MIL’s dog, Bailey, was attacked yesterday by a neighbor’s lab-mix. We were out of town, and didn’t find out about it until this afternoon.
I went over to see the lil’ guy about an hour ago, and quite honestly, have no idea how he lived through the ordeal.
MIL was walking Bailey, a Shitzu who weighs about 15 pounds, on a leash about a block from her house. A neighbor and her dog were outside of their home, when suddenly and with no explanation, the neighbor’s dog charged at Bailey. The neighbor tried to grab the lab’s collar, and just couldn’t make it.
From MIL’s recollection, Bailey was shook violently back and forth until somehow, the two women were able to get the lab to drop him. The neighbor put the dog inside the house, and came out with a towel to wrap Bailey in, who had a gaping hole in his side and was bleeding profusely. The neighbor drove MIL and Bailey to the vet’s office, only a few blocks away.
The Animal Clinic was incredibly fast in rushing Bailey into surgery, and got him stabilized. Bailey had tubes put into his wounds and was stitched up, then spent the night at the vet’s office. I feel awful – she was house-sitting for us, watching our dogs, while hers was locked up and broken all night. I can’t imagine how frightening the entire ordeal was for both of them.
I’m sure the neighbor feels terrible, too. Her sweet lab, her dog that she loves, did this to someone else’s pet. I would feel just awful if Max or Barkley did something like this. And MIL? She’s faking as if she’s strong and it’s all going to be okay, but I know that one of these days it will sink in and she’ll collapse, knowing how close she was to losing that pompous little dog that she loves all too much.
I’m posting photos of Bailey after the jump – warning, they are pretty graphic. The tubes that you see are to drain the wounds, and will eventually be removed. Read the rest of this entry ?
His name is Eric Volz. He is a U.S. Citizen and has just been sentenced to 30 years in a Nicaraguan prison for crimes he did not commit. He was working as the publisher for El Puente Magazine in Nicaragua when he was accused, convicted, and sentenced for murder.
The prosecution offered absolutely no evidence.
10 witnesses were with Eric at his office 2 hours away when this murder took place – yet he was tried and convicted in the press as a “gringo” that should be lynched.
It’s not often that you hear of a commercial being banned that doesn’t include nudity.
Infamous golf pro, John Daly, shot a commercial for one of his sponsors, Maxfli (get your free balls here!), that shows him singing in a bar, drinking beer, and shooting a ball off of a beer can. It does have some risque outfits on the girls in the bar (a Hooter’s was used for the filming), but nothing that compares to the lingerie worn on Desperate Housewives.
CBS has refused to air the 1:30 second spot, although it has been shown on the Golf Channel just recently.
What do you think? Is it too shocking to be shown on national television?
Can anyone tell me how long it takes to heal a broken tailbone?
Yes, I have broken my arse. Even with all of it’s glorious padding, it couldn’t survive the slip-n-fall down the stairs to the basement.
I landed square on my bottom, in a sitting position on the staircase, and the loud THUD caused Whitey to jump out of his chair (a rarity on it’s own) and see the spectacle. My arm was twisted behind my back, and my shoulder throbbed in pain. I was sure it was dislocated, and didn’t even notice the pain down below.
After I was able to stand, I realized how sore my lower backside was, and announced that I had a broken butt. He thought that was pretty funny, until he realized that he was going to have to cater to my every want for the last 48 hours.
It’s been broken for two days now, and yesterday, I could barely get in and out of a sitting position. I propped the laptop up on the dining table on a pedestal that usually holds the dog’s water dish, and did our paperwork in the standing position for 6 hours yesterday. Today was a bit better, though, and I was able to sit down for extended periods of time.
I just want to know how much longer I’m going to have to endure this shooting pain. We’re gearing up to visit a nearby hot springs this weekend, and it would be much more enjoyable if I didn’t have to lie down in the back seat for the 2-hour drive.
Roger Ebert wasn’t my favorite movie critic. He was abusive to a few movies that I didn’t think deserved it, and his style of commentary was thick. But he was good at what he did, and rightly earned the respect of his profession.
Then, he was gone.
I didn’t realize that he had left because of the C word.
Cancer.
He has had part of his jaw removed, as well as a tracheostomy. He’s not looking so pretty, yet, he says, he never did. That made me laugh.
Roger is planning on attending a film festival tonight at the University of Illinois at Urbana, where paparazzi will be snapping not-so-flattering photos. He could care less, and says that as a journalist, if he can dish it he might as well be able to take it.
“I have been very sick, am getting better and this is how it looks. I still have my brain and my typing fingers.” he says.
My favorite quote:
“Why do I want to go? Above all, to see the movies. Then to meet old friends and great directors and personally thank all the loyal audience members who continue to support the festival.
At least, not being able to speak, I am spared the need to explain why every film
is “overlooked,” or why I wrote “Beyond the Valley of the Dolls.”
Finding the positive in any situation is truly admirable, I believe. Finding humor is even more amazing.
“P.S. to gossip rags: I have some back pain, and to make it easier for me to sit through
screenings, the festival has installed my very own La-Z-Boy chair.
Photos of me in the chair should be captioned “La-Z-Critic.”
This is a pretty funny marketing ploy for Dazante Wines, with a suave Italiano prompting you to answer multiple choice questions regarding your knowledge of Italy. (Is it inappropriate to say that the animated cartoon man is hhhhHot? Maybe it’s just his accent….)
Earth Day is tomorrow - Sunday, April 22. How nice that we give our home planet a “Day”, all unto itself. Right.
Years ago, I volunteered to wear a squirrel costume during the Earth Day fair at Drake Park in Bend. It was sunny and about 75 degrees, and inside the enormous costume it was about 500 degrees. I hated being that squirrel.
I was in a relationship with a really great guy at the time, Chris H., and we had plans to meet at his house later that evening for pizza and beer. So imagine my surprise when I spotted him walking through Drake Park hand-in-hand with another girl!
He had no idea that I was in that costume, and when I marched over to him and smacked him upside the head, he jumped back and laughed. His girlfriend commented that I must be a Rabid Squirrel and giggled. That’s when I raised my huge, furry hand to smack her, too. Chris pulled her away and looked at me with surprise. Inside that oversized squirrel head, I was fuming! Knowing I had anonymity in the costume, I took two giant steps towards him and pushed him right on his ass. The girlfriend began yelling at me to stop. People began to stare at the spectacle that I was creating…..
I quickly realized I could get in big trouble for assault in a furry costume. I practically ran back to Mascot Headquarters, and changed into the Chipmunk costume in case there was an APB out for a 7-foot grey squirrel.
I broke up with Chris on his answering machine. He called me a few times afterwards, even came over with flowers, and I told him the same thing over and over: I’m just not that into you. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had broke my heart by cheating on me.
Chris never did find out that it was me in that costume. I wonder how his side of the story is told….
I saw Chris a couple of years ago at the Home Depot, buying a rake. We spoke briefly, and he looked miserable while I told him about how hunky-dory my life is now. Karma, dude.
While Central Oregon developers and real estate investors are busy trying to find “The Next Bend”, many people in neighboring small towns are talking behind closed doors about how NOT to become like the fastest growing city in the Northwest.
When we were looking at homes in Baker City, I asked our Realtor if there was any animosity from the local residents towards the Bend Refugees that were moving here. She replied, “Not yet,” and laughed. She also mentioned that approximately 80% of her income in the last year was derived from Central Oregonian transplants.
Makes sense. Baker has almost the same offerings as Bend, yet without the big-city attitude. It also only has 10% of the population of Bend, so it’s understandable that Baker wouldn’t have a multitude of restaurants, high-end boutiques, or luxury car dealers. Basically, things we can do without.
So after moving into our new home in Baker, I felt a bit hesitant to tell people that we were from Bend. Maybe this is how the Californians feel upon moving to Central Oregon, I thought. (I had once met a gal that told me that she had moved to Bend from “South of La Pine”, when she had actually moved from Los Angeles. It wasn’t a lie – she just didn’t like the reaction that she got when she admitted her previous zip code.)
Recently, my mother-in-law moved to Baker from St.Louis, Missouri. She’s going to work at our pizzeria once we’re open, and is enjoying her time off until then. She’s settled into her new home, and a few days ago, a neighbor came over to introduce herself. The neighbor made a few comments about how frightened the local residents are that Baker City is going to be the “next Bend”.
Bah. It’s just another day. Might as well have a fear of oxygen or rain. It’s going to happen. Get over it.
However, according to Wikipedia, “It’s been estimated that [U.S] $800 or $900 million is lost in business on this day because people will not fly or do business they would normally do.”
Weird. Not only that, but studies have shown that there are significantly more traffic accidents on Friday the 13th.
So on that note, everyone, drive safely tonight. Better yet, stay home.
Great. Now I’m suffering from Paraskavedekatriaphobia. Although can I be considered a paraskavedekatriaphobic if I can’t even pronounce it?
My mom used to ask me to put “good juju out ‘there’ ” before she had a big day at work. I was never really sure what she meant by it, but would try my best. Somehow, at the end of the day, the JuJu worked and she’d celebrate one thing or another.
So here goes.
Please…. put some good JuJu out ‘there’ for us tomorrow. It’s a biiiiiiig day, and we’re both incredibly nervous about it. Confident, but anxious.
Yee HAW, kids! We received our building permit and our approval by the Dept. of Health, and are now only waiting on one final nod by the Dept. of Transportation (because our building in on a highway). Soon, Baker City will be chowing down on some of the best pizza they’ve ever had!
The hurry-up-and-wait has been exhausting, and I know that once we have actual construction being done, it won’t happen fast enough. Luckily, we really like our contractor and all of the sub-contractors that we’ve met with, and they all have a great reputation in the area for getting the job done right, and on time.
Our logo is done, our menu is finalized, our plans are in order, and now we’re anxious to get open for business!
Whitey and I went golfing yesterday. It was slightly overcast, but perfect weather to be outside and enjoying the view from Quail Ridge.
We were on the 9th Hole, when Whitey shanked one over to the right of the fairway. We both cursed the ball as it landed in the rough on a slight hillside. After making our way over towards the ball, we noticed a cart parked below the hillside. It’s passenger, a guy that we had been following with his partner, was there on the hill. We watched as he leaned over and picked up Whitey’s ball, examined it, then put it in his pocket! He got back in his cart, and headed back over to his partner on the 9th green.
We were in awe! The Ball Snatcher produced the ball for his partner’s examination, who shook his head and pointed towards the 1st fairway, where two other balls were sitting (one of which was probably his). Instead, he had snatched Whitey’s Pro-V1 ball. Unbelievable!!!
I have photos of the Ball Snatcher, but I won’t post them here. Trust me, though, I’ll recognize him when he comes into the pizzeria and I’ll announce, in true Soup Nazi fashion….
“Ever been at a party and couldn’t find your beer? Do you sometimes feel like that darn can is trying to elude you? I sure did! Alas, there is an end to this! The Beer Pager! Drop your can or bottle in it, clip the remote to your belt and enjoy the party. If you’re unable to find your drink, just press the red button, and a friendly belch will help you pinpoint its location.”
The Oregon Liquor Control Commission is the entity that enforces liquor licenses for retail stores and restaurants. To be authorized to sell beer, wine, or spirits, a very detailed application needs to be submitted along with quite a bit of money.
We received our packet of information from the OLCC today, and while I won’t comment on this topic, I’ll just share it so that you can talk amongst yourselves.
(some of the) 50 Signs of Visible Intoxication
1. Slurred Speach
2. Loud Speach
3. Noisy Speach
4. Drinking too fast
5. Buying rounds for strangers
6. Annoying other guests
7. Complaining about prices
8. Obnoxious
9. Crude
10. Foul Language
11. Crying
12. Overly entertaining
13. Boasting
14. Spilling Drinks
15. Lighting more than one cigarette
16. Falling off of chair
17. Can’t find mouth with glass
18. Mussed hair
19. Disheveled clothing
20. Overly friendly
21. Foul language
22. Falling Asleep
Okay, I can’t help but comment. Actually, it’s an observation.
#18 is the style with most guys these days, and I would think that #17 would be a bit obvious that they shouldn’t be drinking…..
