Yes, I know it’s a lame cat macro thingy. I don’t care. It cracks my shit up.

There are some days when getting myself to work is the world’s biggest struggle.

Since I’m obviously posting just now, guess which one today is?

However, if I wanted to throw people off the scent of my slacking, I could always use one of these Blood Puddle Pillows. It would make it look like I was thinking so hard I started bleeding from the ears.

Via Geekologie, a blog you should visit always.

I promised to tell you all about Marci (pictured. Duh.), a dog from The Bill Foundation who is staying at my house until she gets adopted. I have tons to say about my own emotions as I’ve taken on this project, but the more interesting stuff is about her. The really freaky stuff, I’m finding, is about people’s reaction to her, or dogs in general. I’ll get to all of that, in posts to come. (Like it or not. Heh.)

Marci was chosen for me by the rescue place for her probable ability to get along with my cats, for Marci is not what you’d call a high-energy dog. The rescue place claims she’s four years old, but I don’t believe them. She acts like she’s 90. She’s basically cheerful but in general, her emotional range seems to start at “indifferent” and max out at “Huh.” She’s not a real fast mover, either. I jokingly call her “Lightning.” A couple of times a day I take her out for a stand.

Okay, I’ll admit: the above paragraph exaggerates. I included it mostly because I wrote it earlier and thought it was funny. I’ve spent more time with Marci since then, and she does indeed have her (relative) extremes of feeling–she gets happy and wiggly when I come home. She will sit on command before I give her a treat, but waves her paw urgently like “hurry UP!” She is discovering how much she likes snuggling and petting. And she can actually move faster than a snail’s pace…even if it’s only for a microsecond and she could still be outrun by a sloth. There’s a lot going on in this little dog.

Especially in her nose.

She has the WORST sinus problems I’ve ever heard. As someone who also has breathing issues, I want to take her to a specialist. She isn’t constantly noisy, but when she sniffs the ground on a walk she makes little pig snorting sounds. When she smells around the base of a tree I think she’s hunting for truffles. When I’m not calling her Lightning, I’m calling her Snuffleupagus. She also makes these loud random honks at odd times. But none so alarming…

…as when she’s SNORING.

Holy MOTHER OF GOD does she snore! Like, louder than people! When I live in a situation where I have to take the dog out to pee, I find it easiest to have it spend the night at the end of my bed. The dogs I’ve had sleep obediently through the night and then are right there to wake you when they have to go out. But NOW…even with earplugs, I just lay there all night thinking of analogies to describe her snoring to other people: she snores like grizzly with a head cold. She snores like a yeti. She snores like a Cessna in need of a tune-up. She snores like an old riding lawnmower. She snores like a flatulent tuba. If she were in a band it’d be called D.V. Ated and the Septums. At least thinking up jokes gives me something to do.

She also is having trouble meeting strangers–even nipping at them at times–and isn’t in love with me leaving. And then there’s the saga of the cats, who, as cats, are not big into the concept of being noble and helping out the less fortunate. They’re more like “Noble, schmoble, you ruined the house. When do I get your lap back?”

I’ll tell you about it soon.

As of this writing, I have Dog Guilt.

The dog pictured is named Marci, and she is at my home while I am at Starbucks. She’s a rescue dog I’m fostering, and I’m writing a whole big post about her which I’ll post today or tomorrow. She has many fine qualities, many comical ones, and many really mellow ones, but the quality I’m concerned with now is a typical shelter dog case of separation anxiety. She whines and yaps whenever I leave the house, so I’ve been following the conventional wisdom and not making a big deal of my departures or arrivals, leaving for a few minutes at a time and coming right back to show that’s what happens, then increasing the amount of time I’m gone. I’m also supposed to leave the TV on and give her a treat that happens only when I’m leaving for a slightly longer period. Right now is a trial of leaving for about 2 hours, to help build up for leaving her for about 4 hours at a time when I go back to work tomorrow (my new schedule will involve coming home at lunch to let her out to pee.)

It’s for her own good. It’s my job to teach her how to live in a house and deal with everything that happens, to make her more adoptable. It’s my job to be firm but loving and be the Pack Leader and all that. I’m not hurting her.

But maybe she’s hurting her. I don’t really know what her anxiety level is, and I can barely stand that I’m causing her any anxiety at all. Don’t even start me about how one of my cats has been reacting. I hate hate hate all Animal Worry.

If anybody would like to comment and tell me I’m not an ogre, you’re welcome to.

At least I can’t hear her.