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21st Century Lesbian Trailer Trash

These are the mad musings of a middle aged woman, dyke, nurse, poet. I have a dog, a cat, a mobile home, and delusions of grandeur.

Location: California, United States

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Treasure Hunt

I love this blogging thing. It makes me feel like a kid again. "Dear Diary. Today, no one kissed me. Well, a couple of people tried to kiss my ass. It's one of the more annoying things that comes with being a boss."

The good news is that the corporate Powers That Be recognized it might not be a great idea to fire the nurse I spoke of in my last entry. It was nothing so romantic as someone developing a conscience. They're afraid of an age discrimination lawsuit. So I'll just keep babysitting her and hope nothing horrible happens to her or to a patient. I expect her to go out on stress or medical leave any day now because of the written warning she received.

Back to the topic at hand. The one person who did kiss me today was my dog. Numerous times. Maggie is a 7 year old Yorkie who has more ailments than Carter's has little liver pills. Because her ailments have all involved her liver or her digestive tract, and because I am a die hard nurse, I have spent a great deal of time inspecting her poop.

Being small dogs, Yorkies have small poops. They are notoriously difficult to housebreak. Part of this is because they are Terriers, a particularly stubborn group of dogs. I think the other reason is that when they are wee one and two pound puppies, you can barely even spot their little pees and poops. And they are so low to the ground you can't really discern that they are squatting to do their bathroom business.

By the time you realize they have soiled your carpet, the kitchen tile into which you just stepped, or the spot in the exact center of the underside of your bed, it's too late. With dogs, you absolutely have to catch them in the act. So, Maggie is housebroken but only in a very loose sort of way. She will use her wee wee pads but sometimes a trip to the center of the living room is fun. Another favorite spot is in my bathroom next to the cat's litter box.

Apparently, in her little brain, the family that pees together, stays together.

Having spent so much time inspecting her poop, I imagine that Maggie believes I find them to be wonderful gifts. And every day she leaves me presents. It has become quite a game. In the morning, I gate her in the kitchen with her doggy bed, her toys, her wee pads, and her fresh water. I tell her to guard the house until I come back. Every night when I come home, Maggie is in the kitchen waiting faithfully by the back door. And somewhere in my house, be it under the coffee table in the living room, next to the dining room table, or next to my bed post, there is a small poop waiting for me.

She delights in this treasure hunt and follows me from room to room at a fast trot, her stubby tail wagging, while I search for my prize. She loves me so much that on occasion, she will pee right on my feet while I am washing dishes or cooking dinner. If you wake up one day and decide you cannot live without a Yorkshire Terrier, don't say I didn't warn you.

Kinja, the weblog guide


Blogger Seabiscuit said...


You brought back good memories I had of a former instructor. She had two Yorkies - both males. I had her for two classes. One class was an introduction to programming. We were required to write pseudocode (writing out a programming code in English rather than programming in the syntax of the actual language). Well, lots of times, she would use her dog names in the examples- like the one database we constructed. LOL She was so cool. And, the guys would poke fun at her over her dog names. I still remember the dog names. hehe

7:32 PM PDT  

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