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[Insert unintelligible gibbering, whining, a few recognizable swears and twitching]

This is definitely going to be one of those blogs where I write a little, stop, get up and do something, stop, write some more.

I do that, a lot.

Okay, no, I do that almost all the time.

Right now, the baby is making those pre-I’m going to scream this ear shattering scream in a moment noises. You know the ones. They put gooseflesh up your arms, raise the hair on the back of your neck and make you want to run, screaming, into the night. Oh, yes.

I keep meaning to write about the trip but then I get confused. Do I write about the paranormal stuff? Do I write about the scenery? Do I write about the way my teenager farted up the car so bad he had Kurt and I wondering how to drive while on the roof? Or how to let him ride on the roof? Do we write about the rescue? The dogs themselves? What? Man, that trip would be like twelve blogs in a row, if I wrote it all out. So much weird, so much random. So much awesome. So much head-desking. (Or I suppose, head dash-boarding.)

We got back late at night. I had cleaned and put away some things prior to, to dog proof and to make way for two crates, for two new dogs. When we entered the house, the overpowering stench of dog poop flipped us around, put a knee in our lower backs and started punching us all to the back of the heads.

The dog-sitter had not really been on top of things. Terrific!

Thankfully, Budditz, the most destructive when we are away- was upstairs, spending time with Jim and had apparently behaved himself. Because then? Then we would have had dog shit and destruction.

I spent, I shit you not (rimshot), about two hours at about 3 am, after about 16 hours on the road: cleaning my house. I can’t sleep in the car. It’s a weird neurotic thing involving a bad dream I had ages ago wherein I doze off and die. Completely irrational, but there’s no sleeping for me when I am in a vehicle unless my body just goes, “Bite me, I’m out!”

All my well laid plans this trip ran down my leg like sharts. Some were like explosive sharts, some just sneaky dribbles. All, in white pants.

All stinky, but ultimately, all resolved.

So, I come home, get this stuff set up and realize one of the rescues has clearly been shoved in a cage for long stretches and she’s crate-fearful. Hookay. Set her up a little space of her own, leash to the couch. Goooood. I was doing all manner of things, I think I ended up getting like a two hour nap on top of very little sleep to begin with.

In the past two days, I’ve been running my butt off: up insanely early, often before sunrise, working with the dogs who are thankfully housebroken which is a HUGE bonus, because that’s always a hard pain in the ass to throw into the mix. Socializing them with the downstairs dogs, bringing down the upstairs dogs one at a time here and there. Trying to come up with a plan of attack for socializing the one dog I’m afraid might not be too keen on the new girls, planting more, clearing more, and my brain is….kiiiinda mooshy.

I need to draft the duck pen. Clean the brooders. Re-organize some stuff.

…….take a nap. A long, long nap. >_<

 

 

 

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