Boo! Lick.

This is Boo.

This is Boo on drugs (post-op, that is).

We welcomed Boo into the family two weeks ago. Mike's been wanting a dog to run with (Buddy's not quite up to par in that area - 4 inch legs make for a rather short stride, more up my alley, if only I'd run).

Boo is 2 years old, weighs 60 pounds and loooves people. Cats, however, are another story. So Kiki's been prudently camping out in our bedroom. Boo has a tenuous relationship with Buddy - he'd like to play with him, but Buddy seems to know that playing may include being shaken like a rag doll, so he's a little resistant.

Boo had never been fixed, so he went under the knife on Thursday, and is bouncing off the walls today. Before long he'll be running beside Mike again. They went for a couple of runs last week and it went pretty well, except that when Boo was done (after about 3 miles) he was done. He'd stop and sprawl on the ground and refuse to budge. So poor Mike had to call for a ride home!

Meanwhile, I've been working a lot more at the Victory Home warehouse. I've probably processed at least a gazillion donated shoes just this week. Some were very nice and some were - ugh - disGUSTing. Moldy, sticky, fungus-y, falling apart; I try not to lick my fingers while working with shoes.

We're getting ready to open another store, which is exciting (and nerve-wracking). All the interior walls have been torn out this week. Next: pop that ductwork up into the ceiling and raise the light fixtures and slap paint everywhere.

We plan to sell mainly furniture and larger items at this location. We have a great wheeler-dealer who currently runs the outlet and will be moving to the new store. He completed the program several months ago and is great with people and great at making money (a win-win!).

I need to wash off my koolaid smile and brush my teeth, and Flutterbug needs to take Boo out to do his business (that dog gives new meaning to the words bowel movement - he poops in fits and starts all over the place. No piles, just a minefield to maneuver through every time I step into the yard. That makes for a lot of effort in picking up those not-so-little offending thingies. Not a good time to lick my fingers, either.

Mike came home with a head cold. Rats.The Victory Home guys have been passing it around for days. I was hoping we'd escape, but I guess it's unlikely now.

I HAD to go and lick my fingers after hugging him this morning, hehe.

1 comment:

Brenda (BBC) said...

Just don't eat fried chicken while you are sorting sandals or dealing with doggy doody, and you'll be fine. ;-)