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Scintillating posts from Los Angeles...
My parents are fostering a Greyhound; his name is Jamison (immediately shortened to "Jimmy" by my mother). Greyhounds are difficult dogs to break into the world of being pets--they've spent their entire lives in crates and on the track with little love and affection from people. They don't understand things like windows, stairs, petting, small animals that aren't prey, and generally the word "no." Luckily, by nature, these animals are quite sweet and very loving and become wonderful pets. Unfortunately it takes a few months of fostering to bring the dogs up to speed so that they can become great pets. My parents have a Greyhound, Neville, who is almost the perfect dog (save for the GIANT body and the tiny head, but I digress)--we love him more than some family members.
With that said, Jimmy has had a hard life and helping him with the adjustment has been, well, a bitch (pardon the pun). He's territorial, he snaps, he growls, he's into everything, he likes to run around pacing at 3am, he occassionally pees in the house (guess what my job was Christmas morning?), he hides shoes, he takes food off the table, and knows how to hold a grudge (yes, really, the dog is passive-agressive, I kid you not). Oh, and he's smart--there isn't a baby door or lock that he can't bypass. Last night he went on a Christmas rampage--he found every pad and tampon in the house and shredded them on the living room floor. He managed to grab the gingerbread house AND the plum pudding from their "safe" places on the kitchen island and eat them, spreading frosting all over my parents' area rugs in the process. He was so happy in this orgy of destruction that I heard his tail going at 2:30 am and I came out to investigate. Argh. I was too tired to clean it up and dragged him into my parents' room and locked him in for the night. My step-dad got Jimmy's midnight suprise this morning but refrained from killing the dog. Part of me wishes he had, as later this morning, Jimmy came in to wake me up, got me out of bed, and when I leaned down to hug him, he threw his head up, bonked me HARD in the nose--giving me a nose bleed, a bit of a bruise, and a whole lot of pain in the process. I spent this morning crying, holding ice to my nose and cursing the g-d dog. Argh. He's already forgotten but I haven't. Double argh.
We were supposed to have gone to the Huntington Gardens and Musuem today to view the collection and the new botanical lab, but instead, I opted to nurse my wounds at home and spend time with the entire family (my sisters weren't going to go, they are allergic to all cultural activities not associated with MTV). I fly home tonight. Save for the injuries and the midnight canine vanadlism spree, it's been a great trip--the extravagant life crises (not mine) included as they really brought home the true meaning of Christmas. The best way to celebrate the season is in the service of others--my mother made me very proud this trip (sex life discussion nonwithstanding). It's been good.
Today we'll watch chick flicks together, make cookies, and say our goodbyes. Tomorrow I'm back in the office (our new office! with my new swanky computer and view!) with the new year to look forward to. I am so much happier this year than I was last. Huzzah and happy 2006!
My parents are fostering a Greyhound; his name is Jamison (immediately shortened to "Jimmy" by my mother). Greyhounds are difficult dogs to break into the world of being pets--they've spent their entire lives in crates and on the track with little love and affection from people. They don't understand things like windows, stairs, petting, small animals that aren't prey, and generally the word "no." Luckily, by nature, these animals are quite sweet and very loving and become wonderful pets. Unfortunately it takes a few months of fostering to bring the dogs up to speed so that they can become great pets. My parents have a Greyhound, Neville, who is almost the perfect dog (save for the GIANT body and the tiny head, but I digress)--we love him more than some family members.
With that said, Jimmy has had a hard life and helping him with the adjustment has been, well, a bitch (pardon the pun). He's territorial, he snaps, he growls, he's into everything, he likes to run around pacing at 3am, he occassionally pees in the house (guess what my job was Christmas morning?), he hides shoes, he takes food off the table, and knows how to hold a grudge (yes, really, the dog is passive-agressive, I kid you not). Oh, and he's smart--there isn't a baby door or lock that he can't bypass. Last night he went on a Christmas rampage--he found every pad and tampon in the house and shredded them on the living room floor. He managed to grab the gingerbread house AND the plum pudding from their "safe" places on the kitchen island and eat them, spreading frosting all over my parents' area rugs in the process. He was so happy in this orgy of destruction that I heard his tail going at 2:30 am and I came out to investigate. Argh. I was too tired to clean it up and dragged him into my parents' room and locked him in for the night. My step-dad got Jimmy's midnight suprise this morning but refrained from killing the dog. Part of me wishes he had, as later this morning, Jimmy came in to wake me up, got me out of bed, and when I leaned down to hug him, he threw his head up, bonked me HARD in the nose--giving me a nose bleed, a bit of a bruise, and a whole lot of pain in the process. I spent this morning crying, holding ice to my nose and cursing the g-d dog. Argh. He's already forgotten but I haven't. Double argh.
We were supposed to have gone to the Huntington Gardens and Musuem today to view the collection and the new botanical lab, but instead, I opted to nurse my wounds at home and spend time with the entire family (my sisters weren't going to go, they are allergic to all cultural activities not associated with MTV). I fly home tonight. Save for the injuries and the midnight canine vanadlism spree, it's been a great trip--the extravagant life crises (not mine) included as they really brought home the true meaning of Christmas. The best way to celebrate the season is in the service of others--my mother made me very proud this trip (sex life discussion nonwithstanding). It's been good.
Today we'll watch chick flicks together, make cookies, and say our goodbyes. Tomorrow I'm back in the office (our new office! with my new swanky computer and view!) with the new year to look forward to. I am so much happier this year than I was last. Huzzah and happy 2006!
