What Does This Remind You Of?

I was watching Dave build a fenced run for the Misty-dog today, you know so bigger dogs won't come along and eat her while she's trying to poo, and also so I won't have to stare at her bum hole all day.

This is a good thing, although I fear the lack of bum hole observation will mean I will have nothing left to blog about. You know, besides my BOOK and I'm darned sure you're sick to absolute fecking DEATH of hearing about THAT.

So anyway, I was sitting on my double-wide arse watching my man work (as I am wont to do) and I noticed the fencing material lying in the grass and I thought, huh, that reminds me of something. I thought about it for a few minutes and then realized what it was.

You know how you haven't shaved your legs for a month and you put on pantyhose and the hair sticks out?

Yeah. Just like that.

Exciting News: I Had A Bath

Feeling good today! Got lots done, including:

1. Cleaning out the kitty truffles. This is more satisfying than it sounds. I do it every day but occasionally I miss and on those days I genuinely miss sitting on the floor next to the putrid pans full of chocolatey pudding pops. I like digging through the dirt, looking for truffles. It's like mining for gold, or playing in a sandbox. (That's one of the truffle-donaters in the pic, my toothless little crooked-face stinky-pot, Ben-Ben.)

2. Having a bath. I needed one. Especially after looking after item #1. It's hard to keep your elbows and droopy parts out of the truffle bowl. (Note to self: wear bra next time.)

3. Outlining my next novel. YES! I did this! After a few weeks of just thinking about book two, I actually sat down with pen and paper in hand. Even better, said paper and pen were gifts from the lovely lassies in my Muskoka writing circle. I have lots more outlining to do before National Novel Writing Month (Nanowrimo) starts November 1, but at least I'm finally getting my game on. For those who don't know about Nanowrimo, it's an international festivus of writers who vow to write 50,000 words (or the better part of a novel) in the month of November. I took part a couple of years ago and it was the impetus and discipline I needed to write Green Eggs & Weezie. Anyone can take part. Always wanted to write a book? Now's your chance!

4. Opening a Twitter account. I used to be a Twit (some will argue I still am) but I closed my account after it was hacked. (Bah.) I've tried to look up my old writing buddies but if I missed you, let me know and I'll give you a follow!

5. Spamming everyone on Facebook and Twitter about Weezie. Heh-heh. Sorry. But I just HAD to tell everyone about the awesome-sauce article about Green Eggs & Weezie in the Almaguin News today! (Click here to admire its awesome-sauceness!)

6. Thanking Kristy from Ramblings of a Mad Woman and EvalinaMaria of This and That for posting about Weezie. Wow. I'm touched. Sincerely. You guys are so amazing. If I can ever return the favour for you, please let me know. oxox

7. Talking to my dear old friend Vic on the phone. Vic is an amazing pal who lives in my hometown. We talk once a week, usually for at least an hour (!), and she makes me laugh until my sides hurt. Usually I'm not much of a phone-talker. I'd rather get face time, if that's at all possible, but when I see it's Vic's number calling, I go put on the coffee and settle in for a good yak.

8. Watching the dog's bum hole. You knew I was gonna say that, right? Didn't want to disappoint...

Alice Munro And My Dog's Ass

I'm so happy about Alice Munro winning the Nobel Prize for Literature. Happy, thrilled, proud, pumped – all that great stuff. I always feel a special affinity – a bond, if you will – with this great Canadian author, not just because she is Canadian, as am I, and she is a woman (me too) and she's old as dirt (I am as old as fresh dirt, whereas she's more like the stuff in the bottom of that philodendron that's been sitting on top of your fridge since the Boer War), but because we write EXACTLY THE SAME.

Take what I am about to write, for example. It is so remarkably like Alice Munro's work that you will think I stole it directly from her.

Do you have to tell your dog to poo?

I do and it just drives me fecking crazy. I mean, I know she has to poo. Her little bum hole, which has been exposed since her last trip to the sawmill, pooches out when poo is imminent. The more she has to poo, the bigger her little bum hole is. Sometimes it's so big I fear her tail might get caught in it.

I keep a close eye on her bum hole. Every chance I get, I'm looking at it. I'm beginning to think I'm a gay dog, such is my fascination. But I have to, because she's not paying it any attention at all. I say, "Misty, wanna go outside?" And she gets excited and I let her out and she runs down the stairs and squats and pees. I'm watching her, and I see her bum hole is about the size of a personal-pan pizza, and I know she has to poo, but nope. She finishes piddling, looks at me with the happy grin of somebody who just won the lottery, and runs up the stairs. "Lookitme! Ipeed! Ipeed! Lemmeinsowecanwatchthefoodnetworktogether!" That's what her face says. Her bum hole, however, is now the size of a soccer ball.

"Get down there and go poo," I order. I have to tell her thrice and finally she slinks down the stairs like she's just been beaten. She stands at the bottom and gives me her best sad puppy face. "Go on," I say. "Get pooing." She prances slowly around the yard like she's the most hard done by dog on the planet, which she may be, because surely she's the only one whose bum hole is so intricately described on the internet. She waddles around for a while, throwing me the occasional piteous glance, then tries to convince me she's done. Her bum hole is now the size of our cat, and we have a cat with the girth of a mini-van. "Go poo," I growl. Finally, blessedly, she squats, lays a substantial and no doubt satisfying turd where Dave always walks across the lawn, and her bum hole magically shrinks back to a happy little pinhole.

I've written about telling my dog to go poop before, probably more than once, but I don't think I've ever mentioned her bum hole and how much time I spend watching it. For easy figuring, I bet I look at her bum hole a full hour every day. That's 365 hours a year, or nine full work weeks, staring at my dog's ass.

I know, right? Alice Munro. It's fecking incredible.

I didn't take a picture of my dog's bum hole because it might be the object
of affection for some porn-addled web weirdos. Besides, is nothing sacred? Geez....