Thursday, March 31, 2011

Lilypad of doom

You know that feeling where your tonsils have been removed with a toothpick via thousands of tiny stabs until it's rip-out-able with a a set of demon fangs, laid out in the road, salted with road salt, run over by that guy I saw in the diabetes aisle at CVS this morning, and then hastily super glued back into your throat, but not before some other demon triggers a massive saliva flow, forcing you to swallow what feels like molten lava every other second?

Yeah, that feeling sucks.

But apparently I'm not contagious, no strep throat here, so life will go on.

Speaking of life, a whole big bunch of shit has Gone Down since last we spoke, namely the acquisition of the Dog from Hell and the frantic adherence to Caesar Milan's training techniques, most of which would have come in handy had we read it BEFORE we adopted this dog, but our research was focused mainly on compatible temperament per the descriptions laid out by the foster family, and thus our first encounter with Stretching The Truth resulted in a dog we drove 10 hours to pick up and bring home, but which was nothing at all like we expected her to be.

Meet Lily.


We chose Lily because of her age (9), her need (unadopted after months in foster care), and her temperament (easy-going and mellow). The only way this dog could be described as mellow is if the foster family was A) on a strict diet of methamphetamines and Mountain Dew, or B) they all smoked pot and blew it in Lily's nose. ALL DAY LONG.

Because Lily is not mellow. She is very much ECSTATIC to be alive, jumping on the counters, placing her paws on every guest's torso and dancing the waltz, pulling me on the leash so that I end up with rug burns on my palms because I? Go too slow. Apparently. And my lack of being able to Be! Everywhere! Right! Now! seems to be a problem for her walking requirements.

At least that was Lily before the training lock down began. Now she is much better, but we're freaking exhausted, and it's not over yet.

Turns out I'm at the bottom of the pack in our household after Scary, Gray, then Lily. I'm the pee-on, go-fer bitch. I'm the pushover. (Newsflash, I know.)

So now I've had to begin Claiming My Space and Appearing Big and Exuding Calm/Assertiveness and HOLY FUCK CAN A BITCH JUST SIT DOWN FOR A MINUTE?

Plus, she sheds. She's the ultimate tripple threat. With a whip instead of a tail.


Idn't she cute?