The most important little gadget in the house

Scott and I came home the other day from being out for maybe a couple of hours at most. We know with five animals in the house that we need to survey for damage immediately upon arrival... to check for electrocuted cats, torn up toys, or, worst of all, messes.

Well we had both just about finished our laps around the house and Scott was hanging up his coat and taking off his shoes when I saw a horrible sight.

Our remote lay lifeless on the floor in the living room, feet away -- and below-- its home on the coffee table. Like blood and guts, the back battery cover and the batteries lay strewn across the floor.

I did what any wife would do.
I said a silent prayer and left it for Scott to find.

I also picked up the nearest cat, hoping to save at least one life in the bloodbath that would soon start.

When we settled down on the couch to watch some TV before bed, Scott sat in the silence, pushing buttons that would just not do their job. No power, no channel changing. Just sad silence.

Fear not, readers, for my husband had another remote ordered and on its way within 30 minutes.
It arrived yesterday and we both celebrated its arrival by watching TV and basking in the technology that allows us to sit on our fat lazy butts and go back and forth between the Newlywed Game episodes and a football game.

Crisis averted.

(And no animals were harmed in this process...)

A pretty prance with Proud

Something literally had to hit me on the head to get me out of my self-induced miserable funk.

Albeit a leaf.


It's not how hard you get smacked with sense, but how much of an impact it leaves.

I had taken the puppies out for a pee-break when a huge yellow leaf landed on my head. A chuckle and a glance around and low-and-behold, it was a GORGEOUS Autumn afternoon. I had let it slip past me for a few weeks now. Not today.





I had a couple of hours to take off of my work day today, so that instant became that time off for me.

I grabbed my camera and just me and our greyhound Proud strolled down the driveway and into the comforting breeze as leaves danced along the street.

We went for about 25 or 30 minutes, taking a pause on a bench at an old schoolhouse on the hill to "talk." Well, he went "roo, roooooo, roo" and I blabbed while I scratched his ears.

It was perfect.

The company was great (Roo!) and the foliage is still lovely here.



























































And I just love my Proud Man.

Born to run, born to love

Today, Scott and I took Proud for a greyhound Summer Blast, or as we called it, his reunion. The group that we adopted him from in January holds this annual get-together for greyhounds and their owners (or two-legged friends as they're called).

There were more than 120 hounds at the park today, from several different states. Some of the retired racers were just off the track looking for homes; others were getting up there in age or had injuries and illnesses. All of them were just lovebugs though.

Including our normally socially awkward fella.

Proud marched his way to every. SINGLE. dog, head-butted them and gave them the 'greyhound handshake' (a good, effective sniff to the crotch and/or butt), making friends wherever he went. He was so overwhelmed by everything going on (vet advice, shopping at vendors, an obstacle course, a costume parade) that he didn't lay down one time.

I don't think there are many types of dogs... wait, many species in general that would be friendly, calm and sweet enough to surround themselves with all those dogs, all that commotion and all that ear-scratching and pull it off successfully.

Scott and I both said aftewards how much the event made us appreciate the breed and, of course, our Proud Man.

The best part?
The group 'roo.'

Basically, they lined up a large amount of the dogs at the end of the event and got a few of them to start their version of a bark, which is sort of a half-whine, werewolf-like yelp up to the sky. Within seconds, every single normally-quiet animal was trying out their vocal chords. Proud kept looking up at me and Scott like "Wait, are you sure this is allowed? Is this cool?"

Finally, Scott got down near Proud and made the sound (sort of ) himself. Proud lurched his big nose into the air and joined in on the "roo."

And it absolutely melted his Momma's heart.

Pics from Pet Prison

The furry "kids" are guilt-tripping me with cuteness. The house is eerily quiet today, with the ocassional sorrowful meow from Clara. Here are the McZook kids:






Rocky: "Mom, if I play dead can I come out of this bathroom?"














Clara: "Hey, momma, this is the door that leads out to awesomeness."






















Izzie: "I didn't do it."















Eva: "Please leave me be, I'm thoroughly exhausted. Oh, and pissed. "














Proud: "Um, what? I'm always quiet, this is nothing new for me. By the way, I have bad gas today, hence the reasoning behind me choosing the bed in your office. Nothing says love quite like stench, Mom."

Three cats for the price of one

Well, I did the unthinkable yesterday.

I absolutely lost my mind when one of our cats POOPED on OUR BED last night. I gathered up all three of our beloved cats, shoved them all into one tiny little cat carrier, perched them on a bench in the mudroom and shouted, "That's it, they're out."
And then I broke down.

This wasn't their first mess in the last couple of weeks. We're averaging a couple a DAY.
You name it, they've tattooed it with poopy love... floors, a bathroom rug, a laundry basket, Izzie's one bed and our cream-colored couches (thank GOD for microfiber, easy-to-clean furniture).

The bed was my last straw.

"You don't really want to get rid of them," Scott said.

No, but I don't really want the entire house to reek of cat urine, either. We've worked our butts off to get ourselves decent things, to keep it clean and presentable. Urine is not exactly a charming way to begin a night entertaining guests.

The cats were ultimately let out of the cat carrier. Clara was pissed, Eva was scared to death and Rocky... well, Rocky was sort of clueless. He walked around the mudroom and then marched back into the carrier. Idiot.

We've researched online why previously-housebroken cats suddenly decide to desecrate their home and picked up a few tips we're going to implement in the next few days. If "pee here" spray at the litterboxes doesn't work, they're going to have to go to the vet to rule out any health issues.

The tough part is trying to find our culprit. We don't even have it narrowed down to two.

Every cat's a suspect in this house.
And if they weren't declawed, or as important to me as my own human children will be, they'd be out on the street learning the toughest lesson of all.
Survival.

Something to be "PROUD" of

I am a celebrity.

Well, sort of.
I have to share the spotlight with Scott and our dog, Proud, that we adopted in January, but it's worth it for such a good cause.

Check out this video and pay especially close attention around 3:50 or so.

Softball, springtime and slobber

Scott had his second church softball game last night.
I don't know how he does it, but he always manages to find a ball hitting a bat within a 43-mile radius.

It's nice to see something that just seems to make him so happy, so refreshed. Anyway.

Since it turned out to be a nice evening, the Proud Man and I went up to support the Dadster figure and enjoyed a nice walk in the nearby country during the guys' batting practice. This mommy figure brought her camera...

(although I wouldn't recommend photographing scenery while walking a greyhound along a semi-busy, hilly, windy road.)












When I got closer to this old barn, I realized the machinery in front of it was actually holding the building up.
Looks like the owner still uses this. Yikes!












Awww... isn't the big guy really cute?

Scott doesn't look too bad, either. :-)