Although I have no idea who Snooki and Heidi actually are, it seems the world is enthralled with them. And there's nothing wrong with that. At least, I don't think there is anything wrong with that. I'd have to know who they are first, I guess. It's a judgement call....
Anyway. There is something wrong going on here that I must correct immediately. So, without further ado, here's the current line-up at Rose Valley Ranch:
First, we'll start with the cats, because, well....they insist.
I got Harley twelve years ago as a kitten. He was a barn kitty and a little on the wild side, but I got him anyway because my boyfriend at the time insisted that we get a dark cat. I'm pretty sure he was talking about coat color and not the cat's soul because Harley is my baby. He's about as sweet and cuddly as any cat will get.
Harley cost me a zillion dollars to neuter because he had a retained testicle. Then five years ago his liver shut down and we thought we'd have to put him down, but he pulled through that one. Now he has no teeth and his belly drags the ground, but he's my toothless, sway-backed, belly-dragging cuddly kitteh. I love him to pieces.
When I hoped for a new addition this year, I was thinking more along the lines of extending one of the rooms being renovated, not more mouths to feed, but I resisted Milton until he died three times, and then I gave in.
Milton was born in my old barn out back. I thought he drowned in the stock tank (apparently it was a sibling, or I unwittingly buried him in Stephen King's pet cemetery), then was eaten by an owl (another sibling apparently, or just stray fluffy fuzz from another animal), and then his final "death" was some fiasco I still can't sort out but somehow included water, manure, a six-foot drop and some baling twine.
So, Milton lives with me now. In the house. With four other animals. Lord help us all.
Next up, the dogs. Just 'cause.
Charlie is an ex-show dog who likes pina coladas and getting caught in the rain.
Only the first part of that is true. What's also true is that Charlie is really the most wonderful dog in the world. It's scientifically proven. I've had him for seven years now and he's the sweestest, calmest, quietest, most-obediant, loving, fluffy guy that ever was.
He's an Australian Shepherd, but often gets confused with a Border Collie because of his coloring. When I lost his buddy Layla I thought about getting another Aussie, but could never find one with his demeanor. He's apparently a unique specimen, which makes him all the more special.
Sophie is my girl. People who know us understand the impact of this (under)statement. She is always at my side--she even sleeps under the covers at my side. She is my running partner. She is my comfort when I'm in pain. She's my own private comedian when I need a laugh.
She's half rat terrier and half something else. I don't know what else, but I don't care. She's gamey but she's my girl.
Before June 2008 I said I'd never get a puppy, I'd never have a mut, I'd never have a terrier, and I'd never have a little dog. I broke all those rules with Sophie, and now I can't imagine my life without her.
Russell is also new to the family, because in my infinite wisdom ("infinite" here meaning: "infantile") I decided that two dogs just weren't enough.
His daddy is a Jack Russell Terrier and his momma is a Schnauzer. I knew both, but I got Russell anyway (just kidding--I adore his pappa "Milo.").
Russell has grown up to be quite a cutie. Unfortunately he's quite aware of this fact, but he stays fairly well-behaved despite this knowledge.
And for the pièce de résistance: The Equids
I just posted about Paula--how she came to be and why she's so important to me. She's..well...she's everything.
And that's all I have to say about that, Forrest.
So, everyone, that's the troupe! Hope you enjoyed the show. We'll be here until next Tuesday. Skip the veal and try the pie.