Kickin' Cancer In The Butt

Some of you may already know, but someone special got some lousy news a few weeks ago. The kind of news that chills you to the bone, and makes you remember how weak and mortal and helpless you are.

And I don't deal well with being told I'm helpless. It doesn't sit right by me.

So I'm gonna do a little something about it. I'm hoping you'll help me.

I'm getting my rear in gear to show my support for John

The walk takes place March 29, and is 5km (about 3.1 miles). This is a pretty big deal for me, since my own health issues have meant that it's only just recently that I've even been able to walk one mile. So I'll be "training," starting September 1st, as follows:

in September and October I will walk ONE mile at least three days a week
in November and December I will walk TWO miles at least three days a week
in January and February I will walk THREE miles at least three days a week
and in March, I will walk FOUR miles, at least three days a week until the event (March 29.)

I tell you this for two reasons -
One is that I would love your help in sponsoring the actual walk - I've set up a walk-exclusive (interest bearing) bank account to help gather your donations (and started it off with the first $25, which will go to my registration fees - I'll add more later) with an initial goal of $500 that I would love to blow out of the water.

but the other reason is I also thought perhaps sponsoring my training might be a more "active" option for you. Perhaps you'd rather sponsor me per day of training (3 days a week times 30 weeks = 90 days of training) or by mile trained (200 minimum, give or take some faulty math on my part) or some other progressive way? Perhaps you'd rather give donations after I've passed several milestones, rather than waiting for the event?

However you want to support - even just a "get off your butt and walk!" cheer - is more than appreciated. Friends in the neighborhood who want to walk with me (and don't mind some goofy canine protection) can let me know. Friends out of the neighborhood are welcome to spread the news to let others know where they can donate.

And friends in any neighborhood should, please, please, please be aggressive with your doctors, and listen to your bodies. Doctors recommend routine screening for this after the age of 50. John is 36 and at Stage 4. Not being in the high risk group is not the same as being safe.

Thanks for your help.



To support my walk, you can PayPal donations to
CancerWalk [at] MingledYarn [dot] Net
Please note that it's for the Cancer Walk in the subject line.
I will be collecting funds until March 28, 2008 at which point I will empty the account (remember that paypal will take a portion), take a photo of the cashier's check for y'all to see, and donate the entire wad to the Scope It Out walk charity, or another colorectal-cancer related charity of John and Jody's choice.
(the tickers at the top will be adjusted when I put contribution funds into the bank account, and will reflect that account's balence)

Thank you!

a cell-photo message for the universe

(translated as "oh yeah? right back atcha")

Happy Cats

Petsmart was lovely and cheerfully accepted back one of the chewed up dog toys (I got the feeling they would have taken back all the damaged ones, but I only tried the worst) and the exchange was simple. The only difficulty was that my second attempt was a dollar cheaper than the first attempt, and so I had to get a cat toy.

Aslan was not at all interested, and glared condescendingly at Trevor, who played fetch with me for a solid hour before needing a break (and coming back for more later).
Nothing, I repeat nothing is cuter than kitty tongue.

I'm not sure where Aslan gets off with the condescention, since it turns out he's a big ole slut for sewing. We knew of his mohair love, but who knew he loved fabrics and threads? I promise, there were way more humiliating photos of his behavior, but since I do have to fall asleep (leaving him unattended) sometime, I figured it was best not to completely embarrass him for snuggling with my thread and bobbin box.
Trust me, the photos of him with the cotton fabric would keep him from being elected president.

And they weren't the only happy cats around here, since I got a wonderful package from Beverly, that started with this wrapping paper.
I have never before confessed my love for toile. I will never speak of it again. But I do love me some toile. So I knew only good things could be hidden beneath.

And I was right! Somewhere in the recesses of my couch are my thread snips and my fabric marker. The force was strong in Beverly when she sent me my little package that included... you guessed it! Thread snips (WAY nicer than the ones my couch ate!) and fabric pencils! Also some needle threaders, a very cute pink pincushion (that has already been inspected and found lacking in the catnip department) and a hand-made-covered black tape measure, and at least two dozen little squares of fabric. She was making up for a neglectful Artist's Way swapper for me, and I'm so excited to look at the little prompt cards she sent and imagine what to do with all that fabric!

Thanks, Beverly - what a wonderful surprise!!!

Twenty Minutes Later...

I did go back and get dog food (and cat litter) and chew toys. Not having the Great Urinator with me, I couldn't decide, and picked three, two of which he got right away.

There's a rubber bone with two ropes tied on it, and one rope with several bones strung on it. Dog arm shown here for size comparison.

Both claimed to be for "super strong chewers".

Let me give you a little close up of what they looked like after less than twenty minutes of play (combined) and see if you agree that perhaps their definition of "super strong chewers" might be in a different category than Oscar's definition of same.

When we started, the bones went all the way around the rope.
Not so anymore.

And harder to see because I've already cleaned up two handfuls of rubber bits, but if you look closely, you'll see that the edges of that bone are no longer quite so gracefully curved.
I'll be taking this back to the store to see if they'll exchange it for me (I understand if they won't, but I figure it's worth a try.)

He's right now working on the third toy, a non-photogenic chicken "flavored" Nylabone.

I could be angry that he goes through toys so quickly, but it's pretty hard to when this face is the response to new ones.
That, my friends, is the lesser publicized true quality of a pitbull, and what makes my guy so popular at the dogpark. That is a pitbull smile. That is a happy dog, yes?

Baby's first Petsmart visit...

I fully intended to take Oscar to the dog park this morning, then, while he was still tired, straight to Petsmart to get food and a new chew toy.

I overslept, and it got too hot for me to be willing to follow him around picking up poop (this is remarkably a much higher temperature than I would have thought pre-dog park days).

I do have this cell phone picture of him at the park a few days ago.

Look! The back end of my dog! And Jackie! And Koi way off in the distance!

This is a fairly appropriate shot, since his back end is both very cute and much faster than the front end. Watching him run towards you is really hysterical - his hind quarters are so strong it sort of throws off the balence of things and he can't run in a straight line. He has to readjust his angle frequently, and still you can see all four legs at the same time.

In any event, no dog park, but we did still need dog food, so I decided to try him out at Petsmart. He's never been before, and while I wouldn't say it was a mistake, I think trying to take him and expecting to be able to make a purchase was a mistake.

Imagine, if you will, your four-year-old toddler running down the aisles of the toystore yelling "this is mine and this is mine and this is mine!"

Only instead of a four-year-old toddler, you have my four-year-old pitbull, whose feet slip too much on the tile floor, and instead of touching toys and yelling "this is mine" he's marking his territory. It got messy, fast.

Add to that the salesclerk who asks if I would mind cleaning up after him (no, it's my dog, my job, I'm fine with that) but doesn't seem to understand that perhaps I didn't carry a roll of papertowels in with me, and therefore has to be asked twice to actually hand me papertowels for me to do so.

And add to that the total stranger/fellow customer who has chosen to explain to me that when I claim my dog is an American Pit Bull Terrier, it's sheer ignorance on my part, because he's actually a Staffordshire Bull Terrier and actually rolled his eyes and shook his hands at my ignorance. 'Cuz, ya know, I know nothing about this creature with whom I have chosen to share my life, home, and loved ones, and have worked very hard to train and socialize and educate. For all I know, he's just a big cat that likes snow. I am just a stupid woman, you know.

(No, I didn't stuff the pee-soaked paper towel down his throat. Yes, I do want props for that.)

Anyway, I'll have to make a special trip out to get food and chew toys since we're running out of his second favorite chew toy (the cardboard from the toilet paper roll) and has resorted to sucking his thumbs. I figure I should get him a bone before he has to gnaw off his own arm to have a toy in the living room. He's destroyed all the official chew toys but the super big wee bone that he can't carry around and so stays in his bedroom (with the little pink teddy bear that only comes out during thunderstorms).


(and thank you for not noticing my attempt to using canine cuteness to distract you from the complete and utter lack of fiber-y work done around here. Assuming I remain this unproductive, cute cat pictures coming soon!)