Jez. Pickles gets more mail than I do. She has asked me to make sure you know her personal pronouns are she, her, Hey you, and whatzerbutt. She states she does not identify as transgendered even though she has had a hysterectomy. I had to take her down to meet Butch and Barb of LZ Cork fame yesterday. More about him in a new post. Yep. We struck out at the BVA. They don’t understand the correct application of §3.156(c) nor how §1154b might be for application in 2015 when it wasn’t in 1970. Onward to the CAVC. One of my clients and his wife insisted on coming over to discuss their claim with the proviso they’d get to meet Princess and take their picture with her. Where does it end? To prevent a lot of oil stains on my driveway, I’ll publish the pictures. I don’t get no respect.
We picked her up right after we got back from Spring NOVA in Nashville. That blanket is now three blankets.
Here’s a great shot of her at 10 weeks. Every shoe or boot you see in this picture has been reduced to small, digested pieces by now. To say she has frequent, colorful feces is a gross masterpiece of understatement.
People laugh when they come into my mudroom. Above the boots and shoes in this photo is my cubby. Yep. I framed it in when we built the hacienda in 2005-a carbon copy of my old one in Northside Elementary School in Albany Georgia from 1955. I used formica instead of white oak for the seat but other than than, it’s a dead ringer. You laugh. It’s a great place to throw the Honey do’s and put on your boots whether you’re 5 or 65. I hear they’re becoming all the rage in retirement homes, too. It’s a regression thing. Women wouldn’t get it.
We began to worry about Princess’ IQ shortly after the coming home adoption ceremonies. She never looked where she was running nor understood the dynamics of immovable objects
She still had her baby blue eyes at 12 weeks. And yes, that shoe on my left foot is now history.
Studying in the law library
Here’s Princess at three months old:
And four months…
Pickles is slow-witted. Cupcake and I have come to realize not every dog marches to the beat of the official dog drummer. She enjoys smelling things-sometimes for ten minutes to the exclusion of all other sensory inputs. If you tell her to sit and give her a treat, she does. The problem is if you walk away. Several minutes later, you realize she’s missing. This is nerve-wracking. I’m afraid someone may try to kidnap her and hold her for ransom. I run back to where I saw her last and she’s still sitting there. You have to beg her to get up and follow you. Conversely, you have to scream at her to keep her from rushing to greet our mail person… or any person or vehicle other than us.
We gradually began to find more imperfections one by one; here’s the tail discoloration. Now there are white splotches at the color transition.
Princess on spay day in her new surgical suit which survived almost 3 hours. We went out to eat Mexican and came home to find the undigested parts on the floor. I should have read that look. It bespeaks pure disgust and several ounces of future revenge.
Pickles 2.0 is now spayed, 55 lbs. … and counting. She was the runt of the litter and chosen specifically for that reason. Being the runt doesn’t seem to equate with a ladylike figure or appetite. What she lacks is altitude. She’s the epitome of the Randy Newman song. But we decided to keep her.
She was a bit bummed when we closed the pool several weeks ago. The muzzle was to protect the pool for reuse next spring. And my new tennis shoes and work boots and Cupcake’s high heels (the three new pairs I bought to replace the chewed ones).
Never have I owned a new puppy that has caused more financial damage in such a short time. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t trade her in for a brand new Corvette. I will also never ever get a new puppy again. This is almost more work than I have the stamina for. Pickles turned 8 months on the fifth and has all her adult teeth. I do wish someone would explain it to her in dogspeak. There’s simply no reason to keep chewing up the world.