Two more big sleeps

Happy valentine's day.

Notice that I used lower-case letters up there. I am not a celebrator of valentine's day - oh I know lots of people say they're not into valentine's and then they still expect cards and flowers, but I am different. I am lucky to get a chocolate or something from hubby, and he usually gets nothing from me but a kiss. I just feel like it's a useless, pink, arbitrary holiday. I don't celebrate anything that doesn't get me a day off work (St. Patrick's day, I'm looking at you) with the obvious exception of Halloween.

The fact that it's February 14, however, means that the puppies are ready to go to their new homes. It means that there are 2 more big sleeps until our little squirmy bundle of love is introduced to our house, our two jealous cats, our area rugs and all of our chewable belongings. We built her a nice pen in the living room so she can spend her days peeing and pooping on newspapers, contained, while still feeling like a part of the family, able to observe the cats and the comings and goings outside the patio door. It's sunny, and right beside the woodstove, and right in the centre of activity in our house. I've put a little bed in it but that's already changed, I have a little day-time sleeping crate in there for her now. Her large night-time crate has arrived at the bus station as well, courtesy of my girlfriend in B.C., so I can decorate that at make it cozy before her arrival Saturday morning.

Here's the pen:

Also, I think we've settled on a name: Rosie. Not after the O'Donnell version, more like the Riveter one. It sounds awfully close to "Loki" but we'll have to emphasize the "Z" sound when calling her.

As you can imagine, it's all about dogs these days in my world. Dog this dog that. I am obsessive, as you've probably surmised from my other posts, and so for the months of February/March it is all about dogs. I have been googling dog stuff, reading up on dog training techniques, google-imaging pictures of 7-week old Black Lab puppies, just to get my fix pre-Rosie. I have told everyone I meet and have shown her picture to all of my co-workers. I have quizzed my girlfriend until she's thoroughly sick of me. I have asked for tips from a dog-trainer friend of ours. I have purchased toys, a bed, a leash, a collar, a brush, some tennis balls, food, treats, and today I will go invest in a wee Kong for the little lady, to give her something to work on during the day while we're away. I've scrounged up a training harness, a giant dog bowl with a big suction cup on the bottom, a jaunty stripey placement (seen in the photo), small dishes (left over from Peter, R.I.P.). I've made a large dog bowl in pottery class, and I've even spool-knitted a long looped and knotted rope to hang from the doorknob with bells on it, so I can train her to let us know when she has to pee. Eventually. I have been a complete pain in the ass. I am nothing if not eager, and am very very thorough.

I have even been priming the cats by telling them that we're getting them a puppy. I don't know if it's sunken in yet, but they are naturally very curious about the pen.

Also, in other news, I did join the gym and have now gone three times. I tried to go four times, but the first time my pass-key didn't work, so that was discouragement number one. The first time I actually went was a bit of a washout. I didn't have great clothes - I threw together some old stretchy pants and a yucky t-shirt that didn't really match, since I believed that the gym would be empty after work hours. I was wrong. I also didn't have proper shoes, so was wearing flat-bottom skateboard sneakers that I dug out of the bottom of the closet and cleared of dust-bunnies and spider carcasses. I felt embarrassed. My shoes felt like clown-shoes. My Mp3 player wasn't charged up. It felt like it wasn't meant to be. When I approached the machine, I couldn't figure out how to turn it on and, like a dunce, figured it was out of order and went to try another one. When I realized they were all like that, and I'd hit all the buttons with no effect, I got frustrated and left. When I got back to the change room I thought "don't be such a baby" and went back to the gym, got on the machine, and PRESTO! it came on automatically. Duh. So I spent awhile fiddling with the buttons (what kind of workout? Heart monitoring? Cardio? Weight Loss? For how long? At what level?) and finally got to work out for about half an hour. It felt great.

Then I went and got some cheapo gym-type sneakers, standard-issue, and charged up my Mp3 player, and wore my black yoga pants, and a decent top that matched. I've been twice since and have developed my own little routine, and I feel great afterwards, so I've told my husband to make sure I stick with it, because I know myself and will quit as soon as I have the first good excuse. I will never be a gym bunny, but with the right music it is quite enjoyable. I figure if I go two or three times a week for 40 minutes, I'll be way better off than I am now in many different ways.

Along the same lines, I went to the fertility doctor again last week. I had been avoiding him. I had been unsatisfied with the treatment and sort of feeling like they were trying to make a buck out of me. But I have changed my tune. I went in there believing that I would stomp in, put my foot down and insist on progressing with IUI treatments. But he discouraged me for all good reasons, not the least of which is financial. So I guess I trust him again. I'm going back on the meds (monitored this time, as he seems to think I'm a "triplet risk" which would be a nightmare), and getting more tests, and staying the course. It's a bit frustrating but what the heck.

At least I have the fur children.