Showing 1 - 10 of 92 posts found matching keyword: dogs
The National Safety Council says that the odds of an American dying from a fall are 1 in 114. That's about twice as likely as the chance of death from a gun assault (1 in 285) but five times more common than the chance of dying while going for a walk (1 in 556). The specific odds of dying from falling down the stairs is 1 in 1,662. Yesterday morning, I nearly became a statistic.
I woke up early to take July outside to go potty before the bad weather rolled in. I didn't bother to change shoes and wore my slippers in the dewy grass. Returning to the house, I wiped her wet feet but not mine. Then we both went back downstairs to return to bed. Thanks to my slippery slippers, one of us went faster than the other.
Spoiler alert: I didn't die. But I do have an uncomfortably twisted ankle and abrasions on my elbows. And I've certainly learned a valuable lesson. From now on, the dog can go potty in the rain.
Hot take: I maintain that the Marvel Universe movies would be better if David Hasselhoff was still Nick Fury.
July health update: she had her two-week follow-up today, and Dr. Allen says she's doing great. Pneumonia 0, July 1! Good girl.
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July had to make an emergency trip to the vet today. Her breathing had been shallow since yesterday, and I thought it might have to do with a fall she had taken. (The old bones aren't they used to be.)
The doctor said that x-rays show "cloudiness" in her lungs. It may be the beginnings of pneumonia, so we're now on antibiotics just in case.
I worry that the visit to the vet's office might be worse than the disease. She hates that place. It took two people to drag her back for her x-rays. That's pretty good for a twelve-year-old girl with no air in her lungs.
Get well soon, July!
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Sex sells everything. Including Jeep replacement parts.
Disclaimer: you cannot order those legs from this catalog.
In fact, this cover doesn't fill me with confidence about anything in this catalog. It's all fake. You can tell from the shadows that the Jeep and the landscape are two separate images that were edited together. Given the weird way the sun is hitting that dog, it must have been cropped in from a third source. And that totally unnecessary lens flare is straight-up a Photoshop filter (Render > Lens Flare > 50-300mm Zoom).
The inside is a little more honest. It's mostly replacement top hardware, electrical wiring, and light bars. Though there is a $29.99 "Cabana Multi Stripe Beach Towel with Jeep® Logo" on page 286 that probably just exists as an excuse to put a model in a bikini. Seems legit to me.
Getting ready to crawl into bed, I found something large and hairy waiting for me under my pillow.
I did what anyone would do in that situation. I slept on the couch instead.
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Today was a UGA home game. The Bulldogs played Samford in Sanford Stadium at 7:30pm. However, I wasn't there to see it. Instead, I had to spend the day on Tybee Island with Mom.
Don't get me wrong. I love Tybee. (And I love Mom.) Tybee is a charming coastal town with some fantastic scenery. (And Mom is Mom.) I'm happy to report that most of the island survived Hurricane Irma just fine, though plenty of scars from last week's storm were still visible everywhere. But it wasn't Tybee's beauty or Irma's wrath (or Mom's Momness) that brought us to the Georgia coast. No, we were here to attend friend Brian's beach wedding in the shadow of Tybee's historic lighthouse.
Mom rented a wonderful house at 117 Cedarwood Drive, and she, Audrey, July, and I used it as a base of operations for our weekend stay. Mom frequently visited the beach (just a few hundred yards to our north) to collect shells, each time leaving Audrey behind to rue Tybee's draconian "no pets on the beach" policy.
Sadly, I somehow managed not to take any pictures of the groom or bride, Veronika. For that matter, I don't have any pictures of groomsmen friends Ken, Keith, or Michael, either. The wedding party didn't show up on the beach until after the wedding officiant warned the attendees not to take pictures because that was the wedding photographer's job. Instead, you'll just have to be satisfied with this screen grab from the lovebird's official wedding website.
In fact, the only picture I have of the wedding was taken by friend James. (James was one of my few friends in attendance who wasn't actually in the wedding party. Matt was the other. Why was I not in the wedding party? I'm sure it had no small part to do with my vowing to Brian after Keith's wedding that I would never wear anything dressier than jeans to a wedding again. "Except mine?" Brian asked. "Even yours," I answered. That's what I like about Brian. He listens.) James couldn't resist disobeying the order not to take any pics, but he somehow still managed not to get the wedding party. (Reminder: "Never do what James does.")
I haven't attended a lot of weddings. I don't like them. Yet I found this one left an especially bittersweet taste for many reasons, not the least of which was that Brian was the last of my single friends likely to get married. From this point forward, we're all more likely to reunite at a funeral than another wedding. That's an uncomfortable thought, though it's better than imagining the possibility that I may have to sit through yet another wedding ceremony.
Good luck, Brian and Veronika. Do me a favor and be so happy together that we don't have to do this all over again, ok? Thanks.
Audrey says it has been a long few days.
But now Hurricane Irma has passed and she can get back to the important things. Like napping.
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Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water . . . .
CBS New York reports that Man's worst enemy, a deer, was spotted splashing in the waters off Long Island Sound yesterday. This is the first time I've heard of such a thing. The deer army is getting sophisticated; they've developed SEALs!
Apparently, the deer was not a powerful swimmer. Humanity might have been saved by mother nature. But no! The deer was not left alone to its fate. Rather it was fetched from the water, pulled to the safety shore by a retriever named Storm. Bad dog!
Now that deer have supplanted us as dogs' best friends, we can no longer let sleeping dogs lie. We must take swift action to prevent them from assembling against us. Break up the packs! Close the dog parks! Destroy the fire hydrants!
Grab any stray dog you see — especially the brown ones and the foreign ones! We'll throw them all in internment camps, caged like, well, dogs. No more walkies for them! Though we will let them keep their squeak toys. I mean, we're not animals.
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