Morty the Moose

This is my mom's moose, Morty. He's not ACTUALLY my mom's moose, but she named him, and I'm pretty sure that no one else thought to name him, so why can't he be my mom's? I mean, she's given him an identity. No longer is he just some nameless moose crashing through the brush. Now he's Morty Crashing Through the Brush.

One might even say that my mom gave Morty the Moose meaning.

Maybe not.

She took this picture somewhere around Nunavut. If you thought Prince George was way up north, just imagine... Nunavut gets you even closer to Santa Claus! SANTA CLAUS PEOPLE!!!

[pause...]

THAT'S RIGHT! I just mentioned Santa Claus AND IT IS ONLY SEPTEMBER. There is some kind of rule and I DID IT ANYWAY- it has something to do with not mentioning anything Christmas-y until after Halloween or something, but you know what? That's how I roll! Caution to the wind! Fly by the seat of my pants! Any. Thing. Can. Happen.

Ok then. No more coffee for me after 4pm.

Special thank you to my mom for getting such a slammin' shot!

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Stuff My Dogs Have Wrecked: Shoes

Kayloo was the kingpin behind the Cushion Fiasco. Here we have the mastermind behind the Shoe Wrecking Incident:


A bit of back story: My mom and I have decided that we want to start this annual "Chick's Only Weekend" (from this point forward known as PROJECT C.O.W.). 2009 was the first annual event. We gabbed. We shopped. We shopped. We shopped.

The 109th store my mother dragged me to was the Shoe Store from Hell. And there was a sale. So, it was the Shoe Store from Hell jacked up on triple shot, sugar-free Vanilla Americano's and hairspray. About one million of us voluntarily filed down into the depths of this gigantic, cave of a store with no natural light and only fluorescent yellow CHECK IT OUT YOU CRAZY LADIES SALE!!! signs to light our way.

And I found these shoes. The perfect shoes. They looked decent. They were comfortable. A bit of a heel, but not too much. They didn't click when I walked. They were summery. They were perfect.

Enter Mickey. As you can see from the picture above, he is quite evil and this was a calculated attack.

The little strappy thing that keeps the sandal on my foot is now GONE. GONE I TELL YOU! All the shopping and walking and jostling and wrestling (I don't care how old she was, I FOUND THEM FIRST and she had to go DOWN)... all for NOTHING.


These are my favourite cowboy boots:


Actually, they are my only cowboy boots. They are so favourite, I haven't even worn them yet. If anything happens to these boots, I'm telling you right now I'm making purses out of both of those dogs.

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It's True: Mickey Had a Nose Job

A few people have asked and, although I have struggled with what is for "us" as a family and what can and should be divulged to the public I have decided that the time is now to stand up and let my voice be heard.

Yes, the rumors are true: Mickey had a nose job.

Please see above a recent picture of Mickey. And here are some pictures from before the "procedure": walking around with a stick, fighting with another stick, and sleeping after playing with several sticks. You'll notice that these days you can clearly see Mickey's eyes.

To the naysayers I say this: Stand down! I am a mother, and as a mother sometimes I have to make the hard choices: Chicken or beef? To pick up or to hide the poo under a leaf? Educational "training walk" or jaunt on over to the park where Little Sally and her crazy Jack Russel pup can run the pants off the dogs and get them off my back for the rest of the night? Tough choices indeed.

Some of you might think that 1 year is to young to go under the shears, but you know what? I'm glad I was strong enough to fight the good fight. I'm glad I dared to introduce Mickey to a woman strong enough to pin down all four flailing legs and tenacious enough to groom away through the flatulence.

And will I do it all again? Damn right.*

* I'll probably take him back to the groomer when his little hair/whisker things get too long and they start poking him in the eyes again.

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