Stepmom of the year

Since we have 14 year old boys here, we have throwing stars. And throwing knives. All the good stuff. Trouble is, they throw these things at the fence. Fences being made of wood, and the boys not quite being ninjas, the knives and throwing stars bounce back.

This, it seemed to me, was a laceration waiting to happen. A laceration that would, without a doubt, be timed so as to interfere with either my obsessive watching of CNN, my beer drinking, or both.

And that cannot be allowed to happen.

So Girl Child and I went to the range and shot up half of the .22lr in north Texas. We also purchased a couple of extra targets. Then we stopped at Home Despot and picked up some foam board, which we proceeded to hack apart in the parking lot so it would fit in El Jeepo.

Brought it home, added some thumbtacks, and...voila!



Number Two Son discovers that these throwing stars work much better when throw them at something they'll stick in.

(A note - the monikers "Number One Son" and "Number Two Son" infer no preference or order of merit. It's a seniority issue. Number One Son is eight minutes older than Number Two.)

Busy day

After four days away from work, the whininess level today was high. Swear to God, if I ever work in customer service again after this, it'll be for a medical supply company or something where lives really do depend on the product.

I did get to finish off a fun project - an Army buddy who is one of the most talented people I know is applying to several MBA programs, and I wrote a couple letters of recommendation. I enjoy doing that - I've worked with some good people and helping them try to get where they want to be is gratifying.

The monthly depressing ordeal of wrestling bills was also completed. Good news - electic waaay down, gas only slightly up (let's hear it for keeping the house uncomfortably chilly!). Bad news - still no money for truck-lot ammo purchases.

And best of all...received news that Cousin R and her longtime companion, Mr. Really Great, have decided to make it all official and get hitched.

I was an only child, but I grew up never more than a couple miles from Cousin R, who is exactly four days older than I am. We're close members of an already close family, I love her like I imagine one would love a sister, and the fact that she's delirious with happiness makes me smile.

And, of course, the fact that she and Mr. Really Great are getting hitched means we have another lab in the family! Yep - Dog Cousin Allie is now going to be Canine Family.



She may only be marrying him for his dog, but she's a Very Good Dog, so that's cool.

Catching up

Just a short collection of snaps from the past few days, for those who might be interested. Wild and crazy night of priming the kitchen. Fortunately, the primer looks like ass, so we'll probably move on to actual paint at a slightly less glacial pace than the one we've taken so far on this project.

First off, a picture of my grandmother, with her favorite Bad Dog.



She took Sparky in when I was downrange and Mr. Abby was out of pocket for a few months. I seriously wondered if we'd get him back. He was in her lap her entire visit. We've lost his airplane carrier, which is probably good, since I think she may have made off with him if it were around.

The downside of Sparky, of course, is his stench. It's a Yorkie thing, I think. So sometimes, he requires bathing. I know we've mentioned this before, but I think this time I got a shot that truly captures how he feels about the bath process.



Isn't that pathetic? You'd think we beat him, and not that moments later, after a brisk towel treatment, he was curled up under the blanket on the bed. In my spot, of course.

And finally, a Bad Dog Product Test that didn't ever really come to fruition.



I've been using MagPul PMags lately - and they are a great piece of gear. I just ordered some more, and was feeling a little envious of all the gun people who were running over them with pickups, dropping them from skyscrapers, etc. So I thought I'd stage a little test of my own called Can A PMag Survive Being a Chew Toy?

Well, to know that, I'd have had to let the dog keep it more than 30 minutes. But the sound of a magazine being dropped on a tile floor roughly every 15 seconds cut that experiment off at the knees.

More tomorrow, perhaps even with some discussion of Osama Bin Laden's entry into the Commemorative Video bidness.

These weekends...

have been mildly busy. My grandmother is here - which is groovy. I have one of the world's coolest grandmothers - if it weren't for her I'd have never seen Madagascar, or the Galapagos, or wandered around northern England one Sping Break. That's just the direct stuff - her influence is probably responsible for a significant amount of my wanderlust.

So, she's here and hanging out with her is A Good Thing. I'll get some pictures up, and will get back to y'all in a couple of days.

That's better

Mom is on deck and the cleaning frenzy has officially ended. I didn't have to beat any children - they followed simple instructions to a "T."

Mom looks good - which is especially wonderful since I haven't seen her since Christmas, when she was just getting into the chemo and things were rough. Now she's got hair, and looks just plain better - kinda the way you'd expect someone to look like when chemo is in the rearview and the oncologist says things look clear.

That's pretty freakin' awesome.

Perspective

We were having a Normal Rockwell interlude a little while ago. I was frosting a cake while my stepdaughter hovered. One of the boys was washing dishes and the other was on the couch with his portable video game thing.

Mr. Abby picked up the puppy's Tire Bite toy and a spirited game of "take the tire from the person" ensued. For two or three minutes, Mr. Abby and Jack alternately chased each other around the couch, laughing and barking.

I looked up and saw the son on the couch with the video game while his Dad played chase with the puppy in a circle around him. And I thought, C'mon boy - put down the game and play with your Dad and the puppy.

Of course, that's not how it works. Dad (or the puppy) wore out and moved on to more important things, and the game player never even looked up.

Arming the neighbor kids - or not

I just off the phone with Randy. Randy is my older male cousin, and he lives up in Michigan. He's actually Cousin R's older brother, but I figured I'd give him his own name to keep things less confusing.

Randy is in the process of turning into a bit of an old bachelor (at 30). He works a ton, saves his money, lives alone in his own home and accumulates firearms.

At some point, he's going to meet the right gal and she's going to shut that down, so I encourage him.

Anyway. As some old bachelors are, Randy is fond of children. He is also fond of some fruit trees in his yard. He is, however, not fond of the rabbits that wreck havoc on his fruit trees.

This is the story he told me on the phone.

"So I had a family move in by me, and they had some boys. So I went over to the Dad and told him, 'Hey, I want to buy each of your kids a BB gun and BBs and let 'em shoot my rabbits.'"

I blinked into the phone. I love my cousin, but he's a straightforward guy, and I imagine he just walked up to this Dad who'd just relocated his family "to the country" and made this offer, with no more subtilty or fanfare.

"How'd that go for you, Randy?"

"Well, one of the boys was standing right there, and his eyes lit up. But the Dad was like, 'No, they're just 8 and 10 and I don't think that would be safe.' I told him, 'hey, when I was 10 I had a .410 and nobody worried about me!' But he still said no, even when I said I had 300 bucks in my pocket and I'd take 'em all down to the store right then."

"Well, I guess it ain't 20 years ago anymore, is it?"

"Nope."

Now, I can understand how having the goofy bachelor up the road wander over and offer to arm your children would be a little odd. But, c'mon! I know mothers can be a little flaky, but what Dad in his right mind would pass on that deal?

It's too bad, and I hope that the neighbors reconsider when they've lived there a while and realize that Randy's just...Randy. Not creepy, just the guy without a lot of social polish who thinks that boys should whack nuisance rabbits.

Because, c'mon - if you were a kid, what on earth would be more fun than having a neighbor set you up with a nice BB gun and asking you to declare open season on yard pests? I bet if those kids worked it right, they could even talk him into paying a bounty.

Seven down...one to go

Abby's Mom is damn near finished with chemo. Her last treatment is Thursday.

[I pause here for the barks, yaps and howls to die down]

Yep - she rocks. Now, during the course of her chemo, she has mostly opted to be a redhead. Which is cool. A lifelong blonde, she's gotten a kick out the opportunity to try something different (in her reports from Redheadland, she tells us that blondes do not have more fun - it's just a lie the redheads tell so nobody gets jealous).

However, a wig is a wig and sometimes one gets sicks of them. So, when her Emergency Room co-workers held the St. Patrick's day part, Mom said...ahh...screw the wig. Too easy to be a redhead on St. Patrick's Day. So Mom got festive.

Oh lord. I post the picture with her blessing.



She's beautiful, hey? This picture pretty much sums up how she's coped with all of this. Cry about it a little, swear about it a little, and laugh about it as much as is possible. It's pretty damn admirable.

I find the white shirt and hoop earring make her look slightly...piratical (if that's a word). Which is cool. Yaaargh! The guy with her is a co-worker. Her co-workers rock, and have been fabulous throughout this whole ordeal.

(Incidentally, Mom's birthday falls on International Talk Like a Pirate Day)

So - one more chemo, and then, rumor has it, maybe three or four weeks before there's any need to start looking for hair to start growing back.

And, just in case you were wondering how the Emergency Room staff manages to cope with the stresses of the job and still look so cheerful?



Jello shots. I don't know if I've been to an ER social function that didn't involve Jello shots.

Let the party begin!

Yep, Mr. Abby is out of the area. Off for professional development or some such tomfoolery.

In his absence, we are LIVIN' IT UP here at BDC. Casey has her half of the couch staked out, and Sparky is looking forward to sleeping on Mr. Abby's pillow. I will be off to the range shortly, and on the way home will stop for FRUIT, CEREAL and ROOT BEER, those being the things we subsist on when he's gone.

Any of you nefarious types out there who might view this as a good opportunity to come to BDC and steal our squeaker toys, beware! As always when the Mister is out of town, we've raised the household DEFCON from 4 to 3. That's right - we've got the Claymores out and I've taught Sparky to dial 9-1-1 while Casey does bite-testicles-and-shake-vigorously.

Ahhh...several weeks of nothing but CNN and the old country music channel. I'm all about that.

75% YEA!!!!

I'd like to point out to the Bad Dog Faithful that tomorrow will be Abby's Mom's SIXTH chemo treatment. Of EIGHT.

That's 75%, or THREE QUARTERS of the way through this process, people! Can I hear a BARK and a YAP and HOWL?

In Abby bad-student language, this means Abby's Mom could quit going to chemo and STILL PASS with a C. Although I don't think it works that way and she shouldn't do that.

Go Mom! You ROCK!

More on the movie issue

I detected a little disbelief when I was referencing Mr. Abby's weird-ass taste in film in a recent post. Of course he likes all the stupid guy movies, but that's not the disturbing part. Nor, really, are the foreign films about family dynamics and food. I don't get the obsession, but I'm down with ethnic cooking flicks.

No - the weird part is when he brings home something utterly off-the-damn wall. Long ago and far away, when we were dating, he went to the base video store. Now, there ain't a lot of options at the CAMP HANSEN, OKINAWA video store. But he came back with a weird one.

Ever hear of "Passion in the Desert?" I still cannot fathom why he picked it. Even weirder, we watched the entire thing. I endured it - he seemed to really enjoy it.

It's a mystery.

Abby's Mom Update

This has been a process, not a series of events, so I haven't talked about Mom's Full Frontal Assault on Breast Cancer for a while.

Today she's having her fourth chemo treatment. Of eight. Which means she's HALFWAY THROUGH.

The treatments are two weeks apart. She has them on Thursday. She feels fine on Thursday and Friday. Then, very late Friday night or very early Saturday morning, the Giant Curtain of Feeling Like Shit descends. She describes it as the "world's worst hangover."

Saturday is the worst day, and she feels puny Sunday as well. It starts getting better Monday, and with the exception of little flashes of nausea, is good to go by the middle of the week.

Her hair is gone, which she's handled amazingly well. Not saying the loss was easy, but she was prepared and now, in fact, often masquerades as a redhead. She's working after the bad days, although due to the nature of her work, shortened shifts.

When this all started, she called me and told me we "had some bad news." I couldn't think of anything to say other than, "Oh, shit, Mom..."

But she went on the offensive immediately. No dicking around trying to find the most gentle treatment. They couldn't find a tumor...maybe it was only one breast... She wanted no part of the dithering. Mom's tough and she's busy and she has plans, so off with both breasts. Hell yeah, let's do the chemo. Let's be done with this, Mom said.

And now she's halfway there. More than halfway, really, when you consider the surgery and recovery time that preceded the chemo. I try to help by sharing what experience I have in dealing with things that suck. Divide it up into little pieces. Make a note of each one. You're an eigth done, that means you're 12.5% of the way there.

Well, now she's halfway. It's a long run, or a helluva long walk with a heavy pack she can't pass off and can't drop for even a second, but now she's at the part where all she's gotta do is turn around and walk back.

I'm immensely proud of her. For a lot of reasons. But the way she's handled this whole thing - it's something else. Go, Mom.

We're back!!

I have returned (yes, again triumphantly) to Bad Dogs Central. An entertaining weekend all the way around.

I had three missions this weekend.

1) Get out of the house. Once in a while, you just gotta leave the Man and the Bad Dogs and hit the road. Best thing about road tripping by yourself? Total control of the radio AND the bathroom/snack break schedule.

2) Check out a Reserve unit in South Florida. Although my Army paperwork is still dorked up beyond belief, I am going to have the opportunity to either be totally free or in the IRR very soon. I wanted to visit the CA battalion here to decide if I wanted to try to re-enlist (and deal with the ensuing paperwork nightmare) in order to drill with them. The conclusion? Nope. The unit seemed good, the people were great, but it's a long-ass way away and, with our pending departure from this humid purgatory, the paperwork involved would NOT be worth it.

3) Visit Auntie M, Cousin M (Auntie's M's daughter) and Baby Cousin. I haven't seen Baby Cousin since June. He's 2 and a half now, and a LIVELY little guy.

So - weather was good, driving was nice. I need to do a couple more of these before we leave here, since there are a couple of places (the Keys, etc) that I have yet to see. I'll have to get that on the schedule.

More thoughtful crap and some totally gratuitous full frontal gun pics later!

More fun than...

having my spleen ripped out by weasels. But just barely. As I'm sure you can tell from the body language in this picture, I was just thrilled to put on a stupid motorcycle outfit and go along with Mr. Abby on a motorcycle outing today.

I hate the motorcycle. I hate ALL the motorcycles. Oh, the things I do so my husband will shut up and stop asking me, "when are you going to go riding with me?"

Swear to God...

If Mr. Abby makes one more SLLLUUUUURP while drinking coffee or eating cereal on the other end of the couch tonight, I'm going to mount the bayonet on my Mauser and get all World War I on his ass.

Note to any male readers: If you're happily shoveling chow into your mouth and you glance at your wife, and happen to catch her looking at you with a slight detachment and the faintest hint of distaste, and if you ask her, "what?" and she pauses before saying, "oh - nothing,"...if that exact thing happens, she's thinking about running a bayonet through your liver.

Open letter to my MOM

Dear Mom,

Thank you very much for hosting the entire Pack for a fabulous Christmas. Thank you especially for all the thoughtful gifts. About one of those gifts, though... I deeply appreciate that you thought of Sparky and his passion for squeaky toys. I also appreciate that you took the time and expended the effort to find the Orange Dude.
Sparky ALSO enjoys the Orange Dude. In fact, he enjoys it for several hours a day. Normally in the evening when we're both home and trying to watch the news, but often later in the evening when we're trying to eat dinner and chat.

His enjoyment of the Orange Dude is, in fact, so extreme that when we try to TEMPORARILY take it away from him, he yaps and paws at us hysterically. Sometimes he brings Orange Dude to bed, which can be...well, either awkward or amusing, depending on the specific evening.

Did you know that Orange Dude is totally indestructible? No matter how vigorously it's chewed, even if it's passed off to CASEY for some chewing, it JUST KEEPS SQUEAKING.

So, in short, Mom - thank you for the Orange Dude. In response to your thoughtful selection of this toy, I'm already shopping for some Squeaky Slippers that you can wear around the house to amuse Sarge.



Your loving daughter,

Abby

Favorite quote from Christmas

Just for any of you out there who don't know me, I am NOT the Queen of Fashion. Not even close. However, having the Bad Pups around this Christmas forced me to ennunciate something that I think we can ALL agree is a Basic Rule of Fashion.

"If you wore it squirrel hunting this morning, it is NOT acceptable for Christmas Eve!"

Keeping that one basic rule in mind will probably stand us all well in the long run.

LAB REPORT!!!

We just got the lab report back from Mom's surgery - and it's GOOD NEWS! None of the lymph nodes that were removed showed any signs of cancer, and they couldn't find anything in the breast tissue itself (other than some abnormal cells). So that TOTALLY rules out the possibility of radiation, and apparently, there's a question as to whether chemo will even be required.

This is, of course, fabulous news. We here at Bad Dogs (North) are wagging and howling with happiness. Sarge is mostly just happy because Mom's surgeon called and gave her the news over the phone - he'd been getting worried because we kept referring to "going up to get the labs." He's an only dog and kept pointing out that he didn't WANT a lab.

Incidentally, we don't know the lab in the above picture. We shamelessly stole this image from www.dogbreedinfo.com

Ok! Ok! Sorry!

Yes, I know, I've been remiss! The Bad Dog Nation yaps, howls and demands UPDATES! Ok - maybe not, but I like to think I have a cult following.

Abby's Mom had surgery on Monday - she came HOME today (Wednesday). In the interests of those who prefer not to hear details about the medical issues of others, we will let it suffice to say she is doing WELL, with good mobility and surprisingly little pain.

We await news on the next steps in whipping this bastard breast cancer, and we will know more when the pathology comes in from the surgery in the next few days.

Tomorrow will be a catchup day, when I will bombard you with NEWS and SCANDALOUS IMAGERY! There have been Significant Developments at Bad Dogs (Rear), and I can promise you that tomorrow will bring a UNPRECEDENTED IMAGE!

Stay tuned!

So here's the deal

We've opted not to be overly specific about the Bad Dog Family health issue thus far since, well, this is the internet, for chrissakes.

However, Abby's Mom (the primary reader we have here, that I am aware of) approved the release of more detailed information.



Abby's Mom was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. This is something the women of my family have some history with, so she was on the lookout and, fortunately, things were caught early. She will be having surgery tomorrow - the first active step in what we are certain will be a long but ultimately successful process.

Updates will be provided as warranted. Sarge is sporting HIS pink "neckwear" in support, and urges any/all of our Bad Dog Faithful to think good thoughts for Mom in the coming days and weeks.