Call me stupid...

I wish I knew how to do things in stages.

Amos and I went to the vet yesterday for his first birthday check-up, a refill of his heart worm preventative medication, and to have him chipped.  I did not do that earlier because of the cost, but after sitting in court week, after week, after week, it seems to me I would be foolish not to take every effort to always have my puppy with me.  Fifty dollars is very cheap from that perspective.

Of course, I did not stop to think that there would dogs at the vet.
I never dreamed there would be a pit bull.

Amos, spotting dogs in the parking lot, was most reluctant to enter the clinic.  Watching his steps as I tugged on the leash, I was looking down when we crossed the threshold.  So, he was the first to spot the ENEMY BREED.  In just a few seconds, Amos had literally jumped in my arms and climbed my body until he was standing on my shoulders.  Standing whilst trembling so violently he was digging his nails into my shoulders to ensure that he stayed up there.  It was so very heart wrenching to see, to feel his fear.  I had to work hard to stuff my own down to a place where I could help him.

I took him to the farthest bench, which was at least 100 feet away from the pit bull, if not more.  The space did not matter.  Amos refused to allow me to take him down into my arms.  Taking pity upon my puppy, the staff led me straight back to a room.  Some fifteen minutes passed in that small space where we were completely alone before he stopped resisting my efforts to pull him off my shoulders and hold him against me.  I felt like the stupidest puppy momma ever.

Amos was trembling so hard that we are not positive about his weight.  Even so, none of us got it right; he is 21.2 pounds.  Still, the vet was shocked at his size.  She said he is the tallest bichon poo that she has ever seen or even heard about.  I guess Amos has got to excel at something, eh?  She thought he could stand to lose a pound to a pound and a half.  However, she was not concerned other than to tell me to get him walking about the neighborhood as soon as my foot is healed, since walking is different than playing and very good for a dog.  I could not really explain how if my foot were golden now, I could not walk about the neighborhood.  After all, it is very swollen today from being on it for the attic floors, two baths, and two loads of laundry, after being on it for first my appointment and then Amos'.

She is like the old vet I had in that she believes a lean dog is a healthy dog.  Kashi was only supposed to live until around 10, but he stayed with me for 15.  My old vet said she truly believed it was because I was so very careful to never let him have anything other than his prescription diet for his hepatic shunt.  Amos has no issues, but I want him around as long at possible. I hope to have him a tad trimmer by his next set of shots in May.

We made it home, both still very upset over our encounter.  Poor Amos, he did not want to be out of my sight for a second.  As for me, I wanted to DO SOMETHING.

Yep.
I over did it.
Again.

Here are the photos I posted before that show the attic floor.  Remember how I wanted to get rid of all those old carpets, rugs, and remnants?  Well, that is just what I did.

Truly, I would say, from beginning to end, that I spent about 90 minutes on the project.  However, I half feel like it will be 90 days recovering!

Here you can see the finished result.  I kept the oval braided rug since it was sort of usable (though ugly).  I also kept the flowered carpet rug that you can see in the upper right photo and moved it over by the windows.  It is still fairly fragile, but I am a floral girl at heart.

Someone (hopefully NOT me) still needs to pull up the remaining nails and bits of carpet remaining beneath them.  However, I was able to pull up all the pieces and to sweep the entire floor.  In one place, there were four layers of rotting oriental rugs, some almost paper thin.

During the process, huge clouds of dirt wafted about the room.  Truly I thought I would have an asthma attack, but I did not.  I merely had to blow all the black crud out of my nose many times.  I was covered in it.  Amos was a dark grey.  We were both absolutely filthy by the time I finished.

I took a bath.  I cut Amos' hair since I had been letting him be a bit extra fluffy for some extra Myrtle comforting.  I bathed Amos.  And I did two loads of laundry of filthy clothes and towels and my other laundry since the last round.

Way back in the dark ages, when I was renovated the house I bought in Alexandria, I had to purchase construction garbage bags.  They are rather large and so thick that even nails will not poke through.  I would say they are the size of at least two yard bags.  Since, they are expensive, I kept the rest of the roll and brought it with me when I moved.

As you can see, all four were filled to the brim.  All four bags were dragged down two flights of stairs, across the  yard, through the garage, and out to the garbage bins.  I was a tad worried that the City wouldn't take them, but when I finally awoke today, they were gone.  All four of them.  All of that smelly, filthy, rotten, horrid carpets/rugs/remnants that I had actually walked upon.

But, again, I was stupid.  Please...call me stupid.  Beat me up with my stupidity.  Stage an intervention.  Hello.  My name is Myrtle, and I am stupid.

Every single muscle in my body aches.  I think this is not merely because of my attic floor labors, but also because of the strain of seeing a pit bull so very close and trying to control my terrified puppy even as I was terrified myself.  Even so, I am in utter agony.  Stiff. Sore. Moving like I am 100 years old.  Maybe I am...100, that is.

This afternoon, when I was really regretting my stupidity, I crawled up to the attic and sat and stared at the bare floor for a while.  Frankly, I am glad I did this.  In my opinion, the space looks remarkably better. Do you?

I suppose I expended a bit more energy than I thought.  You see, I usually make two chalupas, but I sort of always wish I had another one.  [Remember, I am beginning to think that I am a glutton.]  Well, today I made three of them: refried black beans, grilled chicken, sour cream, mild Taco Bell sauce, and white cheddar cheese.  [I would give anything for more Trader Joe's white sweet corn.]  Anyway, just moments into my meal, I looked down at my plate, seemingly after just a couple of bites, and discovered that somehow it was empty.  I had inhaled three chalupas without notice!

Still feeling utterly weak, like a wet noodle in every part of my body, hours later, I thought I would make the pumpkin cookies since Sandra had brought me eggs and butter for them just before the migraines started.  The butter needed to be softened, so I set it out on the counter.

Yes.
He did.
An entire stick.

A quiet Amos is a dangerous Amos if he is not curled up next to me.  When I realized he was gone and silent, I went looking for my puppy.  I found him in the kitchen, happily licking his chops.  The WRETCHED BEAST!  Google tells me that I may be in for a long night with Amos.  A long, messy night.

After softening another stick, I made up the cookies and successfully managed not to burn them.  [You may applaud now!!]  I bolstered my strength for the long night ahead by licking both beaters (it has be years since I did that) and then eating two cookies with a giant glass of ice cold whole milk.  I had to freeze the rest of the cookies else they ended up in my stomach this night.

You know, I am curious about portion control and the food industry.  I was only able to get 22 cookies for a mix that was for 36.  Kind of strange, eh?  I mean, I would have to be way, way better at math to figure out how many calories are in each cookie.

No matter.  I do LOVE pumpkin stuff.  Pumpkin cookies surely have high concentrations of curative properties, right?  So, soon I shall no longer be the weak old lady who took four separate naps today, so exhausted and sore is she over her own stupidness.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!