It’s Not All Puppies and Kittens

Having just finished another long streak at work (9 out of 10 days in a row),  I tend to start my weekend with a sleep in. No worries about when to wake up, just whenever sleep runs out.  Perhaps it’s just another form of procrastination, but I like to take the time to appreciate other simple pleasures.

Hot tea in a favourite cup. Being able to pick and choose a flavour depending on my mood. Delicate Monk Pear. Solid Earl Grey. Soothing Camomile. Zingy green tea with fresh lime.

Cupcakes, all crumbly vanilla cakey goodness with gooey sticky sweet butter cream.

Hot soup with slurpy noodles. It might be summer, but I’ve got a man cold and soupy noodles have been making frequent appearances. Add to that sharing noodles with friends for added fun.

A favourite squishy pillow that is always ‘just right’.

Mr Darcy, in his various incarnations.

Indulging ones inner nerd. In this case a secret love for Star Trek. Uhuh. It’s true.

Surprise birthday packages.

Furry puppy cuddles.

So it’s been a while since I posted, I know, I’m sorry. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to post, thought about posting, or have been lacking things to post about….just kind of got caught up with work and life and SURPRISE! it’s more than 6 months later and ‘oh crap’ I haven’t done anything I planned to.  I’m very good at procrastination, and very bad at decision making. I get the important stuff done, but I get distracted easily. Strange, since at work I like to be organised, and neat and on the ball. Lets just ignore all the tumbleweeds of dog hair and un-done washing up at home.

So I made some New Year’s Resolution’s. Resolutions made? Many. Resolutions kept? *Cough* One or two. I have good intentions, what can I say.

What’s happened for the last few months?   In October 2009, we went on an actual, real, proper holiday to New Caledonia – there will be photos up eventually. I discovered I quite like photography. I remembered why crafty things make me happy and have done some sewing and baking. I’ve worked a lot, and then some more. I’ve actually finished a few books. I’ve tried to make some spare time. I’ve failed miserably at getting regular exercise, but I have been remembering to eat lunch, mostly.  I’ve caught up with family and friends. I love my dogs. I’ve decided to torture myself and consider enrolling in a Master’s degree (no final commitment at this point, however).  I’ve learnt a lot, done a lot and have a sense of achievement. I’d also really love to have a nap right about now, but can’t  because I have not actually done anything constructive today, and it’s only 1:44 pm.

Tights should not count as ‘pants’. Not even in a financial crisis.

Given the global financial crisis (or GFC as appears to be currently trendy) it’s understandable that non-essential or luxury spending gets put on the back burner. We all have to tighten our belts, cut back a little on frivolous things and count our pennies.  However, I’m not sure the GFC counts as an excuse to be downright rude, nor cry poor and berate the employees of a business for the cost of services. Generally speaking, things cost money. If you want to buy things, you pay money. Common sense also dictates that if you do no know how much something costs, you might ask the cost, then consider whether it is something you can afford. If you cannot afford it, you  turn it down purchasing it and decide to wait until later when you are in a better situation. Yes?

Which brings me to my gripe for today…

If you turn up seeking an estimate for an elective procedure, you have two choices:

A) If you find the cost acceptable, agree to go ahead with the procedure, or
B) If for whatever reason you are unable or unwilling to proceed, you politely decline to go ahead with the procedure. Sometimes you might say something diplomatic  like “I will need to schedule that later”, or “I need to save more money” or even “Let me consider that…”, you know, to humour us. Telling the truth is not a neccesity at this point.

At this point one thing would seem obvious, but since common sense is not so common it bears mentioning: If you don’t know how much something costs, you should ask someone. There is no point saying things like “Don’t spare any cost!”  because that usually means “Do everything as long as it costs less than $100″. If it’s followed by a proclamation of how deep, true and endearing the love of the pet is, that figure is usually more like $50.

Note the absence of option C) (Loudly) announce that you find the find the cost ridiculous and unacceptable yet still agree to go ahead, and later continue to tell anyone that cares (and even those that don’t) how abhorrent you find the whole deal especially once you discover that are you required to pay a deposit.

Also absent is option D) Blame the vet (loudly) for all that is wrong with the world, including the GFC and follow it up with  a domestic dispute in the consultation room about whether you actually own the pet and how the cost of treatment compares to how much you paid for the pet.  Optional extras including various comments such as “This is ridiculous!!!”, “If you loved animals, you would do this for free!”, “I have to eat you know” and “This is why you all drive expensive cars!!”.

Life is good. Uhuh.

An apple a daykeeps the doctor away ….or is it 10 000 cobs of corn in a box, 10 000 cobs of corn, take one down and pass it around…  you’ve still got lots of corn.  I will explain later. 

First, since my last post was so very long ago let me update you with some random thoughts:

• I was recently a bridesmaid for my dear cousin at her wedding. After spending several months feeling like an ineffective attendant (after all, I only really turned up to events when I was told, I didn’t actually organise anything) I managed to save the wedding with minutes to spare. How you ask? With my awesomely fantastic surgeon skills.  But really, how? If I told you, I would have to kill you. 
• I’ve lost my cat spey mojo and I am sad.
• I’m still yet to understand why grown men, particularly those of considerable age and wisdom (it’s un-PC to refer to them as ‘old’,  right?) will happily inform you that their dog is ‘a grumpy old codger” then think it’s a grand idea to restrain it by jamming it’s head in their crotch. Yeah, you do that. 
• Endearing consult of the week. Health check of two guinea pigs. Bought by small child. Found by child’s mother 3 days later. Living happily. In the child’s pencil case. Really hard not to laugh. Guinea pigs are unscatched except for an incident with a green crayon, hopefully that’s only temporary. Child may not be allowed out alone again until the age of 30.    
• Happiness is… garage sale loot. 
•  I’ve been told that my expectations are too high if I expect that the average person could reasonably know or even just guess that some physiological processes are common to all mammals. Perhaps ‘mammals’ is just too complicated. Or perhaps it’s the reproduction part that is so hard to understand. Birds. Bees. Boys. Girls. C’mon, even bogans manage to make it work!
• I wonder whether losing my copy of Sense and Sensibility is something of an omen, given that I discovered it’s absence after a particularly crazy few days at work. Is there hope for me yet? 
• High heels are hazardous to ones health. After 2 weeks, I still have a tingly big toe. 
• Some things are hard to explain. Pigs in blankets. Devils on horseback. Dogs in jumpers. Am yet to completely comprehend dogs in underwear. It’s wrong, on so many levels. 

Moving on…

Last Saturday, my dear OH, ever willing for  a spot of adventure, decided that shoving me out of bed at 6:45am on a Saturday morning after I’d just work 8 out of the last 9 days, was a good idea. As it turned out, it wasn’t such a bad idea but that’s completely beside the point. 

So we toddled off to the markets, the swap meet sucked but I was allowed to wander through the Grower’s Markets.  Not being one to pass up a bargain, I ended up with a  pumpkin. And a pineapple. And some asparagus. And a box of apples….and an entire box of corn. Practicalities of an entire box of corn aside, how could you see it for sale for $5 and just leave it there. So on the premise that I would work out something to do with all the corn, we left with a box of corn. Did I mention that’s a lot of corn?

Corn. Lots of corn.

With Google as a trusty companion I set about determining what to actually do with it all. Apparently blanching, cooling, chopping and freezing is the go, so that’s what I did. The end result of 2 hours effort, $5 and 40 odd cobs of corn….

Now… did I mention there were apples? This is really just an excuse for me to prove that I was allowed to touch MrIT’s magical camera and also managed to take a reasonable shot, just like you might find on an actual food blog. Or not.  

And so, after one too many glasses of fermented grape juice, I think that is the end.

As anyone who works with me can tell you, I had a cracker of a week last week.

There was much cursing. There was lost sleep (that’s the bit where I care too much). There were hi-5’s. There was (hypothetical) wall punching and threats of bodily harm for so much as an inkling of doing something dumb (sorry Dan!).

I am over it all now, so I will spareyou the minute details.

Final count:

• + 1 chihuahua surviving emergency surgery = win!
• + 1 (different) chihuahua still alive despite it’s owner = win!
• - 1 box of chocolates to say “Thankyou” =  fail!
• - 100 IQ points = current estimate for unnamed persons responsible for lives of said chihuahuas.

Pictures speak a thousand words right?

For reasons still mostly unknown to me, MrIT offered to accompany me to a local op-shop today. We did a very similar thing last week. Strange, but true. Normally this would be a strictly solo adventure. I’ll ask no questions, glad for the company. I tend to buy a lot of books on these trips, I like to think of it as my contribution to the community but in reality I’m cheap and like a bargain. I tend to just wander and gather as I go but lately have been trying to stick to “literature”. I also have no aversion to the pre-loved condition or musty smell, much to the horror of a very close friend who is strictly new, clean, unadulterated book kind of girl.

One day in the foreseeable future, I’m going to require some more bookshelves but for now we’re doing ok.

Today’s effort: 6 books. $6.

A previous effort: 12 books, $26.

So there’s a TV ad screening at the moment. For a GPS.

Something along the lines of:
[Whining Male]: How will I know where to go? (*snort* like that would be uttered in public)
[Witty Female]: I’ll tell you where to go.

Apparently, this is something that I would say. Apparently.

One of the advantages of having power over your own blog is that you can do a bit of snooping and see where visitors come from and how they got there. 

I recognise a few regulars *waves* who have come from the various forums that I frequent and other real life friends as well. I don’t have a lot of traffic but the Google searches that get people here are, well, interesting. 

Of course, by discussing them here I’m probably only going to make things worse for myself but oh well. 

I suppose that anyone looking for “puppies kittens dogs cats and mans penis” is going to be sorely disappointed. Probably also not going to be that taken with the veterinary anatomy textbooks available through Google Books either (which completely incidentally is like, you know, my vote for the 8th Wonder of the Modern World).

The results are probably equally disappointing but less disturbing for whoever was looking for a DIY guide for “palpating pregnant Jack Russel Terriers”. 

Lastly comes a search that is most curious and funny. Still not sure whether its funny peculiar (it’s definitely peculiar) or funny ha-ha. Possibly funny ha-ha if you’re are a safe distance from the Googler in question. It would take a special type of person to seek “sex stories with the word goober in them”. I was talking to MrIT about this and he thought it was kind of kooky but not that bad. Until I pointed out that I said “goober”, not “Google” like it was some kind of nerd prOn.

Reminds me of that little ditty –  ”When god was handing out brains, I thought he said ‘trains’ and I asked for a slow one”.

There comes a time, surely in any job where all you really want to do is find a wall and beat your head against it a little. If that’s not on the cards, then maybe it’s sticking a post-it to you head that reads “Think before you talk” or wearing a t-shirt that says “I’m with stupid”. 

One of the problems with being put in the position of being an advocate for animals is that sometimes people don’t like what you say or do. Sometimes it’s because they don’t really listen, sometimes it’s because they don’t understand and sometimes, I don’t know, sometimes they just don’t get it.  I guess this is really no different to any other industry, there will always be difficulties to overcome. I think it’s probably also important to point that the vast majority of people that we see are really very interested and concerned by what happens to their pet and that’s what make the job so rewarding. 

Nevertheless: 

- If your friendly veterinary surgeon pulls strings to organise your pet a consultation with a specialist at very short notice, the correct action to take is…  actually turn up. 

- If you own an animal that has taken an intense dislike to everything and everyone inside a veterinary hospital and ranks “shredding people” at the top of it’s to do list, it will be given “happy drugs” to make it’s stay more pleasant and allow us to remove the sticky bandages from it. It’s not because we don’t like you. It’s not because we take every opportunity to charge you more money. It’s just like I’ve said before, we like to keep all our limbs intact. 

- If you happen to be the owner of an animal that has been given “happy drugs”, consider whether “he’s too relaxed” is really something negative. Let the poor creature enjoy the purple mice on the ceiling for a little bit longer, yeah?

- As awesome as I am, I don’t always bring my crystal ball to work, nor are my x-ray fingers always functioning. Thus, I will sometimes require diagnostic tests and procedures to aid me in determining what ails your pet. I accept that this may be perceived as a sign of failure, even though I hope it makes me more like House but with few random diagnoses plucked from the air. I also accept that you’re convinced that I do this in order so that I may purchase my next BMW or personal jet but would like to invite you to view the staff car park and note the abundance of small sedans and hatchbacks greater than 10 years of age (my RX8 is in the garage…).