So the rescue is getting in three Westies. Given the dearth of foster homes, it’s hard enough to handle one, let alone three, so we’ve got our work cut out for us. One of them is an 8-week-old puppy! That’s a total unicorn in the rescue world, and we should have ZERO problem adopting her out, but until we do: POTTY TRAINING. Guys, I don’t know if I have it in me to potty train another Westie. Daisy was 20 years ago, and she nearly killed me. I remember sliding down the wall of my apartment sobbing. I’m closing in on 50. There’s a reason Women of a Certain Age shouldn’t have to raise babies and toddlers. Pray for me.
Not the actual puppy in question, but a resemblance of The Cuteness.
Plus, 8-week-old Westies are roughly the size of a baked potato, and I can’t imagine the WORRY with hawks and other birds of prey out there. I mean, squirrels tend to disappear around these parts.
In the continuing chronicle of the hit & run outside my house, the other night I was fast asleep enjoying the sweet dreams of the innocent when someone rang my doorbell. I rolled over. After dark, I don’t answer the door. RING. I spare a moment of aggravation, but decide to stay under my nice and comfy duvet. BANGBANGBANG! Oh, now it’s on.
I stomp through the house, rip open the door and see a gun, guys. And then the extremely handsome police officer attached to it. No, he’s not pointing it at me, but it’s holstered and quite badass-looking.
Turns out he wanted to take my official statement for the hit-and-run. I stood out there in my jammies and sleepytime bra & t-shirt and gestured wildly down and across the street while I painted a story of woe and criminal activity, just like Nancy Drew. He seemed unimpressesd with my storytelling ability, just writing down what I said, where I work and other pertinent information. Turns out the case is being turned over to a detective. I haven’t heard from the detective, but I am eagerly awaiting the phone call. This is more excitement than has happened to me since the fence saga.
The Case of the Asshole Hit & Runner.
In tennis news — because you had to know clicking on the blog link that I’d talk about tennis, so that’s on you — we’re just finishing up Indian Wells and heading into Miami. My guy Novak is not in either of these tournaments due to some foolishness I bitched about last blog post so I’ll leave it alone. But clay season is coming up, guys! The King of Clay, Rafa is going to come out of injury loaded for bear, and it will be thrilling to see who can take him on. Given that Novak has been cooling his heels since January and the Australian Open (which he won, BTW), my money’s on him.
Rafa.
So dogs, neighborhood intrigue and tennis, that’s my life lately. Not very exciting, but I make do.
