Thursday, April 21, 2011

We call him SuperGabe!

Yeah, I know. He is so cute, you can all barely stand it. He is as funny as he is cute, too. He is my buddy. We hang out during the day together. He is way bigger than those little babies, so he gets to do cool things with me. And he can pour his own milk. Awesome.

Monday, April 18, 2011

Daphne in Spring

I know I haven't even actually posted about the babies' birthday, but I thought these pictures were so cute that I wanted to post them. Daphne is a fun little girl. She is still pretty petite, but this little kid has some spunk. A day doesn't go by that she hasn't thrown her body onto the floor in protest of not getting her way. She is more soft-spoken than Peter, but not quite as shy. I keep hoping that now that Peter can walk he will teach her, but I don't think she cares. Crawling is still getting her where she needs to be, and rather quickly, I might add. She is a little speedy! If a door is left open, she is outside in a flash. Oh, and the fridge. She really likes to get into the fridge. Her interests are pulling books off shelfs, emptying drawers, throwing food off of her high chair, snuggling, crawling through the house saying, "Aaah!" (to find Peter), looking at books, singing songs, climbing onto Gabe's bed, and giving us evil looks. The evil looks are kind of endearing, though.

Oh, and just so you know, I wanted to see if my blessing dress fit her. It was a little short, but otherwise fine. So that is why she is wearing a frilly 80's dress.

Friday, April 15, 2011

The Peculiar Pets of Virginia Bradford

First, you may ask, who is Virginia Bradford? What, you don't remember Strange Madness? The Country Doctor? Okay, so I didn't know who Virginia Bradford was either. I looked her up on Wikipedia and apparently she was an actress in the 1920's. Married four times. Had two children. Pets? It didn't say. But she must have been something special because they named a street after her. Our street. And on our street live many pets.

First we have Stingy the Bee. Possibly Stingy the Bee, Jr, since I have gathered from a 'reliable' internet page (the first one I found) that bumble bees generally only live a few weeks. (Except for queens, who can live a few years!! But don't quote me on that. The site looked a little shady....) But Junior or not, every spring since we have lived on Virginia Bradford (which would be two), we have had a bee that spends all day long buzzing on our back porch doing.... well, something to other bees. Mating? Fighting? Playing? Each of us have our theory. (You come up with your own. That second picture is Stingy in action. He is in the air, and the other bee is upside down on the ground. But don't worry, it got right back up and flew far, far away.) All I know is that it must be important because it doesn't matter how much I swat at him (or maybe her??), spray bug spray, throw things, or ignore him, he just keeps doing it. So last year we decided to stop fighting Stingy and to open our porch to him and invite him to be our pet. He doesn't seem to care about us much, but by allowing him stay there -as if we even have a choice!- we pretty much lose the availability of our back porch. Just can't really feel okay about letting the kids play outside with a monster bee that won't leave.

Have you ever read the Velveteen Rabbit? You know, the bunny that went from being a well loved stuffed animal to a real wild bunny? Well, I am pretty sure that due to the love given to one WhitePuppy, one of these days we are going to come home to a very funky, very mischievous, very sick, and very REAL puppy. (Sick? Yeah, Penny is always telling us about the various ailments of WhitePuppy that require extra love and care. Might be because she has had countless birthdays....) Of all the pets, I have to say this one is my favorite. Here's hoping that she doesn't get real. (Penelope was quick to say just now that she hopes she does get real. Luckily I don't believe in fairies.

Misha, oh Misha. Mr. Mish. Marsha. RaccoonPet. About two months ago, while she was outside chasing the neighbor kids out of our yard, she was attacked by another Virginia Bradford dog. Bitten, left for dead. I didn't see it, but when I realized what had happened, she had a deep, huge, horrible bite wound. I was horrified. I cleaned it up, called Dallas' dad, who is a doctor and asked what to do. He said I could try super gluing it together, so I did. You can call me Dr. Emily, thanks. Okay, probably not, since the super glue fix only lasted one day. On to the Vet! There, they operated on it, sewed it up and put in a drainage tube. Of course, within a day of being home, even with an E-collar, all of the stitches had come out. I wasn't too keen on taking her back to the vet, since Dallas was back in school and I wasn't about to take the Gabies (Gabe and the babies) to the vet, so we did our best at home to keep it clean. Besides, she was eating well and had started acting like our pet again. Amazingly, every day it would get a little smaller. It took a good few weeks, but all that is left is a scar. The weirdness started when the hair around the wound started to grow back in BLACK!! So now we have a silver poodle with a big black spot.

But, the story doesn't end there! That dog, the one who attacked Misha, I will call her WhiteBeast, is still a Virginia Bradford pet. She is kept up on the neighbors porch (which, like ours, doesn't actually have stairs leading down to the back yard. Pointless, if you ask me.) So anyway, one day, I was out looking for FriendCat and her kittens (more about her later) with Gabe and Beni, and of course, Misha. Well, WhiteBeast is barking like the mad dog she is, but we are safely out of reach. Or so I thought. Suddenly there is a flash of white. (It happened so fast that I had to confirm what I already knew with the boys: WhiteBeast had jumped from the porch onto the ground!!) I run to find WhiteBeast trained on Misha, with a lust for her blood and a penchant to kill. I started screaming at WhiteBeast, and then kicking, pulling. grabbing when I realized she wouldn't be swayed away from her goal. This did nothing to deter her, but luckily Misha squirmed free for a moment and I was able to grab her. I ran with her inside, followed by two screaming boys (who later bragged to each other how neither had been the least bit scared by the big, white, angry dog.) Luckily this time, her bite wounds are very minor and should heal just fine. I thought WhiteBeast was going to kill her. If you visited us today you would still see evidence of my struggle with WhiteBeast. A few tufts of fur remain there on the grass as a somber reminder that some pets are mean.

The family that owns WhiteBeast has a few other pets. Strange pets, like a chicken. Actually I really like the chicken. It just wanders about the yard eating bugs and clucking happily. To be honest, I don't know how it has survived WhiteBeast, but it has. There is another small dog that is yippee, but otherwise un-noteworthy. Their last pet is a cat. GarbageCat. Never was there such a cat as GarbageCat. Actually, there are probably tons of cats like GarbageCat. Nasty thing, one eye always closed, the other one not quite right. GarbageCat may have once been white, but now is a dingy yellowish-brown. In its fur are always bits of twigs and dirt, for obviously bathing is not something that GarbageCat likes to waste energy on. Energy needs to be conserved for those mysterious tasks in the forest, digging through the garbage, or doing that evil thing that will ensure that GarbageCat will not end with the last breath of its ninth life: mating.

Okay, I don't know if GarbageCat is male or female, or even spayed or neutered for that matter. All I know is that there is one more pet I would like you to meet. Or rather pets, since FriendCat was obviously pregnant a week ago, but now is thin and heavy with milk. (Well, I guess I am assuming WhiteBeast did not get to these newpets, born of FriendCat.) The first mystery is how FriendCat became with kitten, the second is where she has hidden those kittens. Not that I care, because, obviously FriendCat is not my cat. I don't know whose cat she is. She is probably the friendliest cat I have ever met, and I guess she just assumes, since I give her a can of tuna every day, that she is my cat. I give her tuna, not because I want another pet, but because I feel sympathy for her. I know how hungry you get nursing more than one baby. But really, I don't like cats. Ignore the fact that I brought two kittens home just over a year ago from a doctor appointment. Or that I had the cutest little Siamese cat when I was little that actually, I kid you not, sucked its thumb!! I only spend a little bit each day searching for FriendCat's kittens because I am curious, you see. I want to know how many she had and make sure that they are staying dry in all this rain.

We are a one pet family. (Well, two if you include WhitePuppy.) I guess I am happy to be leaving Virginia Bradford and all her pets soon so we can go back to being a one pet family. I may or may not miss the pets we leave here, but one thing is certain, this house comes with a lot of baggage. I hope the next renters like pets.