The Inmates Run the Asylum

As I mentioned before, Zasu was supposed to come to live with us because her owner was moving. Well, we never got her. She passed away.

I'm gonna miss that crazy dog. She was a lot of fun. She might have been blind and she might have been crippled and she might have been older than she looked, but she sure didn't act like it.

And I imagine my cat Pete was waiting for her on the other side.



RIP Polish Coyote.

We've been dogsitting Zasu since last week. She's really enjoyed herself since Dad's been home to play with her and take her for rides. Yeah, she's spoiled.

I've gotten used to shutting my door when I eat. It's not that Zasu is bad about food and tries to take stuff off of my plate. She's very well mannered. But she sits and stares. And if I'm eating at the same time as Dad, then she drives us nuts by going from one room to the other, checking to see if anyone is going to feed her.

Tonight, I went into my room to eat dinner and I shut the door behind me. Zasu, used to my door being closed, but not shut, tried to push her way in. I heard her head thump on my door.

I'd feel bad for her, but she did it two more times before Dad told her to go lay down.

You'd think she was starved.

Trust me. She eats better than I do some days.

There are some simple rules to follow when dogsitting Zasu.

-If Dad goes outside and comes right back in, he does not have to take the dog.
-If Dad goes outside for an extended period of time, he has to take the dog.
-If Dad leaves in the jeep, the dog goes with him.

Dad does not always follow these rules.

Zasu lets me know that rules are being broken.

I agree that Dad is a bastard.

Rinse, repeat.

That's been a big part of my day today.

The other three hours were spent watching the TV remake of The Poseidon Adventure. What it lacked in Ernest Borgnine, it made up for in Rutger Hauer throwing children.

The cats (sans Stella) are currently enjoying some chicken to ease their Doggy Trauma.

Well, Pete doesn't have Doggy Trauma. Pete's just a chicken piglet and thinks anytime you open the fridge in her presence, you should be getting her a piece of chicken. She's gotten to be worse than McGee in that respect.

The cats (sans Pete), if they must be downstairs, have to be next to humans for the humans will protect them from the dog that has no interest in them. All well and good until I'm in my room attempting to use my laptop and I have three cats vying for the remaining space on my body.

Perhaps, as the weekend progressed, my three fraidy-cats will loosen up.

Perhaps I'm a wishful thinker.

Went to Papa's to celebrate his birthday. It was a low key affair with just Papa, Carrie, and me. And Sam the dog.

Papa and Sam liked the pizza and the pumpkin muffins. They have left overs to enjoy, too.

Papa was in good spirits today. He was full of stories and cracked us up. I think that's why his cat Sweetheart (also known as the Voodoo Queen) didn't come out; my cackle kept startling her.

At several points during the afternoon, Carrie shook her head and said, "Not like my grandparents". Well, to be perfectly honest, not many people's grandads rode a horse to the tavern (and not many people's sisters took a hayrack ride to a titty bar, but that's a different story for a different time). Carrie also marveled at the size of the house. It's incredibly small and they added onto it several years before my grandma died. My dad grew up in it. Both of his bedrooms were closets.

I won't even get into how fascinated she was by the bathroom.

We all had a good time, though. It was good to see Papa doing so well. Carrie and I left when my cousins came over to take Papa to dinner for his birthday.

Papa lives in a rural area and most of the drive is on the backroads through the corn and bean fields (okay, you could take the interstate, but there's really no fun in that). On the way home, Carrie did a doubletake. In the cornfield next to a house were about five or six peacocks. Apparently, she thought they only lived in zoos. If I had been thinking, I would have stopped and taken a couple of pictures.

Speaking of animals, Dad got a call tonight. It looks like we'll be dogsitting Zasu for a few days. She arrives tomorrow. Carrie is estatic.

( SGA...'Lock 'em up.' )

( Sanctuary...'I have my standards. Coffee is well below them.' )

Also of note...we're dogsitting Zasu again for the weekend. My pants are covered in doggy slobber.

And, AMC is running Frightfest until Halloween. Nothing but blood, guts, and gore on my TV for a week. This is my kind of Heaven.

The dogs have gone. Frank is now living full time with his new handler and Zasu's owner picked her up today.

In exchange, we ended up with a new cat, sort of.

This pretty little calico has been seen in the neighborhood for about a week or so. I thought she was living nextdoor. Well, she thinks she's living here.

She showed up outside the backdoor yesterday and that's where she's stayed. She really does think she lives here, no matter how many times I've told her she doesn't.

Well, it looks like she gets to stay, but she has to live outside for now. We've put out food and water, shown her the catdoor in the garage, and she seems content to sleep in the chairs outside (though she still thinks she should come into the house and just won't take no for an answer).

There was a great debate about what we should call her. Carrie wanted her name to be Trixie, but I shot that down. Outdoor cat named Trixie? May as well call her Prostitute. Dad suggested Crooked Head, but Carrie protested, claiming a pretty girl kitty should have a pretty girl name. I voted for Stupid Cat, but nobody liked it.

After much arguing and many suggestions, the new cat was finally dubbed Maggie "Scrapper" McGee. Carrie calls her Maggie; Dad calls her Scrapper; and I call her McGee. It's a win situation all around and the cat doesn't care because she's enamoured with the food bowl.

I'll get around to posting pics of McGee soon enough.

We are once again dogsitting Zasu.

Dad dumped her on me at ten til nine this morning. She was so happy to see me she could barely contain herself (credit where credit is due...she didn't jump on me...she remembered that's a no-no). I woke up Carrie about an hour later so she could chill with Zasu while I went to the grocery store.

We took her out that afternoon for a couple of hours (after we peeled ourselves away from yet another episode of The Incredible Hulk...once you start watching, you can't stop...oh the lapels!) and played with her.

Poor Zasu faced a serious conudrum at one point. She was playing with a tennis ball and didn't want to give it up (she likes teasing us), but she'd been playing hard and was in desperate need for a drink. I got the water bucket out of the kennel, set it out for her, and told her to get a drink.

But she couldn't. Zasu couldn't set down her ball because we might try to steal it. She thought about this for quite awhile. In the meantime, Carrie and I went back to playing frisbee. Finally, Zasu worked it out. She put the tennis ball IN the water bucket and then got a drink.

I assured her that I definitely would not be taking her ball away from her now. Doggie drool is bad enough.

Damon stopped by and became fast friends with Zasu because she could tease him and play tug of war with him. He's great fun.

The cats are less than amused, of course. Spot and Stella are in a constant state of puff; Pete's in a constant state of annoyance because the dog is constantly in her way.

I'm happy to say that Zasu seems to be doing better. If you'll remember the last time we had her, I explained she was having problems with her coordination and walking. She still has trouble, but not nearly as bad as it was. She's not flopping nearly as bad or falling nearly as often. It's good to see her improving.

I don't know how long we have her. I'm sure I was supposed to remember to ask, but I forgot.

I forgot to get toilet paper at the store, too, so I'm on a roll.