Nom de Plume

Oh the humiliation.

So much for the never-ending “I hate that useless little freeloader.”

The boyfriend and the dog are now BFFs. It all started when I went to California a few weeks ago. Steve took Harry swimming every day. Now, he takes him everywhere he goes. Day before yesterday, Steve actually threw him in the Jeep to go to the bank. (When asked why, he said–rather defensively–”I’m trying to teach him fiscal responsibility.”)

Yesterday, Steve bought a canoe in preparation for his nephew coming to visit. He bought it off Craig’s List, so drove a pretty fair distance to get it, and then he went canoeing up by Deception Pass.

And yes, he took the dog. Apparently, Harry was so traumatized by being in a canoe that he kept jumping in the water. And he was tired. So tired, in fact, that he permitted this indignity upon his person:

Marie came over for dinner last night, and the boys chilled under the table.

“Hmmm, is there any food under here?”

“Um. That’s not food.”

“I’m feeling very uncomfortable.”

“WHOA!”

“Perv.”

Bye now.

… because then hatching that many eggs would would have been completely normal. Observe:

I’m nervous. I am not sure I completely trust this thermometer. But oh well. Here goes the grand hatching adventure.

It’s a rainy, gloomy, cold sort of day, and Steve is back to working on the house:

And Harry is doing his favorite thing:

NOOOOOOOO…..

Now I don’t sell soap, but wouldn’t these be great Pug Sudz product shots?

Mr Demo didn’t like the old windows he installed, so he put in new ones. It’s hard to tell from my pictures, but this is a huge improvement. I didn’t even mind the old ones, but then again, I didn’t have the vision. As I keep being reminded.

And while I’m uploading pictures, here’s a snap of Harry on Christmas. The ribbon traumatized him.

(harry)(foster pug)*(steve)(nightshift)=crazy pug lady

To explicate: I am fostering a pug for Seattle Pug Rescue. He’s a little, erm, bundle of energy named Obie. He and Harry get along just fine, though sometimes Harry has to put the smackdown on the rambunctious puppyness. Which secretly thrills me because most of the time, Harry just lets Obie hump him.

Also, Steve is now working the night shift. He goes to work at about 3, and comes home about 2 in the morning. He’s actually on a schedule that’s more like mine, which is weird because he’s always gone to bed at something obscenely early like 8 in the evening. But I find that I’m lonely rattling around the house at night.

Which leads me to the whole point of this post: I have become a crazy pug lady. Steve pointed out the other day that I actually CONVERSE with the dogs.

Scary.

This summer, I’ve wended my way through a long series of completely forgettable books–aside from Harry Potter, of course– and so haven’t felt compelled to post reviews of anything. But my luck has turned! A few weeks ago, Steve and I went downtown and hit Elliott Bay. Lo and behold, I hit the kiddie lit mother lode. Actually, I only bought two (the rest are on hold at the library), and one of them was a complete dud (Adam Gopnik’s “The King in the Window”). But Jeanette Winterson’s “Tanglewreck”–well!

The time tornadoes are raging when Abel Darwater pulls up to the old house Tanglewreck, where Silver lives with her horrible guardian aunt. He’s looking for the Timekeeper, a mysterious clock that will allow him to control time forever. He whisks Silver and her aunt off to London, still trying to wheedle information out of Silver–who escapes into the underground world of the Throwbacks. Along with her Throwback friend Gabriel, Silver goes on a quest to find the Timekeeper, where she runs into clever plays on words, imaginative representations of particle physics, a commentary on commercialization, and a whole host of other adventures that are surprisingly sophisticated yet still palatable to a younger audience

I don’t really know how to describe Tanglewreck, except to say that it’s a little “His Dark Materials,” a touch “A Wrinkle in Time,” and a smidge “The Phantom Tollbooth.” But we all know that comparisons are odious, and this is wholly its own imaginative work. Highly recommend.