Ah, my little Macers, so cute after 12 1/2 years to your right. Tiffie below has developed a fear of cameras, even without the flash. She's got anxiety issues like her Mom, as well as a torn ACL. Macy has the gift of the bark and isn't afraid to show it, like her Mom. She also gets adament about her treats. You'd think I actually birthed them or something, with their scarily similarities to me. But I got them to eat their barley grass powder after putting several treats in their breakies this morning, after spending an hour back and forth with the vet to score Tiff some separation anxiety pills. Bribery I tell ya! It works. They just don't like green I guess. Except they're color blind.
So, tried to wean Tiffie off, but then the pacing and whining resumed incessantly. Freaky thing is that they give the same med to dogs as they do to humans but the conversion factor's off. I have some lying around in my medicine cabinet for uber-stressful periods of my life, it's generically free with my insurance, so I thought maybe I'd share a lil' of mine with her? But no, better safe than sorry, so I'm picking some up from my drug pimp, I mean vet, this afternoon so she gets her chill pill and Mom and everyone around doesn't need theirs. Another parallel which makes me pray to God (Dog spelled backwards) that they've picked up some of my good attributes along with the not so desirable.
I'd like to think their charm and outrageous cuteness and spunk are part of my nurturing effects. Ha. Damn, being a mom is hard work. But look at those faces... SO worth it. Without the stretch marks. And aren't they just freaking adorable? Yes. Yes, they are. They are sisters, attached almost literally at the hip. My little pete and repeat. *choke *sigh *smile...
So as for the story of how we came to be, us three:
In June of 1996, my first girl roommate convinced me to drive out to bum-fuck arkansas, past a field of buffalos, to adopt a puppy- accidental of course. So I reluctantly agreed, knowing we would eventually part ways, and my nature with animals is to become extremely attached so what decisions I made now would inevitably bear witness on my reality for several years following.
Anywho, we arrived, and there was one pup left, a beagle and lab mix, black and tan and fuzzy, and very very young, as it's mother had died giving birth and the owner had found the litter in the trees to the entrance of the forest encircling his house. And this little canine specimen was adorable with her jet black eyes, and droopy-perky little beagle ears. So we had the puppy in hand and were ready to leave, when I caught sight of a tiny caramel gold animal emerging from the forest towards the house. Skeptical, tentative, hesitant, frightened, but persistent and with purpose.
It was another puppy, and we were supposed to have retrieved the last?
The owner didn't know there were any left, had never seen this scared and adorable little pup, but here she was walking toward us, as if saying please don't leave me behind. So we put the black one back down on the porch next to the caramel one, and it was obvious they were sisters. Same pleading, sweetly manipulative eyes, body type, and general demeanor. I looked at Kathie with despondently, and asked the futile and already answered question: 'So, which one do you want now? We have two to choose from here.' She looked back at me somewhat perplexed, and then we both looked back down at the expectant pups, back and forth between them, back and forth, noting a thousand pros for each, but no cons. Finally I sighed resignedly. 'Ok, Kat. They are both adorable. I can't choose between them. They are obviously sisters, and the second-til-now-unknown one obviously found her way to us somehow, and I can't just ignore her attempts and leave her behind. This is breaking my heart, and this is why I did NOT want to come out here and why I cannot go by either pet stores or the pound. But dammit we are here now and a decision must be made.' Kat giggled in her light-hearted way, and said 'Well hell then, that's easy, we'll just take them both.'
Well, I knew that resonated my already made decision upon the first sight of that tan shaking fuzzball approaching us, but I also knew who would reap the implications of that decision, and how much work we (or rather I) was in for. Because I also knew that when our combined living situation was terminated, there was no way in hell I was splitting those two darlings apart. And there was no way in hell I was going to give them up to someone else. Yep, from the minute the second one scraggled out of the bushes, I knew I had acquired an immediate family. So we took the two adorable hooligans home, and because we were young and had never raised dogs from pups we had no place to put such tiny creatures upon their arrival.
So the first night they stayed in my bathtub, with about a thousand towels to pad the bottom. And I awoke at 5:30am the next morning to high-pitched excited yapping from two puppies who had pooped diarrhea style all over the tub, wallowed around in it, didn't give a shit (no pun intended), and were simply ecstatic to see a new day, have a home, and wanted to tell Mommy about it immediately. And have breakfast too of course. So I cleaned up the mess, and cleaned up my babies, and fed them breakfast.
But after breakfast, came the dilemma. They had no names. And being a wordy nitpicking freak like myself, they had to be relevant or significant or unique names. No cupcake or spike, or dot and pokie crap for my girls. So I thought for a bit and decided their official names would be:
Macy and Tiffany.
Yes. Macy and Tiffany like the department stores, which was entirely on purpose within my sick and twisted brain.
Those names made perfect humorously ironic sense to me at the time. For you see, I don't like to shop like your typical girly goos. I don't find it relaxing, or fun, or a wonderful way to relieve stress, or a vast pleasurous bout of entertainment. I'm not some insane shopaholic that names her animals after stores she adores. No, I was instead being quite a smartass when I got these two lovelies, since I actually loathe shopping. As such, I decided the perfect names for them would be high-end department stores. Macy and Tiffany. My high end (and high maintenance) lovely, quality specimens of the canine species.
After the name game was complete, I quickly assumed my now 12 1/2 year role as a proud, protective, doting mother to two crazy sister doggies who have been quite the rambunctious, incorrigible, destructive, ornery, and completely lovable and devoted offspring any mother could want.
So there ya go.
That's the story of how I found my girlies, or rather, how they found me. And how the nomenclature process went down.
That's Macy NOT listening to Mom when I tell her it's time to use her "inside" bark.
I'll leave out the detailed drama of the last 12+ years, with the exception of a few fun highlights.
Infancy and the terrible twos (in dog years) brought us gnawed through baseboards, baby gates, and even a metal clothes dryer vent. Constant digging under the fence, wild freedom escapades while mom was at work to come home to a notice that I had to bail them out of animal control jail.
This was finally rectified by stapling/bending chicken wire to the fence 2 feet into the yard (and it was a VERY large backyard and fence.) This occurred at 7am on a effing cold-ass Sunday morning in November yelling F*ck! every time I pinched my finger with the staple gun.
The Baptist churchgoers across the street behind my duplex enjoyed the show I assure you.
That's Tiffie telling me something critically important! She needs a treat. NOW.
The tweens and teens brought about massive sibling rivalry and fights... costing thousands of dollars of vet bills for their fights. It was a love-hate sisterhood for awhile, during stressful times... hence, the clomicalm. They were never aggressive to any human or any other animal. It was just an occasional all out war between themselves. You know, typical teenage issues with each thinking they were the boss, and when the other one didn't agree, then that merited at attempt to tear out a jugular. Thank GOD that stage has passed. (Knock of wood!)
But nowaways, Tiff has bad knees, Mace has bad hips, and both are seriously canine teeth challenged. So they're pretty cool with each other most of the time.
That's Macers helping me with yoga by teaching the kisses technique. It happens.
We get an occasional grumble if one of them is in a
mood, to which Mom quickly gives an attitude adjustment. I think the grunchies come on when one of them startles another by entering their "space"...the hearing's not so good as it once was.... Yet they have remarkable knack for identifying the animal cracker bag opening, and the refridgerator. I'm thinking the loss is "selective."
Some other fun highlights and lessons learned...
1. Don't allow your boyfriend to feed Macy raisin bran as a treat, then when you get home, give you a quick kiss and then leave for work himself, while you are all alone with them the entire evening. This results in a horrible gag-filled night trying to live through a vicious fart fest and noxious fumes that even the neighbors complain about.
2. Don't give the girlies leftover egg salad. Either it had gone bad, or she is egg-intolerant because I ended up cleaning up mounds of foaming egg puke that was 10 times the amount she ate. It grew at mutant speeds. And my fiance at the time had a weak stomach, so I had to follow Tiff around with a dustpan and a towel for an hour, or also clean-up his vomit too. I didn't need the extra help thank you.
3. Don't think your hamburger, sandwich, etc. is safe sitting on your desk 3 feet off the ground. Even at 12 1/2 years old, these girls will find a way to eat it while you are out of the room. No dinner for you, and two for them!
4. The girls are very smart and have learned to roll-over--which Tiff used to do incessantly like a slot machine addict, while Macy worked at mastering it because she was a little heavier- their hips no longer allow them to do that, but it was fun at the time. They have also learned to sit and stay with hand signals, and have to be given the four fingers up and thumb tucked in command before they will eat their damn breakfast or dinner. The sit and stay is thanks to Gawg (my mom, their grandma), the latter is just their wierd preference. They've also learned to come to you, to give each other kissies, to give me kissies, to fully enjoy tummy rubbin's, to 'Gimme 5' with their left paw and 'Shake with their right' paw, and to go take a nap in the bedroom when Mommy works from home and has a conference call. They however have not mastered the "inside bark," and don't give a rat's ass if chocolate or any other food will make them sick, fat, or gaseous. But hey, everyone's entitled to their eccentricities.
5. If your fiance pukes in a computer scanner, obviously mistaking it for a toilet in his drunkeness, while he attempts to make up the spare bed for your weekend guest, but passes out instead amidst red wine and pizza stench, and you happen to bring your guest upstairs with doggies in tow, turn on the light and think my god! I don't want to have to clean up this... Don't worry, the girls have already taken care of it for you. They're good like that. they like nasty things like vomit, poop, spit, etc., especially if it's pepperoni pizza flavored.
6. If you chastize yourself when you enter your garage every morning by the cobwebs and bugs piling up around the corners that you really need to clean, just ask Tiffie to come out to help you get the mail. All bugs and webs will be eradicated by the time you get back from the mailbox. Tiff will have some sinewy white thread across her eyelashes, whiskers, and mouth, but that's much easier to clean up than that garage. But watch out, because Macy will be in the neighbor's yard digging for warm appetizers, which is a euphemistic term for cat turds. Tiff will soon join her. It's their favorite hobby, so needless to say the litter box is in a closet with a cat door, although they still try to get their head in their and will themselves frog tongues. But that had to be done. Cleaning up puke with litter rocks, and poop juice was just over the top for even mom to handle.
7. If you come home feeling worthless, forgotten, happy, mediocre, pissed off, dorky, energetic, or drunk with love, the girlies will be there, by the door, with bated (and sometimes stinky) breath, completely ecstatic at your arrival, and beside themselves waiting to give you kissies and love. This is all regardless of your mood, how much you are carrying, what time of night or day it is, whether they saw you a minute ago when you took the trash out, or 7 days ago when you left for a work trip or vacation. However, after the show of affection, they expect a treat. At which point Macy will go into the other room, face the opposite direction, and bark loudly at the windows, before taking the long way back around to the kitchen to receive it. Announcing to the world perhaps that you are home, and SHE is getting a treat? Perhaps. Or Perhaps not. Maybe she likes to make poetic dog monologues before she partakes in sweeteries. All the while however, Tiffie will be sitting there patiently waiting for her sister to complete her freakish OCD duties so they both can get their damn treat. And if you're sick and in bed, they will lie by your bedside and refuse to eat breakies or din-din or even go pottie, not to mention play, until you can get up at least a couple of times. They're my devoted loves, and their very amused and appreciative Mommy is devoted right back at them. I truly love those dogs with all my heart.
However, now that I'm older, although I still don't like shopping much (except via internet or browsing boutiques occasionally, and of course for shoes), I wouldn't exactly turn down a trip to Tiffany's. It's the central theme of one of my favorite movies, and well, jewelry--the right unique kind of jewelry, that is, and from a desirable man, of course-- is something I most certainly would relish in receiving and wearing, albeit that experience is likely doubtful to occur. So I can buy it for myself instead, although that's not quite so romantic as the aforementioned scenario. But my old-school romanticistic tendencies are a whole other blog, or set of blogs, tinged with whimsical sarcasm, a contemporary spin, and some victorian goth accountrements of course. As such, we'll just stop there on that mode of commentary.
But in general, like Holly Go Lightly, I prescribe to the sentiment of not acquiring alot of material things, until I find an ambient abode with which I jive. I'm still in search of that one.
Except I just love her wardrobe, much like I love my own wardrobe and stockings and jewelry and all the pretty little accoutrements and accessories that go with it.
Really, as androgynous or mentally/emotionally boyish as I can be at times, this adoration of the movie Breakfast at Tiffany's and Audrey Hepburn and all it aspires to be just screams girlie girl.
Oh well. So I'm a girlie girl too. Replete with an intense love of shoes.
Things could be worse I suppose. Because I do have great shoes, and pretty damn nice legs to go with them.
If I don't mind saying so myself. And the rest of my outer visage isn't too difficult on the eye either I suppose. Not sure about the other eye. I'll leave that up to you to decide. [See? There I go again being mentally cocky like a guy, I know. Lusting after my own bodyparts. What a freakshow. So blame my parentals DNA. Such a wierd juxtaposition of genetic inclination am I, yoda. And I like sci-fi movies, fantasy novels, and RPG games too. It never stops.]
So, this has gone on long enough, as my attempts to write quick snippets often do. However, the gist of today's diatribe was simply to remark on how cute my babies are, that I have some cool clothes, shoes, and possessions but not a significant amount to tie me down nor do I want any, am ready to look for a house with the atmosphere, amenities, and price that really tricks my trigger... and until that happens, and despite all that precede or follow, my precious girlies and I are definitely home enough for me wherever we reside.
Three peas in a pod are we, and non-negotiable to anyone who wants to hang around. We've got history, lots of it, and I wouldn't trade that for the world. Macy, Tiffany, and Me.
