Also, this little bat-eared beagle-ish actually sat at the door yesterday to alert humans to his need for a potty break. Progress is re-house training your beagle-ish!
I could not take a picture to illustrate this annual phenomenon because the gale-force fan required to keep my un-air conditioned living room, well, living–and not full of very hot, dead mammals–has blown fur from cracks and crevices I did not know existed, exposing my not-terribly-secret shame: that my house is comprised of 90% critter fluff.
But I can paint a word picture.
Karmann. Sprawled on her side in the fan’s breezeway, lifting her back leg like a little drawbridge every time a person walks past, or a kitten sneezes, with the hope of funneling whatever remains of the subsequent breeze onto her belly. Staring blankly, too miserable to bother closing her eyes.
Calvin. Not actually bothered, but pretending to be because Karmann is his lead monkey and what he sees her do, he emulates. Comfortable on his bed until Karmann gets up and staggers over to the water bowl or pants her way around the living room, at which point he pops up and then plants himself on the wood floor near to Karmann’s eventual puddling. He seems to be trying really hard to affect an air of overheated exasperation, but his head is too quick to rise at the sound of people movement. He still wants the walks, even as he pretends not to.
You can almost see the irritated thought bubble that forms over Karmann’s head every time Cal lies too close or blocks the fan.
When Karmann gets up, every 10 minutes or so, to seek a cool piece of floor, she stops by me, staring and panting, with eyes hard-set in her adorable little face as if to say, “You said it would be cooler up here. You said we were leaving the awful season of walkieslessness behind. You are a liar and now I know it and I cannot un-know it. The cats told me this would happen.” *slow slide to floor*
I need to get my girl puppy a window unit, lest she perish in this House of Lies.
Yesterday, I achieved my goal of running a half marathon without dying AND I surpassed my fundraising goal for the Animal Rescue League. Happy days!
We won’t discuss how I’m probably going to lose a toenail just in time for dedicated flip flop season, or how I was earnestly wishing for death around mile 12. We won’t even discuss the Achilles injury that arose 12 days before race day and threatened to sideline me, only to subside juuuuuuust enough that it made the last 9 miles of the run extra miserable. I will refrain from describing the uncharitable thoughts I had toward the shoes sales guy who convinced me that a pair of Nikes would actually be wide enough for my Flintstone feet.
No. We won’t discuss any of those things. But I will mention that, even in my present, bandaged-toe, please-don’t-make-me-move-mr.-firefighter-just-let-the-house-burn-down-around-me levels of soreness, the race itself was a blast, and I plan to do it again. So if you don’t want to be harassed for another donation this time next year, make a note in your calendar to change your email address by March.
And so for the relevant bit . . .
My campaign raised $750 (of an initial $500 goal) for the Animal Rescue League.
[pause for applause and general whooping]
My donors kick some serious ass, y’all, and to each of them I extend my heartiest thank you.
Donations will be accepted until June 15, but so far the ARL’s total haul is more than $102,000. Which is epic and awesome and killer and just SO FREAKING GREAT. That’s a lot of medical care, food, low cost spay/neuter, and adoption preparation for some very deserving domestic critters, not to mention care and rehabilitation for wounded wildlife. I am so glad to have been a part of their fundraising, and so appreciative of the friends, family, and anonymous internet strangers who contributed to my campaign.
I am a Runner of Steel: yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!!!
I am a Runner of Steel without a margarita in her hand on Cinco de Mayo: WTF???