My sister, Pixie, is here at the HKC until Tuesday afternoon, which means P-A-R-T-A-Y! I'll post more as our schedule allows. Woot!
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
At Ruby Tuesday with the Colonel
[perusing the menu]ME: They sure have changed this menu around since we were here last.
COL: Yeah, they have.
ME: Hmm, they even have lobster now. That's new.
COL: Well, I'll be damned. Says here I can get a piece of tail for just $8.99.
ME: Nine bucks?!? That's cheap.
COL: Sure is.
ME: And to think you could get it from me for free.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Back home, safely
Lucky and I got home about 30 minutes ago, tired but just fine otherwise. However, about an hour north of Birmingham, Lucky began running a fever and became very lethargic. I called Dr. Sam* and then floored it to get back to Small Town before the clinic's 5:30 closing time.
Lucky's stomach is still bloated even a week after getting dewormed, and that's probably due to a large amount of infection in his abdomen. If an animal has scabies long enough, the bacterial infection caused by all the scratching can affect the lymph nodes—and all of Lucky's are badly swollen.
Dr. Sam* gave me some strong antibiotics to try to clear up the infection without having to cut open our new little buddy, and I'm taking him back for a check-up early next week. Lucky's feeling slightly better now and is relaxing in the spare bedroom; I'll post updates as I get more info.
Lucky's stomach is still bloated even a week after getting dewormed, and that's probably due to a large amount of infection in his abdomen. If an animal has scabies long enough, the bacterial infection caused by all the scratching can affect the lymph nodes—and all of Lucky's are badly swollen.
Dr. Sam* gave me some strong antibiotics to try to clear up the infection without having to cut open our new little buddy, and I'm taking him back for a check-up early next week. Lucky's feeling slightly better now and is relaxing in the spare bedroom; I'll post updates as I get more info.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
From the Country Music Hall of Fame & Museum
From a Nashville hotel room
Monday, May 25, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Lucky—in more ways than one.
The Colonel returned from the Appalachian Trail on Monday, and Tuesday was the first time we'd gotten together in nearly two weeks. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder, even when you (or your loved one) are off having a good time and Being One with Nature.
He left me a phone message as he was leaving his house: "Hey, baby. It's ten minutes 'til 12, and I'm on the way. Should be there about 12:30 or so." So I showered, did a load of laundry, and waited for him to arrive.
Before I knew it, 12:30 had arrived. No Colonel. Sometimes he stops on the way to my house to pick up a six-pack of beer, or to fill up his 4Runner's gas tank. So I didn't worry very much. 12:40 arrived, and he still hadn't gotten here, but I still wasn't worried. He probably had to stop and pee in a desolate churchyard somewhere, or maybe the checkout line at the convenience store was longer than usual.
12:50pm: No Colonel.
1:00pm: Still no Colonel. When I tried calling him, his cell phone rang once and went straight to voicemail, meaning that he was somewhere out of cell-signal range.
I was worried, but then quickly realized there was nothing I could do until he got here, or I heard from him, one. So I lay down on the bed with the kittehs and took a short little nap.
Just then, I heard the front door open. "Sorry I'm late," the Colonel said. "Had to stop for gas and run a couple errands." I was just happy to see him, and we hugged tightly for a few minutes.
"God, I'm starving," I said. "Are you ready to go eat?"
He held up a finger. "Let me pee first." When he returned from the bathroom, he had a I-know-something-you-don't-know gleam in his eye. "I've got a surprise for you!"
"Yeah, I know. It's Mr. Weasel."
"No, you already knew about that. Come on, I'll show you." I followed him out the front door—why hadn't he parked in front, where there was room? I started to wonder just what this surprise was, if he'd parked at the back of the house. Ooh, maybe it's a new car! I thought. Maybe even an '81 Corvette, just like his! (The Colonel also has a '68 Corvette, but it's kind of a travesty—more on that later.) But all I saw at the back of the driveway was his 4Runner. Damn. So what could be in the car? Jewelry? Books? Clothes?
"What is it? Tell me!"
"You'll see, you'll see!" We got to the 4Runner, and the Colonel opened the passenger door, looking into the seat and then the floorboard. Nothing.
"Is it a kitteh? A turtle?" The Colonel often rescues turtles who get stranded in the middle of busy roads.
He opened the driver's-side door. And there, in the floor, right up against the seat...
...was the skinniest, mangiest, most pathetic-looking little puppy I'd ever seen.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhh!" My heart was breaking. "Where'd you find this little guy?!?"
"He was sitting right on the yellow line, in the middle of the road near the concrete plant. I just couldn't leave him."
My jaw dropped. "In the middle of the road?!?"
"Yeah," the Colonel sighed. "He didn't even flinch as I drove past him—too confused to know to run. I looked back at him in the rear-view mirror, and that was it. Burned rubber in reverse getting back to him. Thought somebody might run over him before I could grab him."
My cute-fit was in full-swing. "Let me get my camera!"
"He doesn't need a camera—he needs a vet. You got a cardboard box?"
We took the puppy to Dr. Sam's* vet clinic north of town. The tiny little dog whined and near-howled throughout the drive, and I climbed into the back seat to peer into the box and talk to him. It did me more good than him. "He's just scared," the Colonel said. "Probably thinks he's going to be dumped out again."
I agreed. "Bet somebody had just left him there when you happened by."
"Thank God I did, too. Don't think he'd've lasted much longer."
My eyes filled with tears. "May the people who let him get like this FUCKING ROT IN HELL."
"For real."
On the way to the clinic, the puppy ate nearly a cup of store-brand cat food, and drank nearly half a bottle of water. His back half was so skinny, and his belly all bulgy with worms and God knows what else. And the smell—dear God, it was awful. He had almost no fur at all, and a nasty brownish-yellow crust covered his whole body. Only his lower legs and paws had any vestiges of his original color: kind of a reddish-brown.
Dr. Sam diagnosed the little fellow with a bad case of scabies (aka "the mange"), fleas, and worms; he sprayed the puppy with puppy-strength flea killer, gave him an injection to help treat the scabies, and told us he'd probably need another scabies shot in a couple weeks. A couple weeks? The Colonel and I exchanged looks. "You can bathe him with Dawn dishwashing liquid," Dr. Sam* said. "It'll help get that bacterial crust off him, and cut way down on the smell, too." By this point, both the Colonel and I were nauseous from the little dog's smell.
"You can't dip him?" the Colonel asked.
"Too young," Dr. Sam* replied. "Dip'll kill him." Dr. Sam wasn't offering to take this little dog, as we'd hoped he might, nor to find him a home. The Colonel and I exchanged looks again, and Dr. Sam* excused himself to answer the phone.
"Well...I guess he could stay with me..." I offered.
"Mmmm—I was hoping the vet would offer to care for him and stuff," the Colonel replied. "Guess we can't leave him here..."
I thought hard. "Well, we'll figure something out before you leave today."
The Colonel paid the bill, and we put the puppy back in his cardboard box and set him in the back of the 4Runner. We drove to get our takeout picnic lunch, discussing the little dog the entire time. We got back to the house, and when the Colonel went to get the little guy out...
"Sound asleep," the Colonel said.
"Probably the most rest he's ever had," I replied. "Been a tough day."
"Let's leave him here for now." The Colonel rolled down the back windows and positioned the box so it would shade the little dog. When he got ready to leave, we put the puppy in an old plastic storage tub, well away from kittehs and chickens. Murphy, the Colonel's bitter little dog, had cataract surgery a couple months ago, so he wasn't sure bringing a scabies-infested puppy home was a good idea right now.
I gave him a bath Wednesday evening, which helped with the smell, but another bath—this time with deodorizing puppy shampoo and a curry comb—is in the works for today.
As he was leaving Tuesday night, the Colonel suddenly had an idea. "I know what his name is—Lucky." He sighed deeply. "I made him a promise when I picked him up out of the road: 'You're not gonna die today, and you're not gonna die like this, all skinny and mangy and unloved.'"
It's funny how things happen: the Colonel was late getting to my house, but because he'd stopped on the way, he drove along just in time to save an abandoned little dog from a cruel and painful death. A couple weeks ago, I wished for the patience and knowledge to be able to foster a dog, just in case—and my opportunity appeared out of nowhere.
The universe works in mysterious and wonderful ways.
He left me a phone message as he was leaving his house: "Hey, baby. It's ten minutes 'til 12, and I'm on the way. Should be there about 12:30 or so." So I showered, did a load of laundry, and waited for him to arrive.
Before I knew it, 12:30 had arrived. No Colonel. Sometimes he stops on the way to my house to pick up a six-pack of beer, or to fill up his 4Runner's gas tank. So I didn't worry very much. 12:40 arrived, and he still hadn't gotten here, but I still wasn't worried. He probably had to stop and pee in a desolate churchyard somewhere, or maybe the checkout line at the convenience store was longer than usual.
12:50pm: No Colonel.
1:00pm: Still no Colonel. When I tried calling him, his cell phone rang once and went straight to voicemail, meaning that he was somewhere out of cell-signal range.
I was worried, but then quickly realized there was nothing I could do until he got here, or I heard from him, one. So I lay down on the bed with the kittehs and took a short little nap.
Just then, I heard the front door open. "Sorry I'm late," the Colonel said. "Had to stop for gas and run a couple errands." I was just happy to see him, and we hugged tightly for a few minutes.
"God, I'm starving," I said. "Are you ready to go eat?"
He held up a finger. "Let me pee first." When he returned from the bathroom, he had a I-know-something-you-don't-know gleam in his eye. "I've got a surprise for you!"
"Yeah, I know. It's Mr. Weasel."
"No, you already knew about that. Come on, I'll show you." I followed him out the front door—why hadn't he parked in front, where there was room? I started to wonder just what this surprise was, if he'd parked at the back of the house. Ooh, maybe it's a new car! I thought. Maybe even an '81 Corvette, just like his! (The Colonel also has a '68 Corvette, but it's kind of a travesty—more on that later.) But all I saw at the back of the driveway was his 4Runner. Damn. So what could be in the car? Jewelry? Books? Clothes?
"What is it? Tell me!"
"You'll see, you'll see!" We got to the 4Runner, and the Colonel opened the passenger door, looking into the seat and then the floorboard. Nothing.
"Is it a kitteh? A turtle?" The Colonel often rescues turtles who get stranded in the middle of busy roads.
He opened the driver's-side door. And there, in the floor, right up against the seat...
...was the skinniest, mangiest, most pathetic-looking little puppy I'd ever seen.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhh!" My heart was breaking. "Where'd you find this little guy?!?"
"He was sitting right on the yellow line, in the middle of the road near the concrete plant. I just couldn't leave him."
My jaw dropped. "In the middle of the road?!?"
"Yeah," the Colonel sighed. "He didn't even flinch as I drove past him—too confused to know to run. I looked back at him in the rear-view mirror, and that was it. Burned rubber in reverse getting back to him. Thought somebody might run over him before I could grab him."
My cute-fit was in full-swing. "Let me get my camera!"
"He doesn't need a camera—he needs a vet. You got a cardboard box?"
We took the puppy to Dr. Sam's* vet clinic north of town. The tiny little dog whined and near-howled throughout the drive, and I climbed into the back seat to peer into the box and talk to him. It did me more good than him. "He's just scared," the Colonel said. "Probably thinks he's going to be dumped out again."
I agreed. "Bet somebody had just left him there when you happened by."
"Thank God I did, too. Don't think he'd've lasted much longer."
My eyes filled with tears. "May the people who let him get like this FUCKING ROT IN HELL."
"For real."
On the way to the clinic, the puppy ate nearly a cup of store-brand cat food, and drank nearly half a bottle of water. His back half was so skinny, and his belly all bulgy with worms and God knows what else. And the smell—dear God, it was awful. He had almost no fur at all, and a nasty brownish-yellow crust covered his whole body. Only his lower legs and paws had any vestiges of his original color: kind of a reddish-brown.
Dr. Sam diagnosed the little fellow with a bad case of scabies (aka "the mange"), fleas, and worms; he sprayed the puppy with puppy-strength flea killer, gave him an injection to help treat the scabies, and told us he'd probably need another scabies shot in a couple weeks. A couple weeks? The Colonel and I exchanged looks. "You can bathe him with Dawn dishwashing liquid," Dr. Sam* said. "It'll help get that bacterial crust off him, and cut way down on the smell, too." By this point, both the Colonel and I were nauseous from the little dog's smell.
"You can't dip him?" the Colonel asked.
"Too young," Dr. Sam* replied. "Dip'll kill him." Dr. Sam wasn't offering to take this little dog, as we'd hoped he might, nor to find him a home. The Colonel and I exchanged looks again, and Dr. Sam* excused himself to answer the phone.
"Well...I guess he could stay with me..." I offered.
"Mmmm—I was hoping the vet would offer to care for him and stuff," the Colonel replied. "Guess we can't leave him here..."
I thought hard. "Well, we'll figure something out before you leave today."
The Colonel paid the bill, and we put the puppy back in his cardboard box and set him in the back of the 4Runner. We drove to get our takeout picnic lunch, discussing the little dog the entire time. We got back to the house, and when the Colonel went to get the little guy out...
"Sound asleep," the Colonel said.
"Probably the most rest he's ever had," I replied. "Been a tough day."
"Let's leave him here for now." The Colonel rolled down the back windows and positioned the box so it would shade the little dog. When he got ready to leave, we put the puppy in an old plastic storage tub, well away from kittehs and chickens. Murphy, the Colonel's bitter little dog, had cataract surgery a couple months ago, so he wasn't sure bringing a scabies-infested puppy home was a good idea right now.
I gave him a bath Wednesday evening, which helped with the smell, but another bath—this time with deodorizing puppy shampoo and a curry comb—is in the works for today.
As he was leaving Tuesday night, the Colonel suddenly had an idea. "I know what his name is—Lucky." He sighed deeply. "I made him a promise when I picked him up out of the road: 'You're not gonna die today, and you're not gonna die like this, all skinny and mangy and unloved.'"
It's funny how things happen: the Colonel was late getting to my house, but because he'd stopped on the way, he drove along just in time to save an abandoned little dog from a cruel and painful death. A couple weeks ago, I wished for the patience and knowledge to be able to foster a dog, just in case—and my opportunity appeared out of nowhere.
The universe works in mysterious and wonderful ways.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Ask Mom™
We have just two questions this week for Ask Mom™, but never fear—Mom will be back in a week or two with more answers to your most pressing questions.
How do you avoid getting sucked into departmental politics and power plays, if this is at all possible? (I'm a TA and a little closer to the situation than I'd like to be, and this is a tiny little department anyway.)
--Heckawe
Boy howdy, it ain't easy! I found that out being employed in an office of men who thought Rush Limbaugh was speaking the Gospel, and Glenn Beck walked on water. Most of the time I just looked at them with my mouth hanging open unable to believe they'd 'said that'. The fact I didn't actually say anything, I think, spoke volumes. They all knew I'd like to take an AK-47 to them. People that stupid shouldn't be allowed to live, much less breed! It helped to realize how dumb they really were. Oh, a muttered "Jesus Christ" doesn't go amiss either. Power plays are ALWAYS about who has the bigger .... you know. Remember that. It helps. I've never worked with any liberals so I can't speak to that. There aren't any liberals in the South... or didn't you know that?
What’s it like to be a drawing-class model at age 60?
--anonymous reader
Ha! As long as I don't look at any of the drawings, it's the easiest money I've ever earned. No, really, if these kids (and I MEAN kids, 19-20 year olds) knew how old I really am, their little minds would just POOF! I want to hit them with something some mornings, when they're all whining, "I'm just SOOO tired! I've got noooo energy... I only got 8 hours last night. I've got 2 papers due [that they've known about for 8 weeks] and now I've got to do this final project in THIS class!" Holy Mary Mother Of Us All, Protect Me from the Young. Students tell me they like me better than the male model 'cause he's on the skinny side. Eh, hoser? Well, Children, no one has EVER called me skinny, especially NOW! Rubens and Titian would have loved me.... and I have red hair this week! (By the way: Not all my friends know I model nude. So don't tell anyone, ok?)
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
BRB
The Colonel has just returned from his nearly two-week-long sojourn on the Appalachian Trail, so today finds us getting together and...umm...getting together. [ahem] Sorry. My mother reads this blog.
I'll post later on today. If I can.
I'll post later on today. If I can.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
A nice day at the HKC
Today brings cloudy skies to Small Town and the Happy Kitten Cottage, as well as cooler temps—as I type this, it's 65 degrees with 95% humidity. (Yes, that's cool in the Deep South.) The cats have been fed, both indoors and out, and the chickens are happily pecking around in the back yard. I'm still in my pajamas, working on my first cross-stitch project since I was a Girl Scout, and will probably go for a walk later. And I'll be catching up on others' blogs today, since I actually have time.
It's a beautiful late-spring Sunday at the HKC. What's today like where you live?
It's a beautiful late-spring Sunday at the HKC. What's today like where you live?
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
Friday kittehs, featuring Kamakura and the Colonel
Kamakura is still gracing the Happy Kitten Cottage with her gorgeous and fluffy presence; the Colonel, meanwhile, is somewhere in North Carolina or Virginia hiking the Appalachian Trail. He'll probably be home early next week. Until then, here are some sweet pictures of Mama-kura and her favorite buddy enjoying an afternoon beer together.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Quick Chick
Notice the recurring motif of the running-out-of-frame chicken ass. Seems to be a theme here on E&P. Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Done.
I entered final grades a few minutes ago, including three F's for plagiarism. Looks like the students in question borrowed their papers from elsewhere—there's no way on earth they could write on a C level all semester and then come up with brilliant sentence structure, argument, and vocabulary.
On a happier note: I just got word that I've been selected to receive the Division II University Outstanding Writing Teacher Award. This is the second award I've received this year, and it comes with a cash prize, too. Hooray!
On a happier note: I just got word that I've been selected to receive the Division II University Outstanding Writing Teacher Award. This is the second award I've received this year, and it comes with a cash prize, too. Hooray!
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Delayed FAIL
All my Comp II students' assignments were to have been uploaded into their electronic portfolios by noon on Monday, May 4. But on Friday, May 8, I got the following e-mail from a fun and bright yet notoriously slack student in my afternoon class:
Hi, Prof Kitty I was going to upload my papers this morning and it wouldn't let me and I also noticed that my last paper was missing too and that one was uploaded on time can I e-mail you all the papers or bring them to your office I really need to make sure all of these items get turned in to you because I cannot fail your class. Please help me Prof Kitty
By the way: That "last paper" was due on April 10.
My reply:
Why were you not trying to upload these papers on Monday May 4, when they were due?
His reply to mine:
It wasn't finish I knew it was going to be late but I felt anything would be better than a zero.
My syllabus states that I do NOT under any circumstances accept late work. Once in a while, though, I do grant extensions; of 75 students this semester, three asked for extensions for documented and very believable reasons. However, this student didn't contact me on Monday, when everything was due.
But let's say I do actually accept the student's five-days-late research paper and portfolio, as well as his three-weeks-late last essay. Let's say I take off, as I often used to do, ten points for each day that it's late. The student would—at the very most—make 50's on both the research paper and portfolio, and a -110 on the last essay.
I feel an EPIC FAIL coming on.
Hi, Prof Kitty I was going to upload my papers this morning and it wouldn't let me and I also noticed that my last paper was missing too and that one was uploaded on time can I e-mail you all the papers or bring them to your office I really need to make sure all of these items get turned in to you because I cannot fail your class. Please help me Prof Kitty
By the way: That "last paper" was due on April 10.
My reply:
Why were you not trying to upload these papers on Monday May 4, when they were due?
His reply to mine:
It wasn't finish I knew it was going to be late but I felt anything would be better than a zero.
My syllabus states that I do NOT under any circumstances accept late work. Once in a while, though, I do grant extensions; of 75 students this semester, three asked for extensions for documented and very believable reasons. However, this student didn't contact me on Monday, when everything was due.
But let's say I do actually accept the student's five-days-late research paper and portfolio, as well as his three-weeks-late last essay. Let's say I take off, as I often used to do, ten points for each day that it's late. The student would—at the very most—make 50's on both the research paper and portfolio, and a -110 on the last essay.
I feel an EPIC FAIL coming on.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Chicken Monday!
That's what I'm going to call it from now on. No names yet for my feathered friends—I'm waiting to see which bird has what kind of personality, as well as who's male or female.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY 2009!
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY to all you moms out there, kitteh, hoomin, and otherwise!
From I Can Haz Cheezburger?
And, of course, Happy Mother's Day to my and Pixie's Mom, too, who has so often graced E&P with her image and advice. We love you, Mommy...and so do E&P readers!
From I Can Haz Cheezburger? 
And, of course, Happy Mother's Day to my and Pixie's Mom, too, who has so often graced E&P with her image and advice. We love you, Mommy...and so do E&P readers! Friday, May 08, 2009
Everything's okay!
Sorry to have worried a couple of you—all's well here at the Happy Kitten Cottage. I've simply been exhausted this week and have done little except sleep and eat. Give me a couple days, and I'll be back up to regular posting speed.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Belated chickens
Try not to worry—their feathers will soon grow back in. The new chickens are doing really well, eating and drinking as healthy six-week-old pullets should. I'll be buying them a larger "water fountain" this week, as six birds can drain a one-gallon waterer amazingly quickly, as well as some more feed. I'm not used to having to buy a 40-pound bag of feed more than once every few months. [grin] When they're around four months old, I'll switch them over to organic layer feed. Hens usually begin laying around 16-20 weeks of age, and I'm doing my best to keep my birds and their eggs as healthy as possible.
The last picture is my favorite: she's doing Dolphin Pose, in Chicken Yoga. And her little eyes are closed, too!
The last picture is my favorite: she's doing Dolphin Pose, in Chicken Yoga. And her little eyes are closed, too!
Monday, May 04, 2009
LAST DAY OF THE SEMESTER!
Today's the last day of Spring Semester, folks, and I am So. Freaking. Happy. Students are to have all their materials uploaded into their electronic portfolios by noon today. And I'm going home at 12:01. HA!
More chickens tomorrow. I promise!
More chickens tomorrow. I promise!
Friday, May 01, 2009
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