canine tales

Much Heat, Many Halp

Day 2 of getting up early to do some yoga is going about as well as can be expected. It didn’t cool off much last night, so sleeping was intermittent at best, especially since Miss B decided that the open window meant OMG PROTECT MAI HOOMIN WIF SNUGGLE. She also decided to “help” me with every. damn. yoga. pose. Not content with that level of supervision, she also tried herding me all the way through our morning run, along with several bees who apparently find my hair extremely fascinating. (It’s not my shampoo, I’ve changed that several times.)

I am reminded of Shel Silverstein–some kind of help is the kind of help that helping’s all about, and then there’s this.

Now, exhausted by her efforts, Miss B’s cast herself onto the office floor next to a snoring Trundles (who has decided my bed is too warm and too soft, Goldilocks) and is eyeing me warily, in case I decide to Do Something Else She Needs To Help With.

At least all the sweaty stuff is done and I won’t have to venture into the heat until after dinner for Odd’s Daily Constitutional. He hates warm weather, and reproaches me about it almost as much as he complains about rain. It’s not really his fault–he’s a walking yeast factory, and with his compromised airways hot days mean he can’t breathe as well. Pretty soon he’ll move out of my office and into the hall, where he’ll find cool spots on the hardwood and move every ten minutes or so, groaning all the while.

That’s all the news from this morning, other than me trying to decide which project goes where in the next six months. I have a list, but I want to depart from it, and I have to find time to write another novella. That was fun, and it makes sense for me to broaden my genres, so to speak.

Maybe a cuppa while I ponder everything, since there’s a nice breeze through the window and it’ll be too hot come afternoon. And before you ask, no, I abhor iced tea and iced coffee. Call it a quirk.

Over and out.

Stuff and Things


I put the werewolf smut up for pre-order. The blurb and the cover might change, and it will by all indications be out much earlier than the preorder date, but at least it’s there. I had fun writing it. Also, Rose & Thunder is a Kindle Countdown Deal until the 12th, if you’re into that. After that, I’ll be taking the book off KU and putting it back into wide distribution, so get it while it’s hot.

The thunderstorms we were promised didn’t show up until midnight. I woke to find a shaking, lip-licking, whining Miss B pressing as close to me as she could get while the heavenly cannons flashed and roared. Before you ask, no, we don’t use a ThunderShirt for her. She hates that thing more than she hates the loud noises I thought to save her from. The only thing that works for her is anti-anxiety meds and plenty of cuddles. Strangely, though she hates the compression of the shirt, she likes getting under the covers with me, with only her nose poking out. She won’t listen when I tell her they’re basically the same thing. *eyeroll* I guess it was the fact that I’d just washed my sheets that made it so attractive.

Odd Trundles, of course, spent the entire storm snoring in his crate, except for when one strike less than a mile away rattled the windows. He roused, sleepily barked at “what the fuck are you doing, it’s nap time” at the world, and went back to snore-whistling.

When the entire thing receded, it took a while to get Miss B back to calm, and she’s still nervy and needy this morning. Poor thing. It’s almost as bad as fireworks season. I hear that the new laws go into effect this year–no fireworks for the 4th/New Year’s inside the city limits, and it’s about goddamn time. It’s so bad for the pets. Go out somewhere else to blow up bits of your native soil in celebration, or, here’s a thought: just don’t. Ugh.

Anyway, it’s a Friday. I did a Friday photo yesterday, probably because the heat had addled my brain somewhat. Since I did my long run yesterday too (look, it was scheduled, I figured I’d get it out of the way, it was a bad choice but I don’t regret it) I’ll probably go for a nice easy bike ride today, just to wear me out so I can sleep through whatever happens tonight. There are no more storms in the forecast, unless one counts emotional ones.

So today I begin revisions on Afterwar, bite my nails over the upcoming Cormorant Run release, achieve some steady wordcount in Roadtrip Z, try to exhaust myself for sleeping tonight, and smile at the rain.

Because yes, it’s raining. 50F and raining, again, a nice break from two 80F days. I never sleep well when it’s that warm, anyway. The world is back on its regular track, and I’m happy enough. If I can just get Miss B all-the-way soothed, I’ll count today a win.

Humid Nightmare

I’ve twenty minutes before I should go and prep the rice cooker for lunch (brown rice! Leftover broccoli! Adult food choices to make up for last night!) and put some bread dough together. So I thought, instead of revising the last chapter of the werewolf smut (tentatively titled Bite because why not?) and deciding if I need to make it, well, smuttier, I’d blog instead.

I know, it makes no sense, but there it is.

Miss B is somewhat slow and nippy today. The weather’s changed, and even though yesterday’s run was slow and short, she still needs a little recovery time. This pisses her off–recovery, to her, is a dirty word, because it means she won’t go With Mum. And if there’s anything she hates, it’s being left behind while I go do Fun Things Without Her. Like doctor’s office visits, grocery shopping, long runs, or even checking the mail. Each time, she informs me when I return that I was Gone Far Too Long and will need to work hard to Make Amends.

Then she gets an itch, thumps down, chews on her bum for a second or two, and all is forgiven.

Odd, of course, doesn’t mind me leaving as long as he can sleep on my bed while I’m gone. He does notice when I return, however, and does a groaning pee-dance at the head of the stairs, yodeling the song of his people. It sounds suspiciously like a dying giraffe, with bonus ear-shattering banshee wails added for spice.

Any ingress to Chez Saintcrow is accompanied by these horns and drums, let me tell you.

They’re saying it’ll be 80F today, which is…not usual, for May. Currently it’s far cooler, with a lot of cloud cover, so it will probably turn into a humid nightmare later. Right in time for me to bake bread, of course, so that will, of course, be sweaty and uncomfortable. But I want good toast, and store-bought is not going to satisfy for the next couple days.

Now that I’m typing, I seem to have run out of things to say. Maybe I should go back and use the remaining time to dust and sculpt the werewolf smut. This, I suspect, will be a fun thing to do before I’m fully caffeinated. Losing track of whose hands are whose in the middle of a sex scene can bring much unintentional hilarity into the world.

I hope your Wednesday is not a humid nightmare, my friends, and that someone is as happy to see you as Odd Trundles is to see anyone coming in the front door. Be kind, be safe, be excellent to each other.

Over and out.

Bloody-Haired Beltane

Last night I did dream of flying–a good omen, indeed. Happy Beltane, my friends, and may your bonfires be fruitful.

And yet, even though it’s Beltane, it is a Monday. How can I tell, you ask?

Little Prince: *taps at the door*
Me: *groans*
Miss B: SOMEONE AT THE DOOR! ALERT! ALERT!
Little Prince: I always wait until you grunt, so I know you’re awake. I’m going to school.
The Mad Tortie: FINALLY I AM IN YOUR ROOM, HUMAN.
Me: …have a good day at school, kid.
Little Prince: You too…oh, hey, there’s the cat.
Me: Thanks.
Odd Trundles: *snorefartwhistle snore*

Fast-forward about ten minutes.

The Mad Tortie: I SHALL NEST IN YOUR HAIR, AND KNEAD YOUR SCALP.
Me: Cat. Please. No.
Miss B: JOB? IS THERE A JOB FOR THE DOG? *snoot-boops the cat* *repeatedly*
The Mad Tortie: CURSE YOU, FOUL BEAST! *digs claws in*
Me: Well, I’m awake now. *bleeds on pillow*

Five minutes later.

Miss B: JOB? JOB FOR THE DOG? JOB, MOM?
Me: Go away.
Miss B: SNUGGLES? IT’S DAYLIGHT. THAT MEANS GET UP AND DO FUN THINGS.
Odd Trundles: *fartwhistle snore*
The Mad Tortie: YOU’RE AWAKE. THAT MEANS YOU CAN PET ME.
Me: Stop. Please. Just stop.
Miss B: COLD WET SNOOT BOOPS FOR THE HUMAN!
The Mad Tortie: RUB MY EARS, SLAVE.
Me: …I hate you all.
Odd Trundles: *snortsnore* HUH? IS IT BREAKFAST?
The Mad Tortie: *nibbles at my fingers, kneads at my scalp again*

Another five minutes of vainly but determinedly trying to get back to sleep passes. Finally, I sighed, and started unwrapping the sheets and blankets.

The Mad Tortie: ACK! ALERT! MOVEMENT! KILL IT! CLAW! BITE! DESTROY!
Miss B: ACK! ALERT! WET SNOOT DEPLOYED! I’LL SAVE YOU!
Me: *punched in face, clawed, and trapped in blankets* AUGH!
Miss B: WHAT? IS IT A JOB? JOB FOR THE DOG? OOOH, A CAT!
The Mad Tortie: KILL YOU AAAAAAALLLLLLL!
Odd Trundles: *fartsnorewhistle snore smack lips* HUH? BREAKFAST?

Bleeding, wounded, and more than slightly miffed, I struggled mostly free of the blankets and shook the cat away from my head. Miss B, excited past all reason, clawed and nosed at the covers to unpack me, her hind end wiggling so hard she hip-checked the dresser with a meaty sound. Which the cat thought was something Coming To Get Her, so she leapt, twisted in midair, and streaked for the (closed) door to the hallway.

And ran right into it.

Which startled Odd Trundles, who began barking “ALERT! ALERT! FIRE! FLOOD! ANARCHY! SQUIRRELS!” from his crate. Since it’s pretty lightweight–more an idea of a crate than an actual prison–his muscle-dense ass, of course, tipped it back into the closet doors.

Which made Miss B think there was an invader coming through a closet portal. Since I was sleepy and purportedly defenseless, that could only mean one thing: ATTACK.

And all this before coffee.

So, yeah. The dogs have had their breakfast, and the Mad Tortie is safely outside, since I stumbled out into the dining room to find her batting at the French door and cursing me loudly for being an ineffective monkey-slave. Miss B is currently sleeping the sleep of the just in a corner of my office, content to have defended her human, eaten, and unloaded her bowels outside all in the course of twenty minutes. Odd Trundles, freed of the crate and amnesiac of this morning’s events, is *snortwhistlesnore*-ing on my bed, sprawled and deliriously happy that breakfast was had.

Me?

I have the closet doors to get back onto their rails, and dried blood to pick out of my hair. It’s not even 10am yet.

And that’s how I can tell it’s a Monday, my friends.

Seal, Solomon

One of the parks in the area has small signs for native plants. Miss B thinks they’re morning newspapers; it was difficult getting her snoot away to take a picture. She’ll sniff all day if I let her, eyes rolling back in her head and her entire being focused on untangling who passed by and who peed.

The only thing she doesn’t like about our daily runs is not having time to stop and sniff. She has to wait for rambles to do that, and it’s anyone’s guess which excites her more. After a ramble, she collapses to sleep, twitching while her little canine brain processes all the new input.

Anyway, here’s the sign for Solomon’s seal (NOT the Goetic, the botanical) and if you’re thinking wait a minute, there doesn’t seem to be any there, you’re correct. It’s too early in the season, it’s still dormant.

But I like the sign.

Mod Podge Doge

What with the release day craziness, I felt the need for a little Zen. I’d always wanted to decorate my craft supplies box, too. So I turned to something I’ve liked for a long time: decoupage! It’s collages and glue, what’s not to love?

I had a pot of Mod Podge and the will to use it. So I cut up a bunch of old French Vogues I had lying around (don’t ask) and began smearing podge all around. Of course…the dogs were interested, though Odd was on my bed and Miss B at the other end of the hall when I started. They both showed up in record time to supervise. There’s no help like Doge Help.

Much hair. Many drool.

Eventually Not Worth It

Rolling out of bed this morning was a chore, even with a Very Helpful Australian Shepherd getting her nose under the covers and doing her best to root me out like a pig roots truffles. I’m glad she feels some affection for me, but this helpfulness is sometimes…not helpful. Especially when I don’t want to get out of my nice, warm, comfy nest.

But she was right, there’s a lot of work to do today. For one thing, tomorrow is She Wolf’s release day! And there’s the Perry short story to look at copyedits for, tax stuff to send to the accountant, bringing in a new character in Roadtrip Z, some yoga, research reading for the Veil Knights book, taking Miss B on a short run to work out her fidgets and my own, wordcount on two erotic novellas…

…yeah, I might as well just go back to bed. I’ve also got to clean the dishwasher today, always a favourite task. Cue up the vinegar and scrub brushes. I’m pretty sure Miss B will want to “help” me do that too–there’s probably a wonderland of smells in there for her agile, curious little snout.

I also spent time this last weekend retagging a bunch of my music in iTunes, as well as trying (and failing) to add a wiki to the website. I was defeated by a logo that wouldn’t load and decided to scrap the whole thing. Lest you think me lazy, this was after the problem consumed me for three solid hours. The difference between me now and me ten years ago is Present Me will eventually sometimes decide something’s not worth it instead of simply continuing for the sake of continuing. Past Me had not yet acquired that trick, and it caused her a lot of heartache.

Time to make a list of things to do and cross them off one by one so I don’t get overwhelmed. After, of course, I run off the fidgets currently besetting a very helpful, extremely bossy Miss B.

Over and out.