Certifiably Insane

I must be certifiably insane.

So, way back before Halloween, Chuck and Lori (Eric's dad and stepmom) had two litters of puppies. Bubba, their male Brussels Griffon, impregnated Roxy, their female Brussels Griffon, in a totally planned pregnancy. However, Bubba apparently wasn't fully satisfied, and proceeded to also get their female Pug, Ruby, pregnant. Ooops.

Well, their "ooops" is now our joy (I say "joy"-- it could be a complete nightmare), because we decided to adopt not one, but two of the puppies. There were three Brussels Griffon pups, and five Brussels-Pug pups to choose from, originally. I had been thinking about taking one of the pups since they were born, but hadn't fully decided. I knew it was going to be a big decision, which would mostly center around Kooka's current health.

Kooka has been showing symptoms of congestive heart failure for a year or so now, and to be honest, we're all pretty surprised that my ol' guy is still alive and kicking. Back in August, I thought the end was very near, when he got a horrible kidney infection, but after a strong dose of antibiotics and a fresh new diet, he was good as new (except for the muscle-wasting that typically occurs in CHF dogs). Well, about a week before Christmas, Kooka took what appeared to be a turn for the worse, and we honestly didn't think he would make it to the new year. Once again, he had a kidney infection, and after a week of antibiotics, he is back to his old self.

Originally, I hadn't wanted to bring any puppy (or puppies) home until after Kooka had passed away. We already have three dogs, two of which are large, and with the three kids, you can imagine what a full house that would be. I know that Kooka doesn't have much longer, since dogs with CHF rarely live beyond a year after showing symptoms, but he isn't in any pain, so I refuse to put him to sleep. His vet believes that he'll probably just go in his sleep anyway, and I am perfectly content with that. He deserves at least that for as good as he's been over the years.

A couple of days before Christmas, I took the kids to Stillwater to visit with Nana and Papa, and to get a look at the pups in person. Josh immediately latched on to Molly, who is the runt of the Brussels-Pug litter. I hadn't intended on adopting a female, just because Isis has been so high-maintenance in terms of her attitude, but Josh absolutely adores her. My personal preference was for one of the purebred Brussels, since I've always wanted one, but this was more about what the kids wanted. Gabe has become interested in Gus, one of the male Brussels, while Quincy, too, likes Molly.

Molly (around 7-weeks old)

Gus (around 7-weeks old)

So, after much, much, much consideration, I finally decided this week that we would take both Molly and Gus, and that I would go ahead and bring them home before Kooka dies. They are already ten weeks old, and I didn't want to miss out on the socialization that needs to take place with the dogs we already have. It would be a total nightmare to introduce a couple of six month-old dogs into the house after Kooka dies (of course, he could surprise us all and live another year-- there's no telling). Luckily, Kooka is good with puppies.


So next weekend, Nana and Papa are going to bring Gus and Molly to the boys, and we will have five dogs in the house. Yikes. Lucky for me, three of them will not be over 25 lbs. Whew! Molly probably won't make it beyond 15 lbs, to be honest, and Gus will probably be closer to 20. In the meantime, the boys have been working on names for their new pets. Gabe is pretty adamant about naming Gus, "Fireman Sam" after a cartoon character on one of his favorite DVDs, and I have a feeling I won't be able to talk him out of it. Josh has waivered between several names, like "Batman", "Robin", "Ant", "Villain", "Wonka", and "Yzma" (pronounced "Eezma" if you've ever seen "The Emperor's New Groove"). Who knows what that poor dog will be called.

It has been seven years since we have had a puppy in the house, and so it will definitely take some getting used to. At least their pee can be successfully mopped-up with a single paper towel, instead of an actual bath towel, like I have to use if the big dogs have an accident. Now I just have to find plenty of stuff for them to chew on so they leave non-doggie items alone!

What Are You Doing New Year's Eve? (Much Delayed...)

Yeah, so what did I do on New Year's Eve? What were my rockin' plans? Was I out partying, getting absolutely hammered with the rest of the American public? Uh... no. No, I was out on Riverside, ringing in 2009 at the Run Into The New Year 5K race. That's right, I was running at midnight. Not only was I running at midnight, but I was running in the dark and cold, along with about 500 other crazy fools.

Now, I can't say that I had ever pictured myself celebrating New Year's in such an unorthodox fashion, but I have to say it was a nice change of pace from sitting at yet another party, bored out of my mind because I was the only person there not drinking or vomiting. Instead, I was surrounded by a bunch of other zen folks, who just wanted to do something new and/or healthy for the new year. Call me a loser-- I don't care.

I can say with complete honesty that this was not my idea. After completing my first 5K last month, my Mom starting scouring the internet, looking for more races for us. She ran across this New Year's race, and so I figured, "What the hell?" My only regret is that we didn't sign up sooner, because we could've gotten cool, red dri-fit jerseys instead of the general cotton t-shirt, but we'll know better next time.

The evening started with my Mom's friend Kris arriving over at my house around 10:00, so that someone could stay with the kiddos while I went and did something crazy for a change. Shortly thereafter, Mom arrived, only to announce that she lost one of her contact lenses on the drive over, and that her dash lights suddenly weren't working! Fantastic! While attempting to remove her existing contact, she found that she couldn't locate that one either, but managed to find it jammed way up above her eyeball. Mmmmmm. So, we decided to drive back to her house so she could snag some fresh lenses. When we pulled up to her house, I realized that I was nearly out of gas, and hadn't brought my bank card with me, since I didn't want to leave stuff like that in the car while we were racing. Luckily, Mom had her bank card, and we put some gas in the car to head out. I was beginning to think, "Geez, if this is any indication of how this evening is going to go, we're in serious trouble!"

The race started at 11:45, but we arrived down at the river around 11:00. Yeah, let me just say that this is not the best area of town to be in at that hour, but at least we weren't alone. I made Mom hang out in the car until about fifteen minutes before the race started, so we could take advantage of the seat warmers (thank you, Toyota), and the box of Sweet-Tarts that I needed to consume in order to stay awake. Honestly, it wasn't that cold-- we've run in far worse extremes, but I guess the whole thought of the late hour just made us anticipate that it would be so much colder for some reason. Thankfully, there wasn't an ounce of wind. You all know how much I hate the wind (my mortal enemy).

The gun went off, and off we went, along with what seemed like a million other insane people. It was pretty slow to start at first, because the trail was so narrow, and there were people weaving all over the place, which made things a bit tedious. I'm so used to cycling, where people know and respect the rules of the road. They use manners-- no cutting people off, stopping right in front of you without warning, or zig-zagging around like lunatics. Nope, in cycling, people use etiquette and I like it. It also didn't help that it was dark in some stretches, and you had to watch your step for fear of random debris or dips in the pavement. After awhile, the runners thinned out and we headed across the river.

So, there we were, jogging in the dark, when at midnight, the power plant sirens began going off across the river, the lights on the trail went out, and they started shooting off fireworks. Pretty cool. At the turn-around point, they had a tent set up where they were handing out champagne. I have to say there aren't too many races where you see that. Not as cool as Zach pulling the baby bike trailer full of booze for the MS150, but still pretty darn cool.

Shortly before the half-way point, I got a bit of a cramp up under my ribs, which normally ends up killing my run altogether. Luckily, a swig of beer gave me enough juice to belch most of it out. So lady-like, right? By the time we were heading back over the river, the remainder of the bubble passed down into my abdomen, and was pretty uncomfortable, but I was determined to finish anyway. By golly, if I was going to be out running at midnight, there was no way I wasn't going to finish!

We crossed the finish line at 36:28, which was less than a minute slower than my Jingle Bell Run time. I was pretty pleased with that, considering how s-l-o-w things got started this time around, and with the cramp and all. My goal is to finish a race at 30:00 or under sometime soon. Providing it isn't too hilly or crowded, I'm sure I could probably do it. Anyway, we hunted down some more champagne (or should I say, Mom did-- you guys know I rarely drink), and it was back to the lovely seat warmers in the car!

I finally crashed a little before 2:00, but my merciless kids had me up entirely too early this morning. My knotted-up calves barely allowed me to walk down the hall to take them downstairs to breakfast, but that quickly wore off. Now I am off to spend my New Year's doing laundry and stripping the Christmas tree. Good times!