It's December in Austin, which means...

A high today of 87 degrees! It was 55 when I woke up this morning. After four years (end of this month) in Austin, I don't think I'll ever get used to the temperature fluctuations. My windshield keeps cracking. It's something about the laws of physics and sciencey things that happen when hot things get cold and vice versa.

Anyhoochie. I'm not going to apologize for taking a break from posting because it makes me hate myself (the apologizing, not the taking of the break), but I wanted to tell you about the weather. I went for a walk outside this afternoon in the boots I wore to work because it was 55 degrees this morning and now I feel sweaty. When winter comes to Austin though, it doesn't f*ck around. This weekend? Highs of 39 degrees, lows 29-31 degrees, plus 50-60 % chance of rain. Happy we had a cold snap a few weeks ago that motivated me to dig out my winter gear because I'm going to need it.

Speaking of winter gear, here is a photo of my dog in a Snuggie™. She has one. I don't. Because I figured out how to use a remote control and a telephone while being warm and simultaneously covered by a blanket a long time ago. (Snuggie lovers, I do not judge...unless I see you in one at the grocery store because my mother raised me right.)

The cutest EVER, right?

Stay warm wherever you are!

Money can't buy happy...

But it can bring on a smile or two. I went to the Austin Craft Riot Holiday Show last Sunday (teeming with crafty Austin Etsy artists) and got this sweet new collar for Lulu from LizzieBeesThings:

Happy Halloween!

Lulu in her bee girl costume. Still trying to teach her how to tap dance..."all I can say is that my life is pretty strange..."



And I didn't forget about Miss Kitty, even though she hasn't been feeling well lately. I skipped the whole costume, but she has a rooster hat. And hates it. I couldn't get a single pic with her pretty blue eyes open. In fact, she looks pretty pissed.



I have become the woman who dresses her animals up for Halloween. Yay for me.

Does that LOOK like a busy bee?

Let me preface this confession by saying I've had a stressful week. Not just work, but Miss Kitty has had UTI issues on and off for a month or so and I got results back Saturday morning that she has "feline lower urinary tract disease," so besides the $300 and something I've paid for bloodwork, urinalysis, antibiotics, etc. so far, I had to go back to the vet and pick up special food and another round of antibiotics, which ran me about $100. AND I have to bring her back to do it all over again in another couple of weeks. Not that I wouldn't pay any amount of money to keep Miss Kitty healthy; it's just bad timing.


So yesterday was Lulu's birthday and since she's torn apart her squeaky man twice (my mom has sewed it up once, but this last time she really shredded him), I decided to go back to PetSmart where we found squeaky man and get her a new one for her birthday. Let me also add that Lulu loves her squeaky man. She sleeps with it and has been looking for it every night since I put it away because she tore the stuffing out of it.

I had just left the vet's office and figured I'd pop in to PetSmart and return home with a new squeaky man. Not so easy. They didn't have any up front (where I found the other one 2 months ago). So I asked one of the women working up front if she could help me find it. We went to the toy aisle and I tried to describe it ("it looks like a cookie cutter and has no face, but it's made from fleece and squeaks...") and the nice lady kept holding up other toys (Lady: "is this it? It's fleece." Me: "That is a SHEEP, not a man.")

I was actually starting to get tearful (note: lack of sleep = tired and emotional) when I realized I had become Parker Posey from "Best in Show" when they lost the busy bee and she had to find another one. Video below - fast forward to the 2 min. mark if you want to know what my PetSmart meltdown looked like.



I spent another five minutes or so letting the PetSmart lady drag me up and down the toy aisle, showing me everything that wasn't a squeaky man before she told me I could probably order it on the web site. I meant to thank her, but instead I said, "if I wanted to order it online, I wouldn't have come to your store!" (or something equally bitchy and stupid).

I called my friend Charlie and told him what happened (he's usually the person I call when I need to do a crazy check). He said, "we must never speak of this again."

Then I went home and took a Xanax and a really long nap. With a day's perspective and some sleep, I feel a lot better, less crazy, and now I know I can order squeaky man on the web site.

UPDATE: My BFF, MK, who is also Lulu's Fairy Dogmother, brought Lulu a fleece covered stuffed squeaky bone-shaped toy that is close to the size of squeaky man last night and Lulu loves it.

My furbaby is one year old today...

I can't believe she's been with me since she was 8 weeks old. And that there was a dog person hidden inside my cat lady. Or that I could love a little ball of fur whose poop I have to pick up in a bag WITH MY HAND so much. She got me off the couch in December. She gets me out of bed every day. She's been better for me emotionally than any shrink I've ever seen (after all these years it's nice to discover that all I needed was a furry animal to tell my secrets to who would simply respond with a worried expression and a cock of the head...could have saved a some $$ on therapy if I'd figured that out 10 years ago).

Baby Lulu at 8 weeks:


Lulu today:


She's a very happy girl and we bought a dozen "birthday bones" from the dog bakery to hand out to her neighborhood fur-buddies. Happy birthday to my little furball!

Skip this one if you're not a dog owner and/or are easily grossed out...

Because dogs are gross. As many of you know, after being a cat person for most of my life (with the exception of briefly living with my former roommate's rambunctious beagle-hound mix that I never liked), I became a dog-mom to a Pom in December of last year. My Miss Kitty is still the love of my life and gets lots of attention, though you wouldn't know it by looking at my Flickr photos (more than 100 photos of Lulu the Pom and only 16 photos of the cat). But I LOVE this dog. I mean, I really love her. I never thought I could love an animal this much. And here's proof:

I have never changed my nieces' or nephew's diaper because I have a strong gag reflex, but I have cut more dingleberries out of my dog's butt fur than I can count. I pick up poop with a bag over my hand. I let her lick my face, fully aware of where that mouth has been. And more than once I've had to do a bathtub butt-wash on an angry puppy who clearly ate something that didn't agree with her (because sometimes the poop scissors just won't cut it, no pun intended).

The first time Lou threw up, I completely freaked out when she snapped at me when I tried to clean it up because SHE WANTED TO EAT IT. I have since learned how to play keep-away with the dog vomit, dog in one hand and paper towels in the other.

My adorable, sweet-faced puppy took a chunk out of my arm when I tried to move her off of my mother's living room rug while she had a t-bone in her mouth. She made me bleed and I blamed myself, not the dog.

She won't eat dog poop, but her affection for cat sh*t is much like a gourmand's for rare and expensive truffles. We have many outdoor cats in my neighborhood and when Lou takes a dive under a bush while we're on a walk, I know exactly what she's after. Most of the time, I am able to pull her away, but I have had to use a poop bag on my hand to extract cat sh*t from her mouth. Also, if I am not on litter box patrol 15 times a day, I am likely to find Lou somewhere in the house by the trail of clumping cat litter. And since Miss Kitty is purebred Himalayan (i.e. not that bright and very change-resistant), she refuses to use a covered cat box. I also have to keep an eye/ear out for Kitty hacking up a hairball, because Lou likes to eat those too.

Speaking of where Lou's mouth has been, we love to walk in Hampton Park, but I have to be hypervigilant because Lou also adores duck poop. I think if I had a steak in one hand and duck poop in the other (ew), she'd pick the hand with duck poop.

She licks my ankles when I get out of the shower or when I put lotion on. And I let her. I don't know why, because it grosses me out to be clean and then immediately covered in dog spit, but she likes doing it so much I feel bad about telling her no.

I do not want to admit how many times I've played "what's that smell?"

I've taken Lou shopping at SuperPetz and Petsmart and let her pick out her own toys, even if it's a toy like her fleece-covered squeaky man that she loves, but I know he's going to be covered in spit and will no longer be white within five minutes of returning home. And she'll want me to touch the spitty thing and play with her.

I think it's adorable when she farts while sleeping and wakes herself up, even if it smells really bad. I still laugh.

Cats are easy. When I brought Miss Kitty home, she weighed about one pound and was so teeny I initially followed her all over the house. I also thought I'd have to train her to use a cat box. Within 24 hours I realized she already knew how to do everything herself, that one does not train a cat, and that she was the boss of me anyway.

Dogs are a completely different story. Lulu was 8 weeks old when I brought her home and was the neediest creature I've ever met. I spent all of December and a good part of January cleaning up after her, as she peed joyously wherever she stood. I got up three times a night to take her outside in 30 and 40-degree weather. "Crate training" lasted for two days and she has been sleeping on a pillow next to my head at night ever since. There was even a two-week period during which I cried at least once a day because I thought I chose a mentally-challenged dog that would never stop biting me, eating anything she found on the sidewalk, and peeing everywhere except on her puppy pads.

Then the training kicked in and she no longer bites me (except for the t-bone incident), she only potties outside or on her puppy pads, and she's just big enough now so I no longer have to pick her up and put her on my bed when it's time to go night-night. I beam with pride when people tell me she doesn't act like a "yippy little Pomeranian." I say thank you when they tell me how adorable she is, as if I am somehow responsible for her cuteness. I can have the worst day and come home to a wildly spinning little furball who is overjoyed to see me, even if I've only been gone for an hour.

So yes, dogs can be gross. But they're worth it. And now I completely understand all my friends over the years who let their dogs slobber all over them. I get it, and I hope I wasn't too judgmental about it. I feel bad about the times I've visited friends and they've had to patrol their dogs so they wouldn't jump all over me (as I stood frozen with my arms in the air in a "no touchy" position). I welcome it now, really. Jump and slobber away.

Also, if any of my sisters or nieces want to have more babies, I promise to give diaper-changing a shot.

Celebrating Lulu's 9-month birthday...

Yes, it involved a pupcake. She celebrated early with the family the week before. I'm still wearing a band-aid on my arm because she nipped me when I attempted to move her from rug to floor at my mom's house after my mom gave her a t-bone...note to self: my dog is not "food aggressive" (she's "food motivated"), but when it comes to real steak bones, stay away.



Some milestones: She is big enough to jump on my bed (and off of it) so I didn't have to buy puppy stairs after all. She knows what it means when I say "get your ball." She's protective and barks her ass off if a stranger comes to the door (we've done the "no barking" training, but I like that she barks to alert me). I've left her alone for 8 hours and she didn't act out (only pottied on puppy pad and didn't chew any shoes). She doesn't cry when we go for rides in the car anymore. And my favorite: She tells me when she needs to go outside (she used to just go on her pad).

Miss Kitty didn't participate in the birthday festivities, but she refrained from torturing Lulu for the day (drinking out of her bowl, taking over her dog bed), which was gift enough.

Lulu is 8 months old today!

Yes, I celebrate her monthly birthdays. And she gets a "pup cake." I've become one of "those" dog moms. I was looking through some photos yesterday and my little Pom has gotten so big! I think she was about 2 lbs. when I brought her home:



And at her last vet visit, she was NINE POUNDS. She official outweighs Miss Kitty. Some of it might be fur, but I'm hoping she doesn't get too much bigger. My happy girl:



Now I understand why people end up with multiple dogs. When they get to the "teenager" stage and stop being puppies, you want another one. I do, but will resist. I haven't forgotten how hard the potty training and having to stay close to home for the first few months were.

Happy 8-month birthday to my little pip!

Lowcountry Dog love...

My little Lou is in the April/May issue of Lowcountry Dog! The print edition hits the streets starting tomorrow, but you can see the issue online here. Click on the flipping pages to open a reader and you can see Lou on page 16 at the bottom of the page (wearing one of her Old Navy sweaters).

Follow Lowcountry Dog news on Twitter here!

Puppy looks less like hamster, more like dog...

Before, at 2 months old:



After, at 4 months:



She's over 5 lbs. now and I no longer fear she'll be snatched up by a bird of prey. Some milestones: She can jump up on the couch (and did it all day long once she discovered she could). She can reach objects on the coffee table (which is why my Prada frames for my favorite pair of glasses look like I have an oral fixation). She chases squirrels instead of running away from them. Best of all, no one mistakes her for another animal when I take her for a walk (she was accused of being a cat twice and a guinea pig once).