phone. I call 911 while getting Chicklet's dinner ready and take the thermometer back to the kitchen to take her temperature.

I can multitask -cause I'm a WOMAN! W-O-M-A-N!



I get the 911 operator and give her an explanation of what's just occurred. And she tells me she's sending a squad car right over. And oh boy... a pair of tall, dark and handsome officers (ok, so it wasn't the boys from CHiPS) show up in a jiffy. I think they were encouraged by what little work they'd actually have to do. Seems they get a lot of calls like this about stolen items but having their case all but handed over to them is rare.

I go outside with the adorable officers and show them the trail.. and they just grin. Cute officer number one asks me what I do for a living and I explain to him that investigations are one of my assigned duties and he nods his head, smiling.



So they head off towards the offenders domicile...



While I was waiting for them to show up with my snowblower I decided to do some further research and reverse look-up the address. This gives me a phone number and a name... that name is familiar... hmmmmm. As they are out apprehending the little creep I realize where I know that name from... it's one of the kids I hired to mow the lawn last summer. Little bugger cased the sheds!

I call dispatch again and share that tidbit which is then passed along to the lovely strapping young officers... I can imagine the grin THAT got.



From what the officers shared with me, when they informed the father... oh lordy!

The father had the little miscreant push the snowblower uphill a long ass way back to our house. HA!

So... what was this dilemna I was faced with?

He's a minor. And as a minor was given a "different" kind of sentence. His case worker assigned community service hours to the not-so-artful-dodger. They contacted me to ask me if I would allow him to "serve his sentence" with me. Meaning, I could put him to work as a gesture of reparation on his part. I had to decide whether I wanted him back on our property.

Would I be a part of his rehabilitation?

I said yes... I figure it would be a valuable lesson for my Chicklet... and hopefully, learning that someone he had wronged was willing to see the potentially decent human being in him might help him "straighten up and fly right" (as my father always used to say).

Unfortunately, scheduling conflicts got in the way and we never were able to make it happen... but at least I feel as though I've done the right thing. And my daughter does too.

Poppin for Travis!

GENIOUS in advertising! And Canadian ad agency came up with it. Dude, we rock! SICK!

I am not starting my vacation in the dungeon

So...

I was tagged by Mimi with this memewith a corset which she stole from some blogger who got it from... um, does it matter? Do you NEED to be subjected to the "she told two friends and so on and so on and..." blah! blah! blah!


So basically, it’s the “NEEDS” meme.


You google your name followed by the word NEEDS and you post the results.

I’m a tad scared to venture into the “googling” of my name associated with the word «NEEDS». Besides, I know what I NEED! I don’t NEED google to tell me I NEED shoes (yes Charles, NEED!).
Really, I NEED shoes - you expect me to walk around barefoot?


Actually,what I NEED is: pretty shoes... I desire and deserve beauty in my life.

Wait, what was this post supposed to be about?

Oh yeah... Anndi NEEDS to stay out of the dungeon at Bloggingham Castle (the trolls down there like to steal my shoes) so Anndi shall blog the “NEEDS” meme at the Queen’s bequest. So, without further ado... the "corset meme":



So, I googled my name... and oh boy:

Apparently I *giggle* NEED a, um... *giggle* a spanking! No comment.

I also find out I NEED three loves... Which happen to be: my Honey, my Chicklet and.... shoes! What?!

I also found out that a Raggedy Ann doll NEEDS a home. I used to read Raggedy Ann books as a child - my favourite was a book that taught Andy some manners (*sigh* boys!). In it, Andy helped Ann tie her shoe laces, or was it the other way around? Shoes... again! AHA!

So I stopped after three Google results because I NEEDED to go shoe shopping. My Google search told me I NEEDED to. *wink*

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

"Give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world."
- Marilyn Monroe

til they come home

My thoughts and prayers are with the injured and missing heroes and their families. These brave souls serve with honour and dedication, they endure conditions beyond imagination and do so willingly as it is their calling.

My special thanks and appreciation go out to a fellow blogger and great guy, Gene. It's not easy for any of us in the Emergency Response community when one of our own is taken from us, much less a devastating loss such as this one.

Hugs to you Gene. I'm thinking of you and your crew especially. May God wrap you in his grace and keep you safe.

"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."
~Holy Bible, John 15:13

"Firemen never die, they just burn forever in the hearts of the people whose lives they saved."
~Susan Diane Murphree

Creative Photography - my old friend

As much as a picture is said to be worth a thousand words, we can bring a new dimension to pictures when we share a story to go along with them. I've strived to do this with Roger's Creative Photography Contest (visit other participants HERE) and I figure this week shouldn't be any different.


Ask anyone about their most vivid childhood memories and everyone has a special moment (hopefully mostly good) that comes to mind.

One of mine involves the tree in Dad's front yard. It's been there for as long as I can remember. I'm quite saddened at the thought that by the fall I'll have to say goodbye to my old friend as it has died. 

Many upcoming winters were judged by the berries on that tree. It's been used as home base for more hide-and-seek games than I can remember. And it was my friend when I was forced to spend time in bed during my bout with chicken pox, allowing sweet feathered friends to perch on it's branches as I listened to their cheerful songs.

The most vivid of my childhood memories involving my friend the tree is one of lying in a soft and fluffy bed of freshly fallen snow under leafless branches and watching lovely lace mademoiselles flutter down from the sky. It was made all the more magical because of the Christmas lights that my father so lovingly and patiently had strung on the branches... bright colourful lights that made the snow sparkle like a priceless trove of rubies, emeralds, sapphires and canary diamonds.


I was never cold when my friend sheltered me.



I examined it closely lately and found all manner of interesting things.

Imagine my surprise when I found it was staring back at me!

Even in death it sustains life...

But it's the alien sticking out from it that gave me pause.

Which picture did you like the best?

Would you share a vivid childhood memory?

"Happiness is sharing a bowl of cherries and a book of poetry with a shade tree. He doesn't eat much and doesn't read much, but listens well and is a most gracious host."

~Astrid Alauda

Creative Photography Contest no 7

Last summer, my Chicklet and I took a trip through New York State and on our last day, as we were driving home we passed an old cemetery near the town of Peru.

We decided to stop and take a look. It wasn't anything fancy or even particularly big and ornate but I thought maybe it would be good for these old souls to have someone think of them for a bit.. As you can see from the sign, it dates back to the early 1800's.

As we walked among the old gravestones of Blockhouse cemetery, reading the names and imagining their stories, we came upon a couple of headstones that captured my imagination. The Wrangham family markers.


Thomas Wrangham was the first-born male child of Peru, NY. His first wife was Fanny.

I pictured Thomas and Fanny in my mind. He was tall and dark, with kind eyes and a mustache. Fanny was fair, with rosy cheeks that were round like small crabapples. In my mind's eye, her hair was curly.

An engraving that caught my eye was the dedication for William Wrangham who died in 1835 at the ripe old age of 100. He was buried with his wife Jennie, who was born a year before him and died... the same year as William. If that doesn't speak to the romantic in you... *sigh*

Sadly, this couple who made it past the century mark together, buried a son, George in 1807. No parent should have to bury a child.


We found this on one of the headstones... the dried up exoskeleton of a bug (I have no idea what kind of bug, sorry) ***EDITED: Charles kindly informed me, the bug is a Cicada! Thanks Charles!*** But I found it ironic that this creature would leave it's "shell" along with that of William and Jennie and the many other Wranghams interred here.

So here we go!

The first picture has very few touch-ups, I just cleaned up the colour some:




And since we were in a cemetery, I then wondered what it would have been like at night... While looking at things through night vision goggles:



In night vision, it looks like the shadow became a ghost... *insert creepy music here* Skeered yet?

Hope you enjoy! Don't forget to go visit other participants HERE in the Creative Photography Contest no 7 and please say hi to Roger, he's a cool dude.

Ruby Tuesday - carrying on the little things...

I've decided that I like photograph themed blog thingies!

On Tuesdays, The Teach hosts a fun photo concept... you can post any picture of your own, as long as it has some red to it. So here goes... my foray into the fabulous world of Ruby Tuesday!



When I was little, in the first years of grade school, I went through a period of time where I'd go home for lunch by bus. I would sit cross-legged at the coffee table in the living room (it's still pretty much in the same spot today) and Mom would bring me a hot bowl of soup and a sammich (usually a grilled-cheese sammich - YUM!). I'd enjoy my feast while watching cartoons - like The Flintstones!... Life was good!

As I got older, I ate lunch at school more and more. Mom had started working again and I liked the packed lunch thing. It was cool... I nver knew what surprise would be in there.

One thing about Mom was, there was often, (but not always because then it wouldn't be "special" anymore) a little note from her written on my napkin (Mom made sure I never had an excuse to wipe my face or hands on my clothing - wise woman).

I remembered that this morning as I packed Chicklet's lunch for Summer Day Camp.

So...



You know, there's nothing like sticking red wax that smells like cheese on your nose to make you feel like a kid again.

While I'm remembering stuff...

I've always loved this song... takes me back. Reminds me that I have a lovely Valpolicella waiting for me. YUM!

dirty... dirty... dirty

Remember when I told you about my encounter with anal gland juice?
I know, I'd rather forget about it as well... (Sharkdog is doing well BTW)

BUT! (no pun intended - well maybe just a little...)

I mentioned some of the world's most disgusting jobs (according to moi) and told you about avian vomitologists (or, owl vomit collectors?).

I now know how kids gets started in this career path!


If Chicklet sees this I'm in deep doodoo.

BTW...

Have I ever mentionned I have a crush on Mike Rowe the host of "Dirty Jobs"? Cause I do *sigh*.


He's not afraid to experience the jobs we take for granted. Blue collar, hard work, stinky but essential jobs that make our lives easier (well, not all of them - seriously, avian vomitologist?!).

AND... He's funny!(all traits he shares with my Honey). Did I mention they both have killer blue eyes? Cause they do.

He said my name? Wait... he said my name? He said ANNDI!! Oh my.. THUD!

And for the chicks who dig dirty men...



YUP! He's my number two... after my Honey.

"I'm Still a Guy" - This song by Brad Paisley (current crush number 3) pops in my head when I think of these men... and really, that's what's sexy to me. Unplucked, unfeminized guys... growl and purrrrrrrrrrrr!

I want rugged, rough, a man who'll get his hands dirty. He wears boots to work (cause I have to). He works hard, sweats, and gets things done. He'll even grunt some.

A guy. Like my guy.

"Uh oh. I've got mud in my shorts. At least ... I hope it's mud."
- Mike Rowe

I *hic* can't...

I have the hiccups... It's driving *hic* me batty.

I've been looking for a cure to the hiccups as I've tried *hic* one trick I know that usually works for *hic* me but it failed - it NEVER fails! *sigh* *hic*

You fill a glass with water, you in*hic*sert a butter knife in the glass, handle in the water so the dull (but your mother always told you not to lick it) part sticks out of *hic*the water. Start drinking the water with the *hic* knife against your forehead (flat side against your forehead)....

It didn't work. *hic*

I'm still hiccupping and now I'm *hic* feeling the strain in my diaphragm.

I was going to try pickle juice *hic* but then I remembered that's the cure for a hangover... *hic* wait a minute!

Alcohol!!!

If it doesn't stop my hiccups I *hic* won't notice! But what if I get the drunk hiccups over the *hic* regular ones? Would they cancel each other out? Am *hic* I willing to try and find out? What do *hic* you think?

Oh.. if you have a cure, please let me know. And *hic* leave me a couple of aspirin, would ya? Thanks! *hic*

Piglet: Pooh, you saved me. And you got rid of my hiccups!
Winnie the Pooh: Oh, so that's what was wrong. Why didn't you say so?
Piglet: I couldn't. I had the hiccups.
Winnie the Pooh: When was that?
Piglet: When I wasn't saying so.
Winnie the Pooh: Oh.

Creative photography - Small treasure

Creative Photography Contest #6

My friend Roger has started something I wasn't sure I had the cahones to participate in, a Creative photography contest. You can get links to the other participants HERE.

I've always loved taking pictures and just over 10 years ago, my favourite subject made her way into this world.

This picture was taken several years ago in our old yard. We had set up a blanket on the lawn and Chicklet spent a portion of her day investigating the flora and fauna. I won't tell you what she's holding in those precious little hands of hers, but I can tell you ever since I can remember she's held my heart.

I made Chicklet the focal point (she's come to expect this, ya know) and softened things around her a bit. I played with the colour contrast a smidge ... and, well.. just look at it. If it bores me to gives you the step by step of how I got the picture to look this way, I expect it would bore all y'all to tears. I'm not telling you how I made Chicklet either. That's a secret! shhhhhhh! teehee!



Here's my entry, Roger...

Small Treasure

"Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man."
~Rabindranath Tagore

"There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child. There are seven million."
~Walt Streightiff

bring him home

My heartfelt condolences are extended to the family, friends and comrades of Cpl James Hayward Arnal, an infanteer serving with the 2nd Battalion, Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry Battle Group, who was killed by an improvised roadside bomb in Afghanistan on his second tour of duty shortly before midnight on Friday.

"Platoon mates from his previous rotation and his current fire team partner describe him as professional, dependable and utterly fearless under enemy fire." said Brigadier-General Denis Thompson at Kandahar airfield. Cpl Arnal is the 14th Canadian soldier killed in the Afghan mission this year.

This song is dedicated to the families of our fallen heroes... I thank you for your sacrifice... I mourn with you and share your sorrow.

The Fallen

Corporal James Hayward Arnal

Private Colin William Wilmot

Corporal Brendan Anthony Downey

Captain Jonathan (Jon) Sutherland Snyder

Captain Richard Steven Leary

Corporal Michael Starker

Private Terry John Street

Sergeant Jason Boyes

Bombardier Jérémie Ouellet

Trooper Michael Y. Hayakaze

Corporal Étienne Gonthier

Trooper Richard Renaud

Warrant Officer Hani Massouh

Corporal Éric Labbé

Gunner Jonathan Dion

Private Michel Jr. Lévesque

Corporal Nicolas R. Beauchamp

Corporal Nathan Hornburg

Major Raymond Mark Ruckpaul

Master Corporal Christian Duchesne

Master Warrant Officer Mario Mercier

Private Simon Longtin

Captain Jefferson Clifford Francis

Corporal Jordan Anderson

Captain Matthew Johnathan Dawe

Master Corporal Colin Stuart Francis Bason

Corporal Cole D. Bartsch

Private Lane William Thomas Watkins

Sergeant Christos Karigiannis

Corporal Stephen Frederick Bouzane

Private Joel Wiebe

Trooper Darryl Caswell

Master Corporal Darrell Jason Priede

Corporal Matthew McCully

Master Corporal Anthony Klumpenhouwer

Master Corporal Allan Stewart

Trooper Patrick James Pentland

Sergeant Donald Lucas

Corporal Brent Donald Poland

Corporal Christopher Paul Stannix

Corporal Aaron Edward Williams

Private David Robert Greenslade

Private Kevin Vincent Kennedy

Corporal Kevin Megeney

Chief Warrant Officer Robert Girouard, CD

Corporal Albert Storm, CD

Sergeant Darcy Scott Tedford, CD

Private Blake Neil Williamson

Trooper Mark Andrew Wilson

Sergeant Craig Paul Gillam, CD

Corporal Robert Thomas James Mitchell

Private Josh Klukie

Corporal Glen Arnold, CD

Private David Byers

Corporal Shane Keating

Corporal Keith Morley, CD

Private Mark Anthony Graham

Private William Jonathan James Cushley

Warrant Officer Frank Robert Mellish, CD

Warrant Officer Richard Francis Nolan, CD

Sergeant Shane Stachnik

Corporal David Braun

Corporal Andrew James Eykelenboom

Master Corporal Jeffrey Scott Walsh

Master Corporal Raymond Arndt

Private Kevin Dallaire

Sergeant Vaughan Ingram

Corporal Bryce Jeffrey Keller

Corporal Christopher Jonathan Reid, CD

Corporal Francisco Gomez, CD

Corporal Jason Patrick Warren

Corporal Anthony Joseph Boneca

Captain Nichola Kathleen Sarah Goddard, MSM

Corporal Matthew David James Dinning

Bombardier Myles Stanley John Mansell

Corporal Randy Payne

Lieutenant William Turner

Private Robert Costall

Master Corporal Timothy Wilson

Corporal Paul Davis

Mr. Glyn Berry (Director, Foreign Affairs Canada)

Private Braun Scott Woodfield

Corporal Jamie Brendan Murphy

Corporal Robbie Christopher Beerenfenger

Sergeant Robert Alan Short

Corporal Ainsworth Dyer

Private Richard Green

Sergeant Marc D. Léger

Private Nathan Smith

Your sacrifice will be remembered. Your dedication to your country will be honoured.

May you rest in Peace.

Lest we forget.

For shits and giggles...

I received this e-mail from my very funny friend Jo from Toronto and it just started my day off right.

So I'm going to share it with you (cause I'm a giver).

If you don't laugh out loud after you read this you are in a coma! This is even funnier when you realize it's real!

Next time you have a bad day at work think of this guy.

Rob is a commercial saturation diver for Global Divers in Louisiana.

He performs underwater repairs on offshore drilling rigs.

Below is an E-mail he sent to his sister. She then sent it to radio station 103.2 on FM dial in Ft. Wayne, Indiana, who was sponsoring a worst job experience contest.

Needless to say, she won.

Hi Sue,

Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother.

Last week I had a bad day at the office. I know you've been feeling down lately at work, so I thought I would share my dilemma with you to make you realize it's not so bad after all.

Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must bore you with a few technicalities of my job.

As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I wear a suit to the office. It's a wet suit. This time of year the water is quite cool.
So what we do to keep warm is this:

We have a diesel powered industrial water heater. This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the water out of the sea. It heats it to a delightful temperature.

It then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose, which is taped to the air hose. Now this sounds like a darn good plan, and I've used it several times with no complaints.

What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is take the hose and stuff it down the back of my wet suit. This floods my whole suit with warm water. It's like working in a Jacuzzi.

Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my butt started to itch. So, of course, I scratched it. This only made things worse.
Within a few seconds my butt started to burn.

I pulled the hose out from my back, but the damage was done. In agony I realized what had happened.

The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into my suit. Now, since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish couldn't stick to it. However, the crack of my butt was not as fortunate.

When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the jellyfish into the crack of my butt. I informed the dive supervisor of my dilemma over the communicator. His instructions were unclear due to the fact that he, along with five other divers, were all laughing hysterically.

Needless to say I aborted the dive. I was instructed to make three agonizing in-water decompression stops totaling thirty-five minutes before I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry decompression.
When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but my brass helmet.

As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of laughter running down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub it on my butt as soon as I got in the chamber.

The cream put the fire out, but I couldn't poop for two days because my butt was swollen shut.

So, next time you're having a bad day at work, think about how much worse it would be if you had a jellyfish shoved up your butt.

Now repeat to yourself, 'I love my job, I love my job, I love my job.'

Now whenever you have a bad day, ask yourself, is this a jellyfish bad day?

May you NEVER have a jellyfish bad day!!!!!

Somebody needs to tell that guy he was using the wrong butt jelly.

"What soap is to the body, laughter is to the soul."
~Yiddish Proverb

I... can't...

Due to a huge case of "I can't stay awake"...

I'll bring you the details of my little dilemna in the next post ...


zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

mr fix it

When I guested on my Hoochiemama Turnbaby's awesome BTR show a few weekends back, we took the concept of forgiveness and turned it every which way we could. At some point, the topics of atonement and making amends also came up.

Opinions varied as to whether the two are linked. We discussed how in some cultures, asking for forgiveness is a part in the process. Not necessarily as a condition for forgiveness, but as a step in the process.

I've been faced with a situation.

Let me ask you this...

Aside from whether or not you've forgiven, if someone has wronged you by doing something stupid and, well, illegal... would you give them the opportunity to redeem themselves?

Would you be willing to be a part of that person's "rehabilitation" process?

I'll let you all know the details tomorrow, but I just figured it would be interesting if I asked for your thoughts.

I like lively and constructive comment sections... so here's your chance!

"The only real mistake is the one from which we learn nothing."
~John Powell

Tuna fish... tuna dog?

First, I want to thank all who left good wishes for Sharkdog aka Chelsea the Queen Beagle aka my bestest little girl puppy in the whole world (you have to say that last one in a high pitched babytalk sing song tone to get the full effect).

There are some professions I don’t envy… like Alaska King Crab fisherman, road kill cleanup specialist, septic tank technician and avian vomitologist (owl vomit collector – yes, this is an actual job). Veterinarian is one of them. At least regular doctors have nurses they can assign to the task of giving a patient an enema.

In between two encounters with the monkeys I work with, I took a few minutes and called the vet’s office on Friday to make an appointment for Sharkdog. I told the vet tech (they have some gems working there I can tell you) about Miss Chelsea’s sore tail end and that she had yelped when I patted her and she gave us an appointment for Saturday early afternoon.

About fifteen minutes before the appointed time, I corralled Sharkdog into the car and chauffeured her to the vet’s. She hates that drive. She looked like the stick-up Garfield plush toys we used to have stuck to our car windows back in the 80s.

The vet techs were happy to see her (she suckers every one in) and came over to say hello. Sharkdog gave them a hello sniff and then tried to escape from Alcatraz um.. the vet’s waiting room. I held firm to the leash thus foiling her desperate lunges... err... best laid plans. She also gave me the “you’re not leaving me here again look” and I gave her a smooch on the head and told her everything would be ok (she understands me, you know... she doesn’t believe me, but she understands me).

The vet (he’s new but took care of Tobey aka Dumdum once and we think we like him) came and said hello and lead us to the “torture chamber”... I mean, the examination room.

Turns out the anal gland condition some of you mentioned?... yeah. As much as I adore my dog I am NOT EVER going to deal with this myself should it occur again. The vet had me put Chelsea on the exam table and we went through her symptoms.

This is not Chelsea (obviously), but you get the idea:

I told him sometimes she does the “boot scoot” and he went straight for the anal gland impaction hypothesis.



He positioned his hand at her ...um ... poop shoot and “massaged the glands”. Out squirted some yellow anal gland juice (which apparently is the normal colour) so no infection. YAY!

But then... the smell hit my nostrils and I gagged.

For a while that afternoon she was known as Tunabutt. I was attempting to explain this smell to my Honey (who had never dealt with this despite having had many dogs in his life) over the phone last night and the best description I could come up with was: picture a can of tuna in oil dating back to WWII soldier rations days that has been punctured open and left out in the baking sun of the Sahara desert for a few decades and you have a fraction of the smell that came from my dainty baby girl dog’s nether regions.

That was THE.MOST.VILE.EXPERIENCE. EVER!

Let me just say, anal gland juice could be used as a weapon of mass ... um... torture. Wanna smoke a terrorist out from the caves of Afghanistan? Pop an anal gland juice bomb in there and watch them run out vomiting, green as clover and St Paddy’s Day beer.
Seriously, unless Osama Bin Laden has had his nose surgically sealed and can keep his mouth closed while breathing through his eyeballs, this smell could send him running towards the allied forces if he thought they could make the smell stop.

Yeah... that bad!

The vet also checked out her ears and poor baby has bacterial otitis in both ears. So I have ear cleaning drops and antibiotics and we go back in a week for a follow-up.
She still isn’t fully back to her tail swinging days and I’m keeping an eye out for that. The vet manipulated the tail (stop smirking) and didn’t find anything... so we’ll see.
Sharkdog is now resting in a corner under a chair in an attempt to keep Dumdum the hell away from her behind – yup, things are back to normal. She isn’t falling for the “But baby, I just wanna express your anal glands” trick.

If anyone knows how to contact the R&D branch of the armed forces let me know. I think they need to look into anal gland juice as a weapon... seriously.

Oh... and just so that "internetpetvet" knows: Sharkdog has no problems eating fibre. Or anything else she believes is edible... like MY CHRISTMAS CHOCOLATES! Thus leading to the sparklepoop incident... that dog always has butt issues.

"My little dog - a heartbeat at my feet."
~Edith Wharton

it's Friday... so

...why aren't I doing the Happy Friday dance?

I'm worried about Sharkdog. Her tail doesn't lift well when she needs to take care of business (which both dogs have now taken to doing in the house with great regularity and I'm not a happy camper) and when I gave her a morning snuggle she yelped out as I touched her tail.

I just hope it's not serious.

I'm a bit too worried to be silly at the moment. But I thought I'd leave you with an honest to goodness sign posted outside a farm near Honey's...

I'll let you know how the vet visit turns out.

Od you say...