"Mrs. Hanson?"
"Yes."
"The test results came back on the squirrel."
"Really?"
"Yes. It was negative for rabies."
"Good. I suspected as much."
"Yes, well. It didn't have rabies."
"Okay. Thank you."
"Yes, ma'am. You have a good day."
Sunday, February 25, 2007
The newest member of my family
Knight's Mount Kadance has FINALLY come home. A lifetime of dreaming and wishing and hoping and a whole bunch of hard work and negotiations, but she is finally here. It has taken my whole life to get a horse. It has taken nearly two years to convince my amazing husband that having a horse is a good thing.
Her trip from Oklahoma to Kansas and then to Missouri was smooth right up to the last 1o miles. That's when the roads changed from pavement to gravel. The weather had been crummy; crummy, slush, snow, freezing, thawing, and more freezing.
The gravel road, which is particularly hilly, was a combination of slippery mud and slippery slush. Where the trees and roadside had prevented the sunlight from melting the snow drifts, the snow maintained a firm frozen grip. By the time Kadance arrived, the sun had set and the last remaining sunlight was rapidly fading. The last turn, the one into the ranch drive, proved to be the end of the road. A snowdrift prevented the truck from pulling all the way into the driveway and the trailer, which contained my wonderful filly, was trapped alongside the gravel road.
Not wanting to risk injury or instilling a reason to be afraid of the trailer, I suggested Kadance be allowed to exit the trailer. PHEW. Luckily, Jen (Kadance's original mom) agreed with me and she encouraged Kadance to leave the trailer to see her new home. Meanwhile, Craig (Jen's husband) struggled to free the truck and trailer from the clutches of the snowdrift.
All ended well. Craig decided to back the truck out of the driveway and return to the gravel road. They had planned to pick up hay the next morning and prepositioning the truck and trailer made sense to everyone.
During the mechanical fiasco, Kadance settled into her new home nicely. Initially, she was hesitant, but with Wanda, Jen and I there to give her soft words of encouragement, Kadance trusted she was safe and moved on in.
My sweet, non-horse-loving husband watched in silence and he bared witness to changes in his world over which he had little control. The life that he had grown accustomed to enjoying faded into the background and a 1/2 ton animal moved into the foreground. Although he has ZERO interest in horses and prefers to see them in the far, far distance, he did make an attempt to reach out and pet her. Unfortunately, she moved before he could touch her and he snatched away his hand as if escaping the steel teeth of a bear trap. I have not yet been able to convince him that horses are herbivores and will not eat him. He remains living in his world of nightmarish, predatory carnivores of equine origin. How sad. On the bright side, I will never had to ask him to please get of the horse and allow me to ride. I have the monopoly on horse-human bonding time.
Monday, February 05, 2007
When Animals Attack/Attach...same thing
When my dog, Sydney gets out of the bath, the very first thing she does is rub her face on the carpet to try to dry off her mustache. The second thing she does is pee and/or poop.
I had just stepped out of the shower after bathing myself and my dog. As she rubs her face along the carpet, I wrap myself in a towel and head for the back door. She is right on my heels. As soon as I open the door, Sydney darts outside and I immediately notice that Jake and Annabelle are very involved with something along the back fence. Jake turns to see Sydney running at him and I notice the squirrel make a move along the ground next to the fence. The movement caught Sydney's attention and Jake jumped to regain control of the creature.
I scream, "Nooooo!" and jet out the door. Yes, I am still only in a towel and yes, there is snow and ice on the ground and yes, the temperature is well below freezing. No mind, I am on a mission.
The squirrel has wedged its body between the fence and a tree. I wrestle with the dogs trying to free the squirrel. My towel, forgotten. I look into the squirrel's eyes and see complete fear and notice that his back legs aren't moving. I scoop the squirrel up in my right hand and try to place him on the tree with the hopes that he'll scamper up the trunk to safety. He just hangs there, back end not working. I hold him into place, still in my right hand.
My husband comes to the back door. "What's going on?" he says.
"Get the dogs." I shout.
"But I don't have on shoes."
"I'm naked, here!" My towel is managing to stay along side my body as a bit of it is under my arm which I have pressed to my side.
"What are you..." my husband begins to say.
"Aaaaahhh!" The squirrel with super human strength latches onto my left index finger with his razor sharp incisor teeth. The dogs go bizzerk.
"Kel!" my husband shouts at me as he tippy toes onto the deck in his bare feet. Meanwhile, my naked behind is swinging in the breeze.
I wiggle my finger free, not sure what to do now. My husband calls for the dogs to come inside, but they are not paying him even a speck of attention. The squirrel has captivated their focus.
Some how, the squirrel double-backs on itself and sinks his teeth into my right index finger. By now, my husband has given up on the dogs and in his effort to help in the situation, he stands behind me and holds the towel up to cover my butt. The squirrel is firmly attached to my finger and with each twitch works his teeth deeper into it. I hold my arm out, hanging the squirrel over the fence. I just want the thing OFF!
My left hand is covered with blood dripping from the bites in my left finger and the squirrel isn't letting go. I can hear the tissue snap and crackle and those teeth sink deeper and deeper. It is really hurting. I squeal in pain. I've had enough of this.
I grab his little body in my left hand and press my left thumb on his cheek and pry my finger off the bottom incisors. Those suckers are LONG! Finally freed, I simple drop the squirrel on the far side of the fence. Blood pours from both fingers, the dogs are wild with excitement and my husband, doing everything he can, holds the towel around me.
Once back inside the house, I stand there holding my hands together trying to have the blood pool in my palms and not drip all over the floor. I tell my husband I am going to make a dash to the bathroom.
He stands there and says, "What do you want me to do?"
I had hoped he would say, 'wait a second and I'll get a towel so you don't drip all over the floor,' but for as wonderful as he is, he does not do emergencies well.
The dogs have also come inside by now. Earlier, Mona had scrubbed the kitchen floors and mopped them. They had been beautiful. Now they are covered with dirty feet prints from all three dogs, my husband and me. Plus, droplets of blood. Sorry, Mona.
I make it to the master bathroom sans towel, and turn on the water faucet. I run warm water over my fingers, which are bleeding a steady amount. My husband, in the other room says something about rabies.
Having been bitten by a mouse several years ago, I know the likelihood of rabies transmition by squirrel is slim, but not wanting to take chances, I knew I would need the squirrel.
"Honey, please come here," I call to my husband. Suddenly, I don't feel well and kneel down in front of the sink.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
As the sparkles of white light dance before my eyes and the grey clouds fog in my head, I say, "I'm going to pass out."
"What do you want me to do?" he asks.
I am in no position to answer and my knees give out. He holds me up and I manage to remain aware enough to keep my bleeding fingers in the sink.
"Okay, you'll have to go get the squirrel." I tell him.
"What!? Why?"
"Because if they want to check it for rabies, they'll need its body."
He starts complaining about how this is just one more reason why.....he never does finish the statement. He mumbles about having to get the squirrel and how he will do that and how will he carry it.
I suggest he get some gloves and the dog crate or maybe a box. He tells me to never mind as he has something.
By now, the bleeding has subsided and I accept the fact that I will be going to see a doctor. First, I have to get on some clothes. After that, my first phone call is to the vet. I want to double check the possibility of squirrels having rabies. I figure that if it wasn't necessary to go to the ER, then why make the trip. Unfortunately, they are already closed for the day.
The next call is to the insurance company. As a military dependent, health care is provided by the military at a military facility. With no emergency care on post, I would have to go to a civilian health care provider, but I would need authorization from the military.
When the representative answers the phone, I explain, "Yes, I have been bitten by a wild animal and..."
"You need to go to an emergency room," she replies.
"Yes, I figured as much. But really, it isn't that bad. It was a squirrel."
"Oh, we don't have those here."
I ask where she is and she tells me Arizona.
"Ah, but you do have rattlesnakes and scorpions," I say.
"That is true," she answers.
She provides me with the Army on-call doctor number and say I can call on Monday for a follow-up or I can go ahead and call now. Either way, I will be covered.
Meanwhile, my husband tells Mona to hand him the duct tape.
"What is that?" she asks.
"It's the silver tape in the drawer."
I opt to call the on-call doc. The desk sergeant who answers the phone advises that I should go to the emergency room. He tells me to call back on Monday and not wait to speak to the doctor right now because all he would tell me would be to go to the emergency room.
Off to the emergency room. Mona is invited to come. She might as well get the complete American experience. She's already been to the police department with me to pay a speeding ticket, she should visit an emergency room, too.
The three of us walk into the ER, my husband, holding a cardboard box, me with my hands spread before me, and Mona, with camera. The greeting nurse, a male, asks me if I had just painted my nails and were waiting for them to dry.
We explain that I have been bitten by a squirrel and the squirrel is in the box.
"Don't open it in here," he cautions. "We need to get you cleaned up and call animal control to come take care of the squirrel." He also advises that the likelihood of a squirrel transmitting rabies is remote as they are such a small animal that rabies would kill them too quickly to really be able to live long enough to cause harm to anyone. It's what I thought. The encounter with a wild mouse wasn't completely for not.
"Please," I say. "Don't make me fill out any paperwork. My fingers are no good."
Luckily, the lady at the intake desk, takes all of my information and directly inputs it in the computer. Meanwhile the nurse, comes back with a swab and some Neosporin.
"That's it?" I ask. "I could have done that at home."
Then comes the discussion about Tetanus. Yes, I have had a Tetanus shot within the past 10 years, but uncertain if it's been just over 5 or under 5 years ago. Better safe than sorry. I will be getting a shot.
While getting my vital signs taken by another male nurse, Brent, the police animal control guy shows up.
"Where's the dog?" he asks.
"No dog," replies my husband. "Squirrel."
"We don't do squirrels," he quickly says. "Dogs, yes. Raccoon, yes. Squirrels, no."
"Well, what am I going to do with it?" my husband asks.
"Is it dead?"
"No. It's still alive. You can hear him moving around in there."
"If it were dead, I would take it, but since it's alive, I can't."
There is discussion about killing it. Perhaps wacking it with a stick. That is ruled out because apparently, it would be considered cruel to wack it. I suggest taking it to the parking lot and stomping on its head. That would be quick and painless. The police animal guy says I should have let my dogs finish it off. Naturally, being eaten isn't considered cruel.
My betadine wash arrives. Nurse Brent dabs my fingers with swabs that have been dipped in the batadine. I chose to soak my fingers in the container. Might as well do a thorough job. At least it isn't iodine. Remember that horrific red stuff your mom put on scrapes? That stuff that burned hotter than fire and you felt as if your skin was melting off? Remember?
Out in the hallway, there is discussion about shooting raccoons because they do carry and regularly transmit rabies.
That's when I interject, "You can't shoot the squirrel! His head would vaporize." The animal control guy just looks at me in disbelief. He has no sense of humor.
While I am soaking, two administrator nurses-types and the maintenance guy, holding a caulking gun, come to hear the story. They have, by this point, heard the commotion and part of the story. The maintenance guy suggests a hammer to off the squirrel. The other male nurse agrees that does sound like an engineering solution to the problem.
"Okay, do you want to hear the rest of the story?" I ask. Of course they do. So, I tell them all about how I was naked in the back yard with a squirrel hanging off my finger tip, the dogs running about crazed with excitement and my husband complaining that he doesn't have on any shoes while holding up a towel to cover my behind.
My husband and the animal control guy go outside where my husband is instructed to release the squirrel. As it seems an odd proposition, my husband questions the animal control guy's judgment, but releases it per instruction. The squirrel, who definitely has a broken leg and is also missing an ear, makes a vain attempt to reach safety before it needs to take a rest. It finally reaches a bush where is attempts to hide and rest.
I find this to be a terrible solution to the squirrel issue. "You know," I say to the folks in the ER. "Some small child is going to see that squirrel and be amazed that it doesn't run away and PICK IT UP. That kid is going to be bitten and then I won't be the only person in the ER with squirrel bites today."
A woman replies, "And that will be Officer I-Don't-Do-Squirrels' fault."
I agree.
The doctor arrives to examine my fingers. "That looks painful," he says.
"It is painful," I say.
"Ooooh, it got you on both fingers."
"Yes, he did."
"Well. I'll go ahead and get you on some antibiotics just because he got you pretty good."
Keflex and a Tetanus shot...That's to be my treatment.
Meanwhile, the animal control guy's supervisor has been contacted. The new instructions are to bring in the squirrel. At least the supervisor has some forethought.
I watch the animal control guy return to the bush where the squirrel is hiding, but this time, he has that 5-foot long steel pole with the noose at the end. The one that they use on vicious dogs. I suggest to anyone listening that perhaps it would be easier to just reach in the bush and grab the squirrel.
"That's how you get bit," someone replies. I think my husband said it, but I'm not for sure.
"Well, he does have big leather gloves," I point out.
The squirrel, now captured, is drug along the pavement back towards the patrol car where Officer I-Don't-Do-Squirrels tries to get it into a plastic bag. Keep in mind, Mona has been taking pictures the WHOLE time.
The animal control guy claims that he did use the stick on the squirrel. Mona, who I am apt to believe, says he did not use his stick, that he strangled the squirrel with the noose.
Eventually, the squirrel goes to heaven. I finally get my Tetanus shot. We've been in the ER for nearly an hour and a half.
The animal control guy decides to complete an incident report. On the television in the background there is a story about a Football Linebacker who rushed a cop and the cop tazered him.
I agreed with that cop's decision. "I would have tazered him, too," I say.
The animal control guy mentions that since the Tazer Gun has been available to the police departments, the number of shootings has decreased.
Then...he says, "I prefer to use my hands. The military taught me how to use my hands and the police department showed me how to use my hands. I would rather use the hand-to-hand take down."
"Wait a second," I say. "You would rather use hand-to-hand combat on a bad guy, but you needed a 5-foot long pole for a 6-ounce squirrel?"
The animal control guy....has no sense of humor.
---------On a side note. I realize this posting has taken some time; however, let me point out that BOTH of my index fingers still hurt. Ever try to tie your shoes or zip up your pants without using your index fingers? Ever try to type without using your index fingers? Those folks who have malformed, deformed, or missing hands who perform daily functions with their feet or a stick are in a word, AMAZING. I, to be sure, am a hopeless mess without the ability to use my index fingers.
I had just stepped out of the shower after bathing myself and my dog. As she rubs her face along the carpet, I wrap myself in a towel and head for the back door. She is right on my heels. As soon as I open the door, Sydney darts outside and I immediately notice that Jake and Annabelle are very involved with something along the back fence. Jake turns to see Sydney running at him and I notice the squirrel make a move along the ground next to the fence. The movement caught Sydney's attention and Jake jumped to regain control of the creature.
I scream, "Nooooo!" and jet out the door. Yes, I am still only in a towel and yes, there is snow and ice on the ground and yes, the temperature is well below freezing. No mind, I am on a mission.
The squirrel has wedged its body between the fence and a tree. I wrestle with the dogs trying to free the squirrel. My towel, forgotten. I look into the squirrel's eyes and see complete fear and notice that his back legs aren't moving. I scoop the squirrel up in my right hand and try to place him on the tree with the hopes that he'll scamper up the trunk to safety. He just hangs there, back end not working. I hold him into place, still in my right hand.
My husband comes to the back door. "What's going on?" he says.
"Get the dogs." I shout.
"But I don't have on shoes."
"I'm naked, here!" My towel is managing to stay along side my body as a bit of it is under my arm which I have pressed to my side.
"What are you..." my husband begins to say.
"Aaaaahhh!" The squirrel with super human strength latches onto my left index finger with his razor sharp incisor teeth. The dogs go bizzerk.
"Kel!" my husband shouts at me as he tippy toes onto the deck in his bare feet. Meanwhile, my naked behind is swinging in the breeze.
I wiggle my finger free, not sure what to do now. My husband calls for the dogs to come inside, but they are not paying him even a speck of attention. The squirrel has captivated their focus.
Some how, the squirrel double-backs on itself and sinks his teeth into my right index finger. By now, my husband has given up on the dogs and in his effort to help in the situation, he stands behind me and holds the towel up to cover my butt. The squirrel is firmly attached to my finger and with each twitch works his teeth deeper into it. I hold my arm out, hanging the squirrel over the fence. I just want the thing OFF!
My left hand is covered with blood dripping from the bites in my left finger and the squirrel isn't letting go. I can hear the tissue snap and crackle and those teeth sink deeper and deeper. It is really hurting. I squeal in pain. I've had enough of this.
I grab his little body in my left hand and press my left thumb on his cheek and pry my finger off the bottom incisors. Those suckers are LONG! Finally freed, I simple drop the squirrel on the far side of the fence. Blood pours from both fingers, the dogs are wild with excitement and my husband, doing everything he can, holds the towel around me.
Once back inside the house, I stand there holding my hands together trying to have the blood pool in my palms and not drip all over the floor. I tell my husband I am going to make a dash to the bathroom.
He stands there and says, "What do you want me to do?"
I had hoped he would say, 'wait a second and I'll get a towel so you don't drip all over the floor,' but for as wonderful as he is, he does not do emergencies well.
The dogs have also come inside by now. Earlier, Mona had scrubbed the kitchen floors and mopped them. They had been beautiful. Now they are covered with dirty feet prints from all three dogs, my husband and me. Plus, droplets of blood. Sorry, Mona.
I make it to the master bathroom sans towel, and turn on the water faucet. I run warm water over my fingers, which are bleeding a steady amount. My husband, in the other room says something about rabies.
Having been bitten by a mouse several years ago, I know the likelihood of rabies transmition by squirrel is slim, but not wanting to take chances, I knew I would need the squirrel.
"Honey, please come here," I call to my husband. Suddenly, I don't feel well and kneel down in front of the sink.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
As the sparkles of white light dance before my eyes and the grey clouds fog in my head, I say, "I'm going to pass out."
"What do you want me to do?" he asks.
I am in no position to answer and my knees give out. He holds me up and I manage to remain aware enough to keep my bleeding fingers in the sink.
"Okay, you'll have to go get the squirrel." I tell him.
"What!? Why?"
"Because if they want to check it for rabies, they'll need its body."
He starts complaining about how this is just one more reason why.....he never does finish the statement. He mumbles about having to get the squirrel and how he will do that and how will he carry it.
I suggest he get some gloves and the dog crate or maybe a box. He tells me to never mind as he has something.
By now, the bleeding has subsided and I accept the fact that I will be going to see a doctor. First, I have to get on some clothes. After that, my first phone call is to the vet. I want to double check the possibility of squirrels having rabies. I figure that if it wasn't necessary to go to the ER, then why make the trip. Unfortunately, they are already closed for the day.
The next call is to the insurance company. As a military dependent, health care is provided by the military at a military facility. With no emergency care on post, I would have to go to a civilian health care provider, but I would need authorization from the military.
When the representative answers the phone, I explain, "Yes, I have been bitten by a wild animal and..."
"You need to go to an emergency room," she replies.
"Yes, I figured as much. But really, it isn't that bad. It was a squirrel."
"Oh, we don't have those here."
I ask where she is and she tells me Arizona.
"Ah, but you do have rattlesnakes and scorpions," I say.
"That is true," she answers.
She provides me with the Army on-call doctor number and say I can call on Monday for a follow-up or I can go ahead and call now. Either way, I will be covered.
Meanwhile, my husband tells Mona to hand him the duct tape.
"What is that?" she asks.
"It's the silver tape in the drawer."
I opt to call the on-call doc. The desk sergeant who answers the phone advises that I should go to the emergency room. He tells me to call back on Monday and not wait to speak to the doctor right now because all he would tell me would be to go to the emergency room.
Off to the emergency room. Mona is invited to come. She might as well get the complete American experience. She's already been to the police department with me to pay a speeding ticket, she should visit an emergency room, too.
The three of us walk into the ER, my husband, holding a cardboard box, me with my hands spread before me, and Mona, with camera. The greeting nurse, a male, asks me if I had just painted my nails and were waiting for them to dry.
We explain that I have been bitten by a squirrel and the squirrel is in the box.
"Don't open it in here," he cautions. "We need to get you cleaned up and call animal control to come take care of the squirrel." He also advises that the likelihood of a squirrel transmitting rabies is remote as they are such a small animal that rabies would kill them too quickly to really be able to live long enough to cause harm to anyone. It's what I thought. The encounter with a wild mouse wasn't completely for not.
"Please," I say. "Don't make me fill out any paperwork. My fingers are no good."
Luckily, the lady at the intake desk, takes all of my information and directly inputs it in the computer. Meanwhile the nurse, comes back with a swab and some Neosporin.
"That's it?" I ask. "I could have done that at home."
Then comes the discussion about Tetanus. Yes, I have had a Tetanus shot within the past 10 years, but uncertain if it's been just over 5 or under 5 years ago. Better safe than sorry. I will be getting a shot.
While getting my vital signs taken by another male nurse, Brent, the police animal control guy shows up.
"Where's the dog?" he asks.
"No dog," replies my husband. "Squirrel."
"We don't do squirrels," he quickly says. "Dogs, yes. Raccoon, yes. Squirrels, no."
"Well, what am I going to do with it?" my husband asks.
"Is it dead?"
"No. It's still alive. You can hear him moving around in there."
"If it were dead, I would take it, but since it's alive, I can't."
There is discussion about killing it. Perhaps wacking it with a stick. That is ruled out because apparently, it would be considered cruel to wack it. I suggest taking it to the parking lot and stomping on its head. That would be quick and painless. The police animal guy says I should have let my dogs finish it off. Naturally, being eaten isn't considered cruel.
My betadine wash arrives. Nurse Brent dabs my fingers with swabs that have been dipped in the batadine. I chose to soak my fingers in the container. Might as well do a thorough job. At least it isn't iodine. Remember that horrific red stuff your mom put on scrapes? That stuff that burned hotter than fire and you felt as if your skin was melting off? Remember?
Out in the hallway, there is discussion about shooting raccoons because they do carry and regularly transmit rabies.
That's when I interject, "You can't shoot the squirrel! His head would vaporize." The animal control guy just looks at me in disbelief. He has no sense of humor.
While I am soaking, two administrator nurses-types and the maintenance guy, holding a caulking gun, come to hear the story. They have, by this point, heard the commotion and part of the story. The maintenance guy suggests a hammer to off the squirrel. The other male nurse agrees that does sound like an engineering solution to the problem.
"Okay, do you want to hear the rest of the story?" I ask. Of course they do. So, I tell them all about how I was naked in the back yard with a squirrel hanging off my finger tip, the dogs running about crazed with excitement and my husband complaining that he doesn't have on any shoes while holding up a towel to cover my behind.
My husband and the animal control guy go outside where my husband is instructed to release the squirrel. As it seems an odd proposition, my husband questions the animal control guy's judgment, but releases it per instruction. The squirrel, who definitely has a broken leg and is also missing an ear, makes a vain attempt to reach safety before it needs to take a rest. It finally reaches a bush where is attempts to hide and rest.
I find this to be a terrible solution to the squirrel issue. "You know," I say to the folks in the ER. "Some small child is going to see that squirrel and be amazed that it doesn't run away and PICK IT UP. That kid is going to be bitten and then I won't be the only person in the ER with squirrel bites today."
A woman replies, "And that will be Officer I-Don't-Do-Squirrels' fault."
I agree.
The doctor arrives to examine my fingers. "That looks painful," he says.
"It is painful," I say.
"Ooooh, it got you on both fingers."
"Yes, he did."
"Well. I'll go ahead and get you on some antibiotics just because he got you pretty good."
Keflex and a Tetanus shot...That's to be my treatment.
Meanwhile, the animal control guy's supervisor has been contacted. The new instructions are to bring in the squirrel. At least the supervisor has some forethought.
I watch the animal control guy return to the bush where the squirrel is hiding, but this time, he has that 5-foot long steel pole with the noose at the end. The one that they use on vicious dogs. I suggest to anyone listening that perhaps it would be easier to just reach in the bush and grab the squirrel.
"That's how you get bit," someone replies. I think my husband said it, but I'm not for sure.
"Well, he does have big leather gloves," I point out.
The squirrel, now captured, is drug along the pavement back towards the patrol car where Officer I-Don't-Do-Squirrels tries to get it into a plastic bag. Keep in mind, Mona has been taking pictures the WHOLE time.
The animal control guy claims that he did use the stick on the squirrel. Mona, who I am apt to believe, says he did not use his stick, that he strangled the squirrel with the noose.
Eventually, the squirrel goes to heaven. I finally get my Tetanus shot. We've been in the ER for nearly an hour and a half.
The animal control guy decides to complete an incident report. On the television in the background there is a story about a Football Linebacker who rushed a cop and the cop tazered him.
I agreed with that cop's decision. "I would have tazered him, too," I say.
The animal control guy mentions that since the Tazer Gun has been available to the police departments, the number of shootings has decreased.
Then...he says, "I prefer to use my hands. The military taught me how to use my hands and the police department showed me how to use my hands. I would rather use the hand-to-hand take down."
"Wait a second," I say. "You would rather use hand-to-hand combat on a bad guy, but you needed a 5-foot long pole for a 6-ounce squirrel?"
The animal control guy....has no sense of humor.
---------On a side note. I realize this posting has taken some time; however, let me point out that BOTH of my index fingers still hurt. Ever try to tie your shoes or zip up your pants without using your index fingers? Ever try to type without using your index fingers? Those folks who have malformed, deformed, or missing hands who perform daily functions with their feet or a stick are in a word, AMAZING. I, to be sure, am a hopeless mess without the ability to use my index fingers.
Oooouuucchhhhh!
Those little teeth are very, very sharp and much longer than you might suspect. It may not look like much on the outside, but on the inside it really hurts.
And now for the betadine wash
The nurse dabbed betadine on the bites, but I once he left, I opted to just soak my fingers.
The end is near.
The end is near.Although the police animal control guy would say he used his baton to bring about the demise of the squirrel, my foreign exchange student and photo journalist for this adventure, Mona, said the poor squirrel was strangled with the noose.
Fresh Snow
Although the snow is beautiful, it is a pain in the butt when you have to drive. This is why we had to delay our return trip from Colorado.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
LICE!!
A while back, I substituted a half-day in a second grade class in one of my less-than-favorite schools. The day was one were I can home proclaiming that I am not paid enough to deal with the crap.
When I got called for a three day placement I was pleased. That's good money. My delight was squashed when I discovered which classroom I was assigned. Yep. The same nightmare.
The first day was exhaustive. After school, I went home and fell asleep around 7:30pm and didn't wake until 6:45 the next morning.
The second day, THANK GOODNESS, was only a half day. I still was wiped out. Fifteen second-graders full of energy and little discipline. Yikes.
Today is the third day. It's not even 11:30 am and I am so ready to leave. They are driving me nuts. They are more interested in playing and coloring each other with markers than doing any work or even paying attention. But that's not the worst part.
One particularly active child, with special needs (he needs one on one attention and probably could use a straight-jacket), came in from the nurse's office with a pink slip. Seems he was being sent home because he has LICE! AAAArrrrrggggghhhhh!
LICE!! Oh my goodness! That is just downright yucky! In my world, LICE is the embodiment of filth, unclean, tainted, low-class, homeless, trailer trash, backwoods, inbred, vile creatures. LICE is in a word...DISGUSTING!! LICE!! LICE!! There is NO way that the Department of Education pays me enough to deal with LICE! NO WAY, NO HOW. LICE! AAAAAaaaaaacccccKKKKKK!
When I got called for a three day placement I was pleased. That's good money. My delight was squashed when I discovered which classroom I was assigned. Yep. The same nightmare.
The first day was exhaustive. After school, I went home and fell asleep around 7:30pm and didn't wake until 6:45 the next morning.
The second day, THANK GOODNESS, was only a half day. I still was wiped out. Fifteen second-graders full of energy and little discipline. Yikes.
Today is the third day. It's not even 11:30 am and I am so ready to leave. They are driving me nuts. They are more interested in playing and coloring each other with markers than doing any work or even paying attention. But that's not the worst part.
One particularly active child, with special needs (he needs one on one attention and probably could use a straight-jacket), came in from the nurse's office with a pink slip. Seems he was being sent home because he has LICE! AAAArrrrrggggghhhhh!
LICE!! Oh my goodness! That is just downright yucky! In my world, LICE is the embodiment of filth, unclean, tainted, low-class, homeless, trailer trash, backwoods, inbred, vile creatures. LICE is in a word...DISGUSTING!! LICE!! LICE!! There is NO way that the Department of Education pays me enough to deal with LICE! NO WAY, NO HOW. LICE! AAAAAaaaaaacccccKKKKKK!
And life goes on
After visiting Colorado and getting snowed in for New Year's Eve, we finally returned to Kansas. My poor husband...He missed the last KC Chiefs home game. It was a great game.
After returning to Kansas, the new year got off to a busy start. All the Christmas decorations had to be taken down and stored away for another year. I am particular about being organized on put-away day because it makes it that much easier the following December when the decorating commences. Additionally, the quantity of decorations compels me to be as organized as possible. In my defense, it is not my fault. A vast amount of my mother's Christmas decorations graduated from her storage room to mine, much to my husband's dismay. It's all good because I love them and they make my home beautiful. Hopefully, one day, my grandchildren will think my house in a wondrous and magical place to come for Christmas. {I already know they'll be amazed at my house for Halloween}
Once that was all taken care off, I was off to Houston, Texas, to spend time with my sister and mother. The day I was to fly, the weather was predicted to turn ugly. Ice and snow were rapidly approaching. I was fearful that I would be grounded, so I opted to try to get on an earlier flight. My suitcase was to have been put on the 10:30 am flight. I was not able to get on that flight, but I did get on the 1:30 pm flight. It was a good thing, too because that flight was still delayed nearly an hour. The flight I was originally scheduled to take, the 3:30 pm, was delayed a few hours. Later ones were cancelled.
After sitting on the tarmac for nearly an hour and waiting through a de-icing, we were finally able to take off. Landing in Houston, I quickly discovered that my sweater was not needed. Houston was hot and muggy. My sister and mother were there waiting for me. My suitcase, however, was not. Apparently, it didn't make the 10:30 flight. It didn't make the 1:30 flight. It did make the 3:30 flight which had been delayed.
I was told it would be in around 6:30 pm and they would deliver it. After multiple telephone calls and many, many hours and many, many excuses later, I finally received my suitcase the next day. I had expected it by 8:00 pm and didn't receive it until 1:30 pm the following day. Ridiculous.
The girl's weekend was delightful. We ate, slept and shopped. We had manicures and pedicures. Mom also had a facial. We ate and slept and shopped some more. Then, we ate again. So much for diets and sound financial planning.
The weekend wasn't completely fun-time. I did have some work to do. My sister helped me cut a demo tape for audio. I really want to get into doing voice-over work and I especially want to read for audio tapes for children's books. My sister did all the editing and CD burning. I was merely the talent. After finishing my portion, I went back to sleep. I spent most of the weekend sleeping.
I returned home refreshed ready to face all the responsibilities of running a household with three teenage/adult children and three dogs and a husband.
My son, who is now an adult, opted to return to California earlier than had been expected. The morning he was to leave, he moved liked the greased lightening. I have never seen him move as fast or as motivated. He was a whirlwind of activity; up, bathed, cleaned, fed, packed, bed stripped, room tidied, and out the door. Super productive. If he could only do that on a regular basis, he could accomplish anything and I wouldn't have to worry about him and his future.
My sweet husband's brother is also in the military. He is currently stationed in Kansas but anticipates leaving for Afghanistan soon. The exact day he leaves is unknown. Even if I did know, I wouldn't be able to reveal it. OPSEC (operation security). So, the anxiety level in our house is high. Any opportunity my brother-in-law gets, he comes to our house. With his leave date approaching, his wife and children made the trip from where they are to where he is to spend as much time with him as possible. Although he has been deployed before, it doesn't ease the process any.
In the meanwhile, my husband will be responsible for taking his brother's car to Colorado. More adventures.
After returning to Kansas, the new year got off to a busy start. All the Christmas decorations had to be taken down and stored away for another year. I am particular about being organized on put-away day because it makes it that much easier the following December when the decorating commences. Additionally, the quantity of decorations compels me to be as organized as possible. In my defense, it is not my fault. A vast amount of my mother's Christmas decorations graduated from her storage room to mine, much to my husband's dismay. It's all good because I love them and they make my home beautiful. Hopefully, one day, my grandchildren will think my house in a wondrous and magical place to come for Christmas. {I already know they'll be amazed at my house for Halloween}
Once that was all taken care off, I was off to Houston, Texas, to spend time with my sister and mother. The day I was to fly, the weather was predicted to turn ugly. Ice and snow were rapidly approaching. I was fearful that I would be grounded, so I opted to try to get on an earlier flight. My suitcase was to have been put on the 10:30 am flight. I was not able to get on that flight, but I did get on the 1:30 pm flight. It was a good thing, too because that flight was still delayed nearly an hour. The flight I was originally scheduled to take, the 3:30 pm, was delayed a few hours. Later ones were cancelled.
After sitting on the tarmac for nearly an hour and waiting through a de-icing, we were finally able to take off. Landing in Houston, I quickly discovered that my sweater was not needed. Houston was hot and muggy. My sister and mother were there waiting for me. My suitcase, however, was not. Apparently, it didn't make the 10:30 flight. It didn't make the 1:30 flight. It did make the 3:30 flight which had been delayed.
I was told it would be in around 6:30 pm and they would deliver it. After multiple telephone calls and many, many hours and many, many excuses later, I finally received my suitcase the next day. I had expected it by 8:00 pm and didn't receive it until 1:30 pm the following day. Ridiculous.
The girl's weekend was delightful. We ate, slept and shopped. We had manicures and pedicures. Mom also had a facial. We ate and slept and shopped some more. Then, we ate again. So much for diets and sound financial planning.
The weekend wasn't completely fun-time. I did have some work to do. My sister helped me cut a demo tape for audio. I really want to get into doing voice-over work and I especially want to read for audio tapes for children's books. My sister did all the editing and CD burning. I was merely the talent. After finishing my portion, I went back to sleep. I spent most of the weekend sleeping.
I returned home refreshed ready to face all the responsibilities of running a household with three teenage/adult children and three dogs and a husband.
My son, who is now an adult, opted to return to California earlier than had been expected. The morning he was to leave, he moved liked the greased lightening. I have never seen him move as fast or as motivated. He was a whirlwind of activity; up, bathed, cleaned, fed, packed, bed stripped, room tidied, and out the door. Super productive. If he could only do that on a regular basis, he could accomplish anything and I wouldn't have to worry about him and his future.
My sweet husband's brother is also in the military. He is currently stationed in Kansas but anticipates leaving for Afghanistan soon. The exact day he leaves is unknown. Even if I did know, I wouldn't be able to reveal it. OPSEC (operation security). So, the anxiety level in our house is high. Any opportunity my brother-in-law gets, he comes to our house. With his leave date approaching, his wife and children made the trip from where they are to where he is to spend as much time with him as possible. Although he has been deployed before, it doesn't ease the process any.
In the meanwhile, my husband will be responsible for taking his brother's car to Colorado. More adventures.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Beautiful Babes
The five most beautiful women in all of Orlando, Florida. More specifically, we were the five finalists in the Adult Female Sophisticated Commercial Print category. I don't know the official number of competitors, but I suspect there were about 100 "Sophisticated" ladies in the category. For clarification "Sophisticated" really means "Over 30".
Score one for the AARP. After all these years, the old gals are still pretty dang HOT!
Meet and Greet
On the way up to the room at the end of the evening, my new friends and I were passed by this man.....For those of you who don't recognize him, he is Joey Fatone from the band NSYNC. He took time out of his evening and terminated his cell phone call to speak with us. The Talent Rock folks had hired him to be the MC for the opening ceremonies.
Unfortunately, he would not be attending the competition the following day. Family obligations required him to go shopping with his kid. I can't fault him for that.
He also was back stage when Tonya and I were called back as finalists in the Adult Female Sophisticated Commercial Print category.
I Do Not Bounce
Last night I received a telephone call from my Mary Kay lady, Carol Harwood. She mentioned that I have been somewhat .... slow with posting on my blog. She's correct, I must admit. So, I today, I want to catch up.
Okay, over Thanksgiving weekend, I drove down to Oklahoma to attend a horse clinic hosted by my sister. The clinician was Daniel Stewart, the Olympic Equestrian trainer. The day before the clinic, I was out in the paddock with my niece. She was riding her Morgan, Red, and I was riding my sister's American Warmblood, Stryder. Well, Stryder was doing his own thing and not really focused on what I wanted him to do. He ambled along and instead of turning when I asked, he went for the trees. The last time I rode Stryder, I was clotheslined by the top rope of the circle pen. As he headed for the trees, I noticed a low-hanging branch and I knew I was about to be clotheslined again. In a split second, I recognized that I had a choice. I could either plow headlong into the trees, be clotheslined or hit the ground. Even hitting the ground came with two choices. I could hit the hard earth or I could hit the big rock.
So many choices and only a tiny, tiny fraction of time in which to decide. I opted for the least painful of the possibilities. I hit the ground. The hard earth, not the big rock.
When I regained consciouness, my sister and my mother were standing over me asking me questions. I knew they were there only by hearing their voices. I couldn't see them. I only saw a gray fog and slight shadows about me. They kept talking to me.
"Who's talking to me?" I asked.
"It's your sister."
"I can't see you." I replied.
They asked if I were okay and helped me stand. I was a bit woosey, but I wanted to get right back on Stryder. Unfortunately, my body said, "Nooooo. You must sit right back down." So, I complied.
My mother stood to my right. I know this because I could hear her. I could not see her.
The decision was made....I was going to the emergency room.
It was a good thing I had been wearing a helmet. The big crack in the back indicated had I not been protected, I probably would be in a hospital bed somewhere drooling on myself.
After an initial examination I was told to wait as I would need a CT scan. I sat in the exam room. My sister kept me company. It was readily apparent that I was in the room where sexual issues were addresses. The Stirrups, the Speculum, the Swab kit were all lined up on the cart for easy access. Because I loathe just sitting, I started peaking around. Opening a drawer on the cart, I discovered a GIANT Q-tip. It was amazing. It had to have been 18 inches long with jumbo cotton tip. I suspected it was for a pelvic exam, but come on, this thing was long enough to swab the back of my throat.
After my CT scan, the doctor determined I had a concussion and would probably have a headache. I could have told him that. He didn't give me any pain medication, but it was okay. I still had some from my root canal three days prior.
Okay, over Thanksgiving weekend, I drove down to Oklahoma to attend a horse clinic hosted by my sister. The clinician was Daniel Stewart, the Olympic Equestrian trainer. The day before the clinic, I was out in the paddock with my niece. She was riding her Morgan, Red, and I was riding my sister's American Warmblood, Stryder. Well, Stryder was doing his own thing and not really focused on what I wanted him to do. He ambled along and instead of turning when I asked, he went for the trees. The last time I rode Stryder, I was clotheslined by the top rope of the circle pen. As he headed for the trees, I noticed a low-hanging branch and I knew I was about to be clotheslined again. In a split second, I recognized that I had a choice. I could either plow headlong into the trees, be clotheslined or hit the ground. Even hitting the ground came with two choices. I could hit the hard earth or I could hit the big rock.
So many choices and only a tiny, tiny fraction of time in which to decide. I opted for the least painful of the possibilities. I hit the ground. The hard earth, not the big rock.
When I regained consciouness, my sister and my mother were standing over me asking me questions. I knew they were there only by hearing their voices. I couldn't see them. I only saw a gray fog and slight shadows about me. They kept talking to me.
"Who's talking to me?" I asked.
"It's your sister."
"I can't see you." I replied.
They asked if I were okay and helped me stand. I was a bit woosey, but I wanted to get right back on Stryder. Unfortunately, my body said, "Nooooo. You must sit right back down." So, I complied.
My mother stood to my right. I know this because I could hear her. I could not see her.
The decision was made....I was going to the emergency room.
It was a good thing I had been wearing a helmet. The big crack in the back indicated had I not been protected, I probably would be in a hospital bed somewhere drooling on myself.
After an initial examination I was told to wait as I would need a CT scan. I sat in the exam room. My sister kept me company. It was readily apparent that I was in the room where sexual issues were addresses. The Stirrups, the Speculum, the Swab kit were all lined up on the cart for easy access. Because I loathe just sitting, I started peaking around. Opening a drawer on the cart, I discovered a GIANT Q-tip. It was amazing. It had to have been 18 inches long with jumbo cotton tip. I suspected it was for a pelvic exam, but come on, this thing was long enough to swab the back of my throat.
After my CT scan, the doctor determined I had a concussion and would probably have a headache. I could have told him that. He didn't give me any pain medication, but it was okay. I still had some from my root canal three days prior.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Back From Orlando
This past weekend, Talent Rock hosted a three-day talent search/competition. I had discovered the event by googling "open call" on the internet. I browsed through the information and decided to give it a try.
I signed up to attend in the Actor category. With high hopes and dreams of grandure, I arrived in Orlando knowing no one. Waiting at the end of the terminal near baggage claim, I noticed a young woman wearing a red Talent Rock t-shirt. She was the first of many providing guidance and directions. After claiming my bag, I followed her instructions and meandered down the hall to the next red t-shirt. That t-shirt pointed me to the waiting area for the Luxury Travel pick up point. On my way down the next set of escalators, I encounted another talent wannabe. Her name is Tonya and she and I became fast friends.
The transport van picked up a few more people at the next terminal. Among those hopeful folks was a singer named Annie. She and I also became fast friends.
After we arrived at the hotel, Shingle Creek, we made our way to the Talent Rock registration room and began the process of becoming famous.
There were several hundred "talent" there all meeting other talent and trying to size up the competition. Identifying other talent in the same category. I met a few model/actor folks, some dancers, some singers and children. Several asked me if I were competiting in the Commercial Print category. I wasn't. I was there for the Actor competition.
By the fifth inquiry, I decided I had better sign up to compete for Commercial Print. It was a good thing I did because by the end of the competition, my hopes of being discovered as an actor were dashed. So, when the finalist for the Adult Female Sophisticated Commercial Print Model were being called up on stage and MY NUMBER was called, I about choked. Here I had been surrounded by hundreds of beautiful people and MY NUMBER was called. I was stunned.
I didn't win the category, but it didn't matter. I was one of five finalists!
I signed up to attend in the Actor category. With high hopes and dreams of grandure, I arrived in Orlando knowing no one. Waiting at the end of the terminal near baggage claim, I noticed a young woman wearing a red Talent Rock t-shirt. She was the first of many providing guidance and directions. After claiming my bag, I followed her instructions and meandered down the hall to the next red t-shirt. That t-shirt pointed me to the waiting area for the Luxury Travel pick up point. On my way down the next set of escalators, I encounted another talent wannabe. Her name is Tonya and she and I became fast friends.
The transport van picked up a few more people at the next terminal. Among those hopeful folks was a singer named Annie. She and I also became fast friends.
After we arrived at the hotel, Shingle Creek, we made our way to the Talent Rock registration room and began the process of becoming famous.
There were several hundred "talent" there all meeting other talent and trying to size up the competition. Identifying other talent in the same category. I met a few model/actor folks, some dancers, some singers and children. Several asked me if I were competiting in the Commercial Print category. I wasn't. I was there for the Actor competition.
By the fifth inquiry, I decided I had better sign up to compete for Commercial Print. It was a good thing I did because by the end of the competition, my hopes of being discovered as an actor were dashed. So, when the finalist for the Adult Female Sophisticated Commercial Print Model were being called up on stage and MY NUMBER was called, I about choked. Here I had been surrounded by hundreds of beautiful people and MY NUMBER was called. I was stunned.
I didn't win the category, but it didn't matter. I was one of five finalists!
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