It’s been a quiet week here at The Funny Farm

Oh look. Wildlife in suburbia. Isn't that special?

The last time I checked in, Scout had a bloody nose. I’m happy to report that that’s about the last excitement we’ve had here.

Well, that and the possum that was in the yard. That was pretty exciting. David took the dogs out late one night before we headed to bed, and there sitting on the top of the chicken coop was a possum. Pretty, isn’t he? I guess Bandit smelled him but never looked up so the dog’s didn’t actually see the critter. But for days they knew he was there, sniffing and following his trail.

We live in a village on a small lot; we’re literally feet from our neighbors. I have no idea what this possum was looking for or where he came from or where he’s going. Jim the dog catcher said it was probably looking for food; the chicken run is impenetrable, so he guessed this critter (and others like it) are snacking from the birdfeeders everyone has in their yards. Oh goodie.

On to less exciting stuff.

This week I took Bandit out a few times while I ran errands. Bailey is making him nuts so he’s gone with me to the pet store and the credit union. He’s so good out on little adventures and I think he needed a break from Bailey. I think Scout needs a break too, but I can’t leave Bailey and Bandit home alone together unless she’s in the crate, and the crate is outside in the mud because the last time Bailey was in there she peed all over. Scout doesn’t like being in the car much, or going to stores, or seeing other dogs. So Bandit gets to go with me. He and I even snuck in a nice quiet walk in the cemetery.

I’ve been spending a lot of time with the dogs reinforcing some training to help with the barking and tension when Bailey gets too would up. She and I are going to classes at Tails of Success; Sherri Romig the trainer has been a huge, huge help in teaching and guiding us as we help Bailey learn to control her impulses. (Or in plain talk, stop being such a pain in the arse.) It’s so important to have a relationship with a trainer so that when you’ve got a problem you have help in your corner.

And on speed dial. Because Bailey’s also started pooping in the house again. I don’t know whether to be upset about it or impressed that she’s at least doing it on the bathroom.

Speaking of Bailey … David’s finger is healing nicely. Well, as nicely as it can since he took the stitches out himself. He says it’s still tender and I think it looks a little icky for almost a month post-stitches. He was supposed to see the hand specialist four days after he was in the ER; when I remind him he just tells me he doesn’t have time to go to the doctor. (That’s a guy thing, isn’t it?)

One thing that’s on my mind (always) is income, and I may have some good news this coming week – I’ve been talking for a while with a super great spirituality website about blogging about animals and faith and spirituality. It’s going to be super fun because it’s a topic I have so much enthusiasm and passion for. Since it pays based on page views (which is pretty much how most blogs work) it’ll be fun trying to come up with great stories. It’ll be a challenge but I’m really enjoying writing about animals so I’m up for it. The possibilities for stories are endless.

Cassie turned 26 this week. I told her that I know that’s almost 30, and I know she’s an adult. But in my head, she’ll always be 13. I wonder if my parents think of me that way? I mean, I think of my parents at 40 … and I’m 47. It’s funny how time warps like that as you get older.

Anyway, right now, I’m snuggled up in bed late at night, the rain beating against the windows on a super cold fall night, Bailey hogging the end of the bed, Scout softly sleeping next to the bed, Murphy holded up downstairs (probably in the clean laundry), and Bandit … well, he’s around here somewhere. Me, I’m snuggled under a freshly laundered comforter in a bed with fresh sheets – all of which are already covered in muddy paw prints and crunchy dirt. And I think there’s a Nylabone under my pillow.

And thus ends another week at The Funny Farm. It’s nine minutes into the next day and so far … quiet. That’s a good sign.

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