The dog eats yellow jackets. And wasps. And flies.
She enjoys the flies and keeps the house pretty clear of them. I approve.
I don't think she enjoys the yellow jackets. She eats them and whines and makes faces.
But she doesn't stop eating them.
Sorta the Savina Habanero chilli of the dog world.
Showing posts with label Cute animal stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cute animal stories. Show all posts
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Still Dithering
Didn't get much work done today. That is to say, I didn't get any further in deciding what to do with Chapter Fifteen. Too much other stuff going on.
I'm running a Writers Exercise group in Books and Writers Forum. This month's exercise -- tagging with extended action -- is taking a long time to critique, comment and moderate. Lovely exercises though. Lots of good writers there.
The weather has smiled. Today we had sunshine all over the place, instead of the thunderstorms they keep predicting.
Unfortunately, this means I have to cut the grass. No more excuses.
The dog keeps digging away at one side of the yard. Maybe she's chasing a gopher. I wonder if gophers can be counted upon to eat all the grass in the lawn. The squirrels certainly made short work of my strawberries and tomatoes.
I'm running a Writers Exercise group in Books and Writers Forum. This month's exercise -- tagging with extended action -- is taking a long time to critique, comment and moderate. Lovely exercises though. Lots of good writers there.
The weather has smiled. Today we had sunshine all over the place, instead of the thunderstorms they keep predicting.
Unfortunately, this means I have to cut the grass. No more excuses.
The dog keeps digging away at one side of the yard. Maybe she's chasing a gopher. I wonder if gophers can be counted upon to eat all the grass in the lawn. The squirrels certainly made short work of my strawberries and tomatoes.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Friday, March 31, 2006
Report on the Cat
6:43 Cat is chased up tree. Settles at an estimated height of 60 feet.
6:50 Dog barks madly.
6:51 Dog is sent inside.
6:52 and continuing. meow meow meow meow meow
7:03 Twilight descends.
7:15 Communication with a Fire Department spokesman reveals that Departmental Policy does not initiate cat rescue till animal has been in the tree 24 hours.
7:22 begin calling friends for reassurance.
8:00 Darkness is complete. Fortunately, really stupid cat is white and can still be spotted by eagle-eyed writer of historical fiction in the subdued glow of distant streetlights.
8:03 and continuing. meow meow meow meow meow
8:10 Having canvassed cat-owning friends, open can of tuna fish and leaves it at bottom of tree.
8:30 Cajoling continues. meow meow meow meow meow from cat.
8:42 Momentary silence. Sound of claws on bark. Cat descends to next lower branch. Now at 50 feet, give or take.
9:05 still on the phone, standing at the base of the tree. Cat is still a looong way up.
9:30 Take bath.
9:38 return to vigil.
10:15 Cat descends to 25 feet and crouches on branch, trying to decide whether to jump for it.
10:18 Cat walks length of branch and back again, still thinking of suicide jump. attempt to reason with cat.
10:25 meow meow meow meow meow
11:40 meow meow meow meow meow
12:40 meow meow meow meow meow
1:10 Historical Romance Writer stands under the tree, speaking kindly but firmly to cat. Cat stalks back and forth on branch. Considers jumping. Cat, after several false starts, finally figures out how to get her tail pointed to the ground, grips tree.
1:13 Silence. Bark scraping. Cat descends, frantically clutching tree, praying little cat prayers.
1:14 Cat achieves soft landing. Tries to bolt for the hills.
1:15 Cat is firmly returned to kitchen meow meow meow meow and given cat food. Historical Romance Writer goes to bed.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Kitten once again
So the pizza boy comes,
with two pizzas and a paper I was supposed to sign
and the dog barking ...
'bark bark bark it's the deadly pizza delivery man bark bark bark'
and me holding the dog and the door and the pen and two pizzas
and the cat got out.
'It's dark,' says I to myself. 'The cat will come back soon.'
So I waited. No cat.
I walked around the house. No cat.
'Dog. Go. Find the cat," said I.
Dog can't find the cat.
But I can hear the cat.
'Ah,' says I, sorting through various possibilities and picking the worst possible case. 'I know where she is.'
So I go out and look. I was right. The cat has fallen, jumped, or been pulled by nameless monsters from some H.P. Lovecraft universe into the sewer.
Probably she jumped. This is a very stupid cat.
meow meow meow meow meow
I discover I am not strong enough to remove the manhole cover. Those puppies are havy. Who knew?
If I were overseas, I would immediately call the US Embassy. I know this because I used to BE the one you called at the US Embassy when you lost your cat, or your car got towed, or you'd fogotten the name of your hotel and couldn't find your way back.
But I'm not overseas so I can't harass some hapless Vice Consul.
I dialed 911, figuring that was the equivalent.
911, in my small town, turns out to be deep-voice, calm, reassuring and male. I picture him as middle-aged and barrel-chested, with a fleshy face and 8 or 10 hours of beard.
'This is not a people emergency,' I said. 'It is an animal emergency.'
'We will call the Fire Department,' said he.
So the Fire Department came. They showed up in the person of a small, skinny girl who looked like she might be in High School. She listened to the cat in the sewer
meow meow meow meow
and then she lifted up the manhole cover. Ooomph.
Yep.
There was the cat, about twelve, fifteen feet down. Fortunately the sewer was dry as a bone, it not having rained for a while.
She talks on her cell phone.
'A ladder truck will be here in a minute,' she says.
And, sure enough, the ladder truck does indeed come, with huge working lights and two short but muscular men.
Everybody looks down the sewer.
meow meow meow meow.
It's a fine, clean sewer, as these things go.
'There's a kind of ladder on the side,' says one of the nice Firemen.
"I'll go,' says the nice young girl Fireman.
And she does.
She needs reassurance that the cat is not going to bite her. I think being a Fireman makes one cynical about animals.
She keeps quail – I have previously discovered this as we chatted, waiting for the ladder truck – and is allergic to dogs and cats.
I asked her whether she kept quail as an animal rescue thing or as an heirloom breed rescue thing, but she said she just likes quail. They hop, apparently.
The kitten is hoisted up.
The Firemen up top help pull the lass out of the manhole, 'Oh look, she got her jersey dirty.' And they shake her hand. 'Congratulations on your first cat rescue.' So I think she's new.
I thanked them many many many times. I explained, 'the cat has the intelligence of a loaf of bread.'
As they walked back to the firetruck, one said to the other 'I don't do snakes.' which gave me a favorable view of his intelligence.
That was Sunday night.
Tonight, at 6:43, an idiot walking his idiot Labrador let it loose in my yard. It chased the kitten up a tree. 60 feet up a tree.
I am sitting on the back porch looking at the kitten up a tree.
Intelligence of a loaf of bread.
with two pizzas and a paper I was supposed to sign
and the dog barking ...
'bark bark bark it's the deadly pizza delivery man bark bark bark'
and me holding the dog and the door and the pen and two pizzas
and the cat got out.
'It's dark,' says I to myself. 'The cat will come back soon.'
So I waited. No cat.
I walked around the house. No cat.
'Dog. Go. Find the cat," said I.
Dog can't find the cat.
But I can hear the cat.
'Ah,' says I, sorting through various possibilities and picking the worst possible case. 'I know where she is.'
So I go out and look. I was right. The cat has fallen, jumped, or been pulled by nameless monsters from some H.P. Lovecraft universe into the sewer.
Probably she jumped. This is a very stupid cat.
meow meow meow meow meow
I discover I am not strong enough to remove the manhole cover. Those puppies are havy. Who knew?
If I were overseas, I would immediately call the US Embassy. I know this because I used to BE the one you called at the US Embassy when you lost your cat, or your car got towed, or you'd fogotten the name of your hotel and couldn't find your way back.
But I'm not overseas so I can't harass some hapless Vice Consul.
I dialed 911, figuring that was the equivalent.
911, in my small town, turns out to be deep-voice, calm, reassuring and male. I picture him as middle-aged and barrel-chested, with a fleshy face and 8 or 10 hours of beard.
'This is not a people emergency,' I said. 'It is an animal emergency.'
'We will call the Fire Department,' said he.
So the Fire Department came. They showed up in the person of a small, skinny girl who looked like she might be in High School. She listened to the cat in the sewer
meow meow meow meow
and then she lifted up the manhole cover. Ooomph.
Yep.
There was the cat, about twelve, fifteen feet down. Fortunately the sewer was dry as a bone, it not having rained for a while.
She talks on her cell phone.
'A ladder truck will be here in a minute,' she says.
And, sure enough, the ladder truck does indeed come, with huge working lights and two short but muscular men.
Everybody looks down the sewer.
meow meow meow meow.
It's a fine, clean sewer, as these things go.
'There's a kind of ladder on the side,' says one of the nice Firemen.
"I'll go,' says the nice young girl Fireman.
And she does.
She needs reassurance that the cat is not going to bite her. I think being a Fireman makes one cynical about animals.
She keeps quail – I have previously discovered this as we chatted, waiting for the ladder truck – and is allergic to dogs and cats.
I asked her whether she kept quail as an animal rescue thing or as an heirloom breed rescue thing, but she said she just likes quail. They hop, apparently.
The kitten is hoisted up.
The Firemen up top help pull the lass out of the manhole, 'Oh look, she got her jersey dirty.' And they shake her hand. 'Congratulations on your first cat rescue.' So I think she's new.
I thanked them many many many times. I explained, 'the cat has the intelligence of a loaf of bread.'
As they walked back to the firetruck, one said to the other 'I don't do snakes.' which gave me a favorable view of his intelligence.
That was Sunday night.
Tonight, at 6:43, an idiot walking his idiot Labrador let it loose in my yard. It chased the kitten up a tree. 60 feet up a tree.
I am sitting on the back porch looking at the kitten up a tree.
Intelligence of a loaf of bread.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Kitten and chucking stuff out
Sinji The Kitten is now the size, shape and weight of a hamburger bun .... with claws. She is also invisible-against-the–kitchen-tiles beige.
Cats should come in furred electric green and fuchsia. Then they wouldn't get stepped on.
In other news, I'll be SL-ing at Books and Writers again. I don't know if I can add anything. But I'll try. I should be thinking up some exercises for mid-level writers. Not easy. I don't do 'exercises' myself. I hate to do any work that isn't WIP.
I've about punched my way out of Chapter Ten, largely by truncating it madly. I am soooo glad I took this long dithering about time, though. It turned out my problem was less how to think like Sebastian in Chapter Ten, than how to plot Chapters 11 to 15.
Yes! Now I see.
I'm going to throw out thousands of words, including the whole confrontation in the carriage. I'm going to move onward to the chapter where they're tossing Jess' stuff in her bedroom.
Yes! It's all so obvious now.
Plotting. I am learning this so slowly. Yipes.
Cats should come in furred electric green and fuchsia. Then they wouldn't get stepped on.
In other news, I'll be SL-ing at Books and Writers again. I don't know if I can add anything. But I'll try. I should be thinking up some exercises for mid-level writers. Not easy. I don't do 'exercises' myself. I hate to do any work that isn't WIP.
I've about punched my way out of Chapter Ten, largely by truncating it madly. I am soooo glad I took this long dithering about time, though. It turned out my problem was less how to think like Sebastian in Chapter Ten, than how to plot Chapters 11 to 15.
Yes! Now I see.
I'm going to throw out thousands of words, including the whole confrontation in the carriage. I'm going to move onward to the chapter where they're tossing Jess' stuff in her bedroom.
Yes! It's all so obvious now.
Plotting. I am learning this so slowly. Yipes.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Up Early
Woke up at four. Thought I'd get some work done.
Pad pad pad down the stairs.
PAD PAD PAD, the dog follows.
padpadpad the kitten follows.
Quietly quietly I build and light the fire.
Dog nuzzles at me, big-eyed, begging.
OK.
Putting kitten to one side, I carefully open the front door. Maneuver dog into place for quick exit. Kitten attains subatomic simultaneity and gets out. Catch kitten in front yard by scattered light of the stars. Return. Put kitten on kitchen table. Retrieve dog. In major feat of dexterity, get dog out the door before kitten makes it to the doormat.
Take dog for quick walk.
In the sky, bright stars spin in the blackness. Find north star.
Yup. Still in place. All is well with the universe.
Return.
D.H. is at bottom of the stairs.
Hugs me. Are you okay? What's the matter? Why are you up? Are you sure you're okay?
Husband, protector of household.
Kitten, in my absence, has used the front hall as an echo chamber for major operatic performance announcing heartrending abandonment of felines in the household.
D.H., since he's up, decides he will put in some work on a report he's writing.
Wanders around the house, humming. the. same. song. through. his. teeth. over. and. over.
It is now five o'clock. Someone down the road is up and going to work.
He drives by, a pair of lights and the shadow of a car.
Who? I wonder.
Where does he work? I wonder.
Does he have a coffee mug on his dashboard? I wonder.
D.H., pleased to be so productive, drops by to tell me erudite things about North Korea.
Then. he. wanders. off. humming. the. same. song. through. his. teeth. over. and. over.
D.H. returns to ask where I have put the peppermint tea.
'On the counter,' I say.
It is 5:13.
He. wanders. off. humming.
I decide to go back to bed.
PAD PAD PAD, the dog follows.
padpadpad the kitten follows.
I fall instantly into a dreamless slumber.
Pad pad pad down the stairs.
PAD PAD PAD, the dog follows.
padpadpad the kitten follows.
Quietly quietly I build and light the fire.
Dog nuzzles at me, big-eyed, begging.
OK.
Putting kitten to one side, I carefully open the front door. Maneuver dog into place for quick exit. Kitten attains subatomic simultaneity and gets out. Catch kitten in front yard by scattered light of the stars. Return. Put kitten on kitchen table. Retrieve dog. In major feat of dexterity, get dog out the door before kitten makes it to the doormat.
Take dog for quick walk.
In the sky, bright stars spin in the blackness. Find north star.
Yup. Still in place. All is well with the universe.
Return.
D.H. is at bottom of the stairs.
Hugs me. Are you okay? What's the matter? Why are you up? Are you sure you're okay?
Husband, protector of household.
Kitten, in my absence, has used the front hall as an echo chamber for major operatic performance announcing heartrending abandonment of felines in the household.
D.H., since he's up, decides he will put in some work on a report he's writing.
Wanders around the house, humming. the. same. song. through. his. teeth. over. and. over.
It is now five o'clock. Someone down the road is up and going to work.
He drives by, a pair of lights and the shadow of a car.
Who? I wonder.
Where does he work? I wonder.
Does he have a coffee mug on his dashboard? I wonder.
D.H., pleased to be so productive, drops by to tell me erudite things about North Korea.
Then. he. wanders. off. humming. the. same. song. through. his. teeth. over. and. over.
D.H. returns to ask where I have put the peppermint tea.
'On the counter,' I say.
It is 5:13.
He. wanders. off. humming.
I decide to go back to bed.
PAD PAD PAD, the dog follows.
padpadpad the kitten follows.
I fall instantly into a dreamless slumber.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
critters and cheerios
Yesterday was lunch and plotting with two other romance types at the Cafe. I was strongly advised to stop picking and picking at the meeting over the breakfast table and get on with Chapter Ten of JESSAMYN.
'If your problem is incomplete visualization of your villain," says one friend, 'come back to this scene and write him when you know him better ... which you will do after you write more about her later in the story. MOVE ON. DO IT."
So I will give just one, bitty, tiny, miniscule, fast read to that breakfast-table scene and then skim onward, heading towards Chapter Ten, where I pick up forward progress on the ms. I'm not going to let myself get bogged down. I'm really not.
Harlequin is apparently going to launch a line of 'epic romances' with subplots and multigenerational stories.
Plus ca change.
I admire their marketing savvy.
Breakfast
and the cat knocked the box of cheerios over. The dog came and scarfed them off the floor. So good to see those two working together.
'If your problem is incomplete visualization of your villain," says one friend, 'come back to this scene and write him when you know him better ... which you will do after you write more about her later in the story. MOVE ON. DO IT."
So I will give just one, bitty, tiny, miniscule, fast read to that breakfast-table scene and then skim onward, heading towards Chapter Ten, where I pick up forward progress on the ms. I'm not going to let myself get bogged down. I'm really not.
Harlequin is apparently going to launch a line of 'epic romances' with subplots and multigenerational stories.
Plus ca change.
I admire their marketing savvy.
Breakfast
and the cat knocked the box of cheerios over. The dog came and scarfed them off the floor. So good to see those two working together.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Long, hard, wasted day
Today was pretty much a bust as far as writing goes.
I hate it when that happens.
I spent the day meticulously picking through five RFPs for a building project I'm working on.
I meant to drive around and look at some of the job sites these companies quote ... but never did find the time.
Did sit and drink coffee and respond to a dozen messages from folks online who are just bound and determined that the 'fair use' provisions of the US Copyright Laws don't apply to them. You see ... they waved this fairy wand and said they were exempt so ....
Waste of everybody's effort, and I don't have TIME for this.
I have a lunch meeting tomorrow so I'll haul the old laptop down to the coffeehouse and get a couple hours of work done in the morning. I really want to write my way out of that bloody breakfast parlor.
I will put myself to bed with the DEMAND my subconscious write that BREAKFAST TABLE scene for me.
The dog keeps looking at the new kitten and saying 'squeaky toy'. I am filled with dread.
V --- had the baby YEAH!! and they're both healthy. The vampires will just have to wait their turn. If her publisher gives her a hard time I will write them a STIFF leter of protest.
Oh frabjus day.
A baby woman, as Doonesbury said.
I hate it when that happens.
I spent the day meticulously picking through five RFPs for a building project I'm working on.
I meant to drive around and look at some of the job sites these companies quote ... but never did find the time.
Did sit and drink coffee and respond to a dozen messages from folks online who are just bound and determined that the 'fair use' provisions of the US Copyright Laws don't apply to them. You see ... they waved this fairy wand and said they were exempt so ....
Waste of everybody's effort, and I don't have TIME for this.
I have a lunch meeting tomorrow so I'll haul the old laptop down to the coffeehouse and get a couple hours of work done in the morning. I really want to write my way out of that bloody breakfast parlor.
I will put myself to bed with the DEMAND my subconscious write that BREAKFAST TABLE scene for me.
The dog keeps looking at the new kitten and saying 'squeaky toy'. I am filled with dread.
V --- had the baby YEAH!! and they're both healthy. The vampires will just have to wait their turn. If her publisher gives her a hard time I will write them a STIFF leter of protest.
Oh frabjus day.
A baby woman, as Doonesbury said.
Friday, November 25, 2005
Shadows
I'm in the living room, sitting on the couch, writing on my laptop. A flock of wild geese flew overhead. My dog goes to the door to watch. She's used to them now. They pass us, back and forth to the lake, a couple of times a week this time of year. She doesn't bark.
There's a big plank of solid sunlight on the carpet in front of me. I can see the shadow of the geese as they fly between me and the sun, every one.
Cool
There's a big plank of solid sunlight on the carpet in front of me. I can see the shadow of the geese as they fly between me and the sun, every one.
Cool
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)