September 05, 2003
Beginnings
Ali and I had gotten rather too comfortable in our lives. We had free time (well, me more than her), we had spare cash, and we slept well at night. So we decided to fix those problems. Meet Kimbro.
Kimbro is a 7.5 week old Golden Retriever/Yellow Lab mix. We obtained this howling dervish through the good people at CCI by agreeing to raise him for a year and a half. We get to teach him all the things a dog needs to know to avoid becoming a slightly tacky throw rug or pair of mocassins, and he will go out into the world as an assistance dog, working with a handicapped person. It's all volunteer, in fact we pay for all expenses, but it's worth it. Puppies are fun, right?
Kimbro arrived at DIA at 10:30 last night from Oceanside, CA, where he was born. I picked him up from the nice people, loaded him into the car, and thought "This isn't so bad."
Before I could even remark on quietness, Kimbro reminded me why puppyhood is such a trying time. I got whined at on I-70, cried on at I-270, and was just giving up hope when a miracle occured. One of the stations out here plays an hour of electronica at 11pm everynight, and would you believe it knocked the little guy out in five minutes? Salvation through techno.
We arrived home at a little after midnight, brought all the gear indoors, and cooed over his all-encomapassing cuteness for a little while. Then it was bedtime. Kimbro disagreed.
He barked, yelped, cried, whined, and made strange monkey sounds until 3:30am, when I loaded him into his crate, grabbed a blanket and a pillow, and moved hellion and myself into the Rover. Yes, I slept in my car with the dog. Yay.
Up at 7, walk the dog, turn him over to Ali, and sleep until 1. Blah.
So endeth day 1.
glucophage online So much
depends
upon
a red
wheel
barrow
glazed with
rain
water
beside
the white
chickens.
-- William Carlos Williams, "The Red Wheel Barrow"
glucophage
tramadol for pain relief One evening Mr. Rudolph Block, of New York, found himself seated at dinner
alongside Mr. Percival Pollard, the distinguished critic.
"Mr. Pollard," said he, "my book, _The Biography of a Dead Cow_, is
published anonymously, but you can hardly be ignorant of its authorship.
Yet in reviewing it you speak of it as the work of the Idiot of the Century.
Do you think that fair criticism?"
"I am very sorry, sir," replied the critic, amiably, "but it did not
occur to me that you really might not wish the public to know who wrote it."
-- Ambrose Bierce
tramadol
As I was going up Punch Card Hill,
Feeling worse and worser,
There I met a C.R.T.
And it drop't me a cursor.
C.R.T., C.R.T.,
Phosphors light on you!
If I had fifty hours a day
I'd spend them all at you.
-- Uncle Colonel's Cursory Rhymes
lipitor