Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Puppy Diseases

Our family is being forced to keep a shameful dirty secret. So, shhh, please do not share this with anybody. But, I have to get it out. I have never been good at keeping things in.

Okay, here goes. Our new puppy, Daisy,  has Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, ADHD.

I warned you it was bad.

On the way home from the Humane Society with the little scamp wrapped in my son's arms, she was so sweet. It's as if she knew not to reveal the truth of what she was made of, the devil inside. She pretended to be complacent, a bit shy, and strangely calm for a puppy. But, with her disease being the strength that it is, the signs slammed at us by the second day.

One minute she was chasing my son around the living room, and then the next she was running toward me trying to figure out what that laughing sound was coming out of my mouth. That was when I first suspected. Then came the chasing of our old cat, to noticing her tail and having to chase it, to attacking an innocent stick.

The first night with Daisy, she snuck into my room twice to play. Waking up to a dog trying to chew your arm to wake is not a pretty scene. Other family members gave the same report in the morning. This dog is relentless.

The other animals of the house knew about her before we did. But then, they are all old and wise. Our Australian Shepherd won't play her puppy games. The twelve year old cats will barely sniff at her. But who can blame them? We don't really know if ADHD is contagious.

On her way to the food bowl last night, she passed the open dishwasher. Before I could even pour in the detergent, she had hopped up on to the open dishwasher door, grabbed a spatula, and was out the dog door teething on it! I think that spatula is the only thing she has been able to concentrate on for more than 15 seconds. Sad, isn't it.

I believe that enjoyment of the spatula brought about her other ailment. Oh, can I go on with what disorders poor Daisy has? This one may be worse. I've heard people whispering about it in back alleys and biker bars. It's called teething.

Thank you, readers, for letting me spill my guts out to you. I have no one else to turn to. But, well, the pup has been chewing on old shoes, table legs, foam blocks, a door stopper, and occasionally her dog toys. My only comfort here is that we agreed for her to only chew on a pair of my old stained pink shoes. She has been quite reasonable about that. I'm thinking that they probably smell the worst out of all of them.

Right now she is asleep in a fold of blankets on my bed. Being cute is the only thing that has kept us from tossing her back at the Humane Society. It would serve them right, having to take her back. I mean, how were we supposed to know that puppies have so much energy, chew things, and want to play all the time?

Well, at least we know Daisy won't get much bigger than she is now at two months. Because a St. Bermastiff, half St. Bernard and half Bull Mastiff, doesn't get much bigger, right?

Heather Leigh,
acknowledged companion of ADHD puppy

Friday, June 19, 2015

Off-Beat Optimism

I feel extremely sorry for the Friday night Zumba teacher at the health club. That poor woman has rhythm, spunk, personality galore, and just gets that Latin beat. And she has to teach her salsa based class to a dozen women who have absolutely no idea what it means to step in time to the beat.

Don't get me wrong, I am NOT making fun of my fellow class mates. Because I am the worst of the worst in that class. Having been three times now, I have just begun to kind of, sort of, keep up with her moves. At least, I'm now only a beat or so behind.

Can you imagine teaching such a class? That woman is nothing if she is not optimistic. She is thrilled when we almost catch on to one of her dance moves.

It's like when we give our dog a half-eaten apple core. Might as well just feed her a whole salmon.

But I guess I have the same disease she has. When I log on to my account and see how many people have purchased my books, my heart does this wiggly dance. I admit to getting geekily happy. Maybe it has something to do with that whole 'follow your bliss' thing. Finding out that there are people out there who want to read what I made up--Wow. How do I even describe that one? Well, I guess I'm backed in tocorner and just have to give some ideas:

  • a hummingbird flying in to a Kool Aid festival
  • ticks, fleas, and cockroaches simultaneously decide to become extinct
  • Alan Rickman, my movie star crush, sees me being interviewed by Oprah for my latest best selling kids book, and falls instantly in love
  • an hour of play time with Britain's royal corgis
  • discovering that Hogwarts is a real school, and being admitted
  • school is now being held at Disneyland
At least one of those must convey to you the kind of joy I get from selling my books.

Oh, and a world in which everyone is living in abundance by following their bliss. Now that would be cool.

Heather Leigh,
Optimistic Author

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Serious Dishwasher Issues

My sons' friend recently got a job as a dishwasher at a local seafood restaurant. A urine test was required. And thank the good lords of law for that!!! Can you imagine if she were a drug user???!!! I mean, think of all the things she could have screwed up that would directly affected us, the consumers of fish and chips? She could have:

  • burned her finger while lighting up, causing her to feel pain when washing in hot water. That would justifiably have caused her to use cold water when rinsing dirty plates. In turn, the plates could have bacteria lurking, unkilled and unharmed, by the normally hot water that is used. The next time I went in for fresh salmon, I could have been killed by salmonella!
  • been on heroin while using the automatic washer, put in too much soap, and then had bubbles falling onto the kitchen floor. The slippery, bubbly floor could have caused another employee to trip and crack open his head. This employee would have to be carted away via ambulance to the ER. This would cause two more issues: 1. The expense of this whole ordeal will cost the insurance company oodles of money, eventually raising every ones rates. 2. My meal would take longer to get to me with all of the hullabaloo that will be going on.
  • taken crystal meth and be imagining that there are bugs crawling on her skin. She would want to get the tweezers from the first aid kit to rip out the imaginary bugs. When the owners of the restaurant see her plucking at her skin for something that does not exist, they would call the insane asylum. The meth'ed out dishwasher would be carted away in a straight jacket. The above two issues come into play here. The only benefit to this occurrence, could be if there is a writer at the restaurant. Because that scenario would make a great short story.
So now that we are on the same page as to at least three of the common problems with dishwashers who take drugs, we can get on to the even bigger risk going on here.

Book writers are self-employed. Yes, you know what I mean. We do NOT take drug tests!!! If the Dishwasher Druggie epidemic that is sweeping the U.S. is bad, think about the not-talked-about problems of Writer Users. They are infiltrating the fabric of the social network of our country. There are twenty-six letters in the English language. That gives every writer utilizing English twenty-six chances a day to screw up our citizens. Just imagine the possibilities of damage that could be done:

  • pot writers could be so mellowed out, that they use incorrect grammar and bad spelling. A whole nation of people reading and believing that Mississippi only needs two S's!
  • Cocaine addicts could be so hyper, they write tiny blurbs about hundreds of subjects. Think we have a problem with ADD kids now? Wait until they start reading the low attention span prattling of Coke Heads.
  • hallucinating mushroom-eating writers could experience what they believe are out of body experiences...and then write about it. How will we know what is true to life anymore? Us innocent readers would believe what they write, when it is actually just a bunch of phooey that was brought on by a drug induced state. Our nation will be swarming with people not knowing who to trust or what to believe in any more.
The list of issues with Druggie Writers is simply a Pandora's box that is unlimited with world-destructive problems. I am just getting too depressed to dwell on it any longer.

All I can do, is my part to save the World: I stay away from drugs. It may make me a geek in the world of Druggie Writers, but I am determined to do my part in being a part of the solution, not the problem.

You are welcome.

Heather Leigh,
sober author

Friday, June 5, 2015

Smiling, Happy, Disgusting

Since moving, I have been afflicted with friendly neighbors, cute baby goats and piglets, and organic fresh eggs. This whole pacific northwest, small town thing has gone overboard. If I am not accosted with happy smiling people out walking their dog, then it is the kids outside playing basketball in the street in their ultra safe neighborhood. It is sickening, people. I can't even get to the co-op organic farm behind our house to pet the newest goats, without some lawn mowing neighbor waving hello. Or another dog walker greeting me and admiring our australian shepherd. How am I supposed to live like this?

 I am living in Mr. Roger's neighborhood.

The only salvation I have is my teenage sons. They keep me sane.

Last night they sent a prevention to my being overly happy. Turning back the bed covers, ready to read 'The Last Enchantments by Charles Finch' (loving it!) there was a loud, vibrant, third degree EEEEEHHHHHH!!!  scream coming from me.

My eldest had hidden a plastic cockroach in my bed. My worst fear, and best at bringing out my loudest exclamations.

Now you might be thinking this was cruel of him. Actually, the blame goes with both of those boys. His brother knew about it and did nothing to warn me. That makes him an accomplice in the eyes of the law, and his mother. Back to the story: the boy was pitching forth his best effort to keep my real world sense of humor alive. If that is not love, then I don't know what is.

The list of shameful enjoyments in this area extends to our backyard. We have two fir trees with swallows, red robins, ravens, sparrows, doves, and who knows what other kind of nasty cute creature is flying around out there. All they do is chirp, sing, and look arrestingly gorgeous. How am I supposed to work here? All I want to do is bird watch in my own backyard.

Again, the eldest has come to the rescue. He hung up a bird feeder right outside the dining room window. What the bigger birds don't want, they spill over the sides, onto the ground. The little birds are in a blissful state as they eat the ground seed.

It is in the perfect location, great for us to watch the eating frenzy, and right outside the garage door.  The garage door that our excellent hunter cat can also watch the tiny prey. She will soon be putting an end to those pesky flyers.

Oh, I'm just kidding. Don't get all weird on me. First time that cat kills a bird, she will be wearing a collar with a bell. I'm not that bad.

Anyway, I have to get going. The movable chicken pen from the farm has just been moved to directly behind our fence. I feel the need to watch some hens.

Heather Leigh
cluck, cluck, cluck!