14 posts tagged “puppy-love”

As you may have surmised by now, there is a real affection in this city for anything anti-car.  We’ve been here just short of three months, and we’ve witnessed at least one event or demonstration every other week.  We’ve even been stuck at a major intersection walking back from grocery-shopping once, due to the (seemingly never-ending) parade of bicyclists (clothed ones, thankfully) participating in the monthly Critical Mass ride.  I fuckin’ love it.

So of course we joined in on the fun during Sunday’s Car-Free Festival.  Throughout the day, various streets and blocks in Vancouver were limited to traffic of the foot and bike variety.  In the West End, Denman Street (one of the major commercial roads in our area) was closed to vehicles from 12-6.  Much like the Grand Old Day event in St. Paul, food and merchandise vendors lined the street and local businesses spilled over from the sidewalks.

The variety of entertainment was impressive.  We saw musical acts ranging from native to folk (banjo included) to techno to punk.  We watched demonstrations in break-dancing, tango, salsa, and Brazilian martial arts.  And I just about died of happiness over the number of adorable puppies running about.

Conveniently, this event was held THREE BLOCKS from where we live.  So we were able to walk the walk (literally) and leave the car behind.  No worries though, The Couv, we still love your sweet (albeit semi-polluting) ass.

Things have been progressing smoothly as we continue transitioning into Canadian life (knock on wood).  We now have bank accounts, a temporary parking permit, bus schedules, a telephone book and a very clean apartment/storage locker.  We are extremely excited to be retrieving our belongings this weekend, as the whole sitting and sleeping on hardwood floors has gotten really old really fast.

A lot of folks have been asking how Shane and I are doing.  So far, we’re both feeling great.  We’re still in a vacation-like mindset about this move, so we haven’t yet had time to sweat the details (i.e. finding work, paying bills, etc.).  I’m sure once we are more settled in, we’ll feel a stronger sense of urgency about the financial aspects of this change, but right now we’re focused on simply getting settled.  (And it certainly helps that the weather here has been sunny and the cherry blossom trees are starting to bloom.  Yay spring!)

On an unrelated note, I recently read (in the Newcomer’s Guide to Vancouver) that one in four Vancouver families own a dog.  This means there are about 60,000 dogs in the city.  I can’t wait to meet them all.

This month’s banner theme is puppy ornaments!  Back in 1992, my grandmother bought me the second in the Hallmark collection Puppy Love.  We shared an adoration of our family’s dog, Sugar, and thus I loved that she bought me this gift.  From that year on, she purchased each addition to the series as part of my yearly Christmas present.  When she passed away, my mom took over the gift-giving.  And when Shane entered my life, he went on eBay to find the ornament that had started it all in 1991 (sound familiar?).

 

Understandably, the tradition of receiving Puppy Love ornaments (now a complete set!) has come to mean a lot to me.  Though I am not normally a big collector of trinkets like these, I am excited to see what new little dog will be released each year.  So it feels very appropriate (and totally for cute) to incorporate them into this month’s banner. 

 

Happy December, everyone!  (And on behalf of the MN weather: welcome to winter, bitch.)

Barely a half-mile into an easy run last week, a large, black dog came bounding out of the woods onto the path I was running along.  He stopped for a quick pee and then looked over in my direction.  I knew the moment he made eye contact with my moving legs that the morning's exercise was about to be permanently interrupted.

 

Sure enough, the dog came charging after me, tail wagging in anticipation of a chase.  Any sane person would have probably started sprinting in the OPPOSITE direction, but I quit running and turned around to greet the big beast.  As he jumped and licked at me, I noticed that he was still attached to a walking leash.  So while I continued petting him, I picked up the leash and looked around for an owner.

 

There was no one in sight; not a single person anywhere!  How odd.

 

I checked the dog’s collar, but didn’t find any tags.  So I stood there, trying to control this hyperactive bundle of puppy energy, and wondered what the hell one is supposed to do in this circumstance.  I didn’t want to let go of him (I couldn’t bear the thought of him not finding a safe way home), yet I wasn’t too keen on spending the rest of my day keeping Mr. Excitement from charging every single car that passed by.  (Which he was very intent on doing.)

 

After five or ten minutes of waiting for someone to appear (and untangling my new companion from his leash several times), I decided to head back to the apartment and make some phone calls.  I tried the number for animal control (not open), the direct line to the police department (busy with other calls) and my parent’s place (had no other ideas).  Then Shane suggested we take a trip around the block, to see if anyone in the neighborhood would recognize the pup.

 

Fortunately for us, his owner was circling the area in a minivan at the same time.  About ten minutes after we began our walk (at least 40 minutes since I found the dog), she spotted us and pulled over to claim her pet.  Apparently, he had taken off after a rabbit earlier that morning and never came back.

 

This story obviously has a happy ending, and I’m glad that it did.  But I’m still baffled by my initial question.  What is a person supposed to do when finding a lost dog?  Is there standard protocol for dealing with this type of situation?  (Perhaps one that doesn't involve my patio plants getting chewed on?)

I’ve made clear on this website that I love puppies, but let me start this post by reiterating.  I LOVE PUPPIES.  Since a young age, I have found them to be positively irresistible, in any type or size, even when I have close encounters of the biting kind (see: Running the Lakes, Passing German Shepherds).  I can’t get enough of puppies.

 

However, I am YEARS away from owning a dog, what with the moving cross-country thing (plus that whole “is specifically prohibited in most apartment handbooks” bit).  So I try to find substitutes where I can, even if it means resorting to levels not seen since my grade school years.

 

Enter: the Puppy Machine.

 

I found this gumball-style dispenser at the local grocery store about two months ago.  In the display were a multitude of half-inch plastic puppies for purchase.  And how much were those doggies in the window?  Mere quarters!

 

Cut to: shot of me, not getting my money out fast enough.

 

Thus began a downward spiral that ended only last week, with me having collected 12 of the 14 breeds (and given away many “extras”), due to my inability to defy all that Made in China cuteness.

 

I know, I know, the environmentalist in me wants to watch me suffer a slow, plastic-bubble-induced death, too.  And you haven’t even heard the worst part yet!  Shane managed to find the ENTIRE collection on eBay (who knew?), which he ordered for me last week.  So I will soon have all 14 varieties of dog, plus doubles, in my possession.  Yay rabid American consumerism!

 

Let me know if you would like to adopt one of these fine little critters (and join me in the fire pits of Mother Nature’s hell), and I will gladly set one aside for you, too.

Well, I finally got my act together and created a new banner for June.  I’m beginning to question the wisdom of putting the months on each banner, as they make it all the more apparent when I’m – what’s that word again? oh yeah – procrastinating.  Like a son of a bitch.  But taking out the text would require re-thinking how I’ve been going about creating these banners, a difficult request considering how much I enjoy that whole procrastinating thing.  (Like a son of a bitch!)

 

Anyway, this month’s banner is dedicated to my beloved (and oft-mentioned) loose-leaf tea.  I swiped borrowed the lovely pictures from the website for Mighty Leaf; each one showcases a different green tea variety that I love.  So, without further ado, I’m pleased to introduce (from left to right): Jasmine Pearl, Genmaicha, Sencha and Tropical.  They will be your terrific and tasty hosts for the remainder of the month (and most likely the first few days of July).

 

I should also mention that my posting may become somewhat sporadic as the summer swings into gear.  I simply can't see myself sacrificing the outdoor lunch ritual every day, though I promise to make exceptions when there is important immigration news to share, rantings to be written or unbearably cute puppy pictures to post.

 

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the toasty cup of Genmaicha that has been waiting ever-so-patiently for me to finish.  Who knew hot rice/popcorn/plant water could taste so good?

I have a thing with spiders.  I don’t know when it started exactly, because I never experienced problems with them as a kid (or with any other creepy-crawlers, for that matter) (except for ticks, hated those damn ticks).  I was constantly getting my hands up in Nature’s business – catching turtles and snakes and bugs of every color, size and shape.  I scoffed in the face of arachnophobia and laughed at the squimishness my friends exhibited.  Spiders were nothing to fear; they even cut down the insatiable MN mosquito population every year.

 

But now something has shifted.  Now I have spider issues.  Not with all spiders, mind you.  I’m still okay with the smaller types, and I can handle daddy-long-legs just fine.  (In fact, last summer I adopted our patio’s resident daddy-long-legs and named it Fang.)  The bigger and blacker those spiders become, though, the more I am apt to morph into the stereotypical chair-standing, muffled-yelping, dramatic-gesturing kind of pansy I used to tease mercilessly in my younger days.

 

How the HELL did this happen?

 

Perhaps it’s the apartment.  Every spring, we undergo a sudden surge in spider population, made all the more noticeable due to the limited square footage available for our “guests”.  And these spiders are at least the size of a quarter, with an ominous, dark look about them, one that surely speaks of sinister plotting.  I can’t help but look at them and think EVIL.

 

If only spiders were cuter, with teeny dog heads, for instance, in place of all those eyes. Then my instinct would not be to instantly smash them, but to lovingly encourage them to nest and create happy, little spider-puppy families.  I’d even go out and buy the bacon-flavored bag of dead flies, if Nature would oblige. 

 

So does anyone know how I can get in touch with Darwin?

 

The pressure is on, of course, now that Shane and I are married.  The potential grandparents are itching for me to start hurling my guts every morning, heralding the impending arrival of a magical, golden Grandchild (cue angelic music).  The extended family members have been dropping their hints about BABIES! with all the subtlety of a nuclear bomb.  After all, this is what Married People DO, right, this reproductive thing?

 

Well, as much as I hate to break it to them, we would kind of like to leave the baby-making to the other Married People.  (Like, say, our siblings.  Yay for siblings!)

 

You see, I’ve never wanted BABIES!.  My mom can recall plenty of stories of a younger me playing with dolls, but I can’t remember one instance when those pseudo-children were “mine”.  In my imaginings, I took care of them on a temporary basis; I was the nanny or the kind orphanage director or the kick-ass superhero sent to save the little tykes from something Mean and Bad.  (Does this make me one evolutionary step away from Angelina Jolie?)  Blame it on my genes or introversion or a practical side that clucked its tongue at my short attention span and warned, “baby today, neglected doll tomorrow,” but no WAY was I taking on the role of Mommy.  Uh-uh.

 

Since becoming an adult, my feelings have changed very little.  Kids can be great, sure, but I still like the concept of handing them off to the real caretakers at the end of the night.  That’s why I’m excited about being an aunt in a way I’ve never been about being a parent.  I’m much more comfortable with the main responsibility lying somewhere else.  There is simply too much non-kid stuff left to do with my life!

 

I know, I know, those of you with BABIES! can’t imagine your lives without the joys and pains of parenting.  I do respect that, as raising a child sounds like one of the most challenging jobs around.  But it's not the type of work Shane and I currently aspire to put on our life resumes. 

 

So could you please quit asking about it?  (And perhaps inquire about PUPPIES! instead?)

 

What’s yours?

This month’s banner is brought to you courtesy of Sugar, the dog my family owned when I was a wee young lass (happy March!).  She was supposedly a purebred Maltese, but given her large size and curly fur, some poodle probably got thrown in there as well.  (And possibly a sheep or two, you never know with these farm dog types.)

 

Of all the puppies I’ve known through the years, Sugar was by far the most comical – sometimes intentionally, but oftentimes not.  In her younger days, the humor came in many forms: her eagerness to perform any trick for an audience (including playing dead to the Bonanza theme song), the unabashed excitement she exhibited whenever my grandma visited, the way she humped my mom’s shoe around (and around) the dining room table, and so on. As she got older, we found plenty of laughter in the awkward positions she chose to sleep in (e.g. sliding halfway down the couch arm, with her ass far above her head), her delirious enthusiasm for peeing outside, and how grumpy she got whenever someone woke her before 7 a.m.

 

I really did love that dog.

 

We put Sugar down in May of 2002, a fate determined by her rapidly deteriorating eyesight and failing bladder control.  She remained the energetic class clown right through the end.  I stayed up late with her the night before, giving her a bath and eating KFC with her, right out of the bucket; we had a blast.  The next morning, as I said my final good-bye and she looked at me cheerfully with her tail all a-wagging, I took comfort in knowing she was leaving our lives as happy-go-lucky as she had come into them.

 

If I age even half as joyfully, then the best is definitely yet to come.