Monthly Archives: June 2009

The Way Things Are – A post by Portia

P. Cakes

P. Cakes

There’s been a lot of bitching and whining talk about how I get my mummy up early in the morning, and I’m here to set the record straight. When I was a puppy, I would stand in front of the door when mummy would try to go to work. And she would sigh and say:

If mummy doesn’t go to work, there is no kibble and portiacakes goes hungry.
If mummy doesn’t go to work, there is no heat and portiacakes goes cold.
We don’t want portiacakes to go hungry or cold, do we?

Hell no! we don‘t want Portiacakes going hungry or cold!

Lately, my mummy is very tired and I’m worried she will not wake up in time for work. So I do my best to get her up and at ’em. The fact that she feeds me kibble has NOTHING to do with it!

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An Excerpt from the Diary of Lola

Lola

Lola

June 23, 2009

Dear Diary – This morning Portia and I woke mummy up at 5.30. I know she loves getting up early as much as we do! she put us out and then she stretched out on the couch, like she usually does and when I came back inside, after my potty, she left me sleep under the blanket. It was nice. I know she loves me.

Portia almost stole my kibble again this morning but mummy saved it for me. I know Portia loves me.

BUT I was put in the box AGAIN today when the mummies went to work, and although it is big enough for Portia and would fit 10 of me comfortably, I don’t know HOW MANY TIMES I WILL HAVE TO TELL THE MUMMIES I DON’T WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE. I cried for Grandma, but she must not have heard me. I will try again louder tomorrow.

I’m super exicted to be going to work on Thursday. I work very hard keeping mummy’s lap warm while she is at the office. Portia is going to get her nails done and then play with the big dogz at day care, so mummy said I could go to work with her. I asked Rocky if he wanted to go too but he said

“Shut up and leave me alone.”

He’s a bit of a grouch in the mornings. And the afternoons. And sometimes the evenings. But I know he loves me.

and then I got to sit with Grandma. She says I look like I was built by committee and she doesn’t know why my back end is higher than my front.  I know she loves me.

And I’ve got big plans for tonight. I have supper time and then potty time and then a nap, and then play time with Portia and then another nap and then more play time and then I will chew on my shoe, and then it will be bedtime. Sometimes mummy reads in bed and lets me sleep on the bed until she is done. One of these days, she will forget to put me in the box for night time. But she says she’s still mad about me pooping in the closet, so probably not tonight.

Love Lola

Memory Game

So mum has had her house on the market for a while, and although I do think it’s time for her to move out [nudge nudge, mum], I find myself torn about how I feel about the actual SALE of the house. I know that it’s not the only house I have ever lived in. I think we moved in when I was two. and I don’t even live there right now. I live with Jenge [where mum is moving in]. But I still feel very attached to the house.

It doesn’t have a garage. It’s not open concept. There is no master bath. And yet, I’m very fond of it. I grew up there, and it’s the only house I remember. And there’s my other problem. Memory. I remember falling off my bike and pushing said bike home, lower lip trembling, leg and arm bleeding and seeing the house up ahead of me. I remember coming home from trips and being so glad to see it. Heck, even coming home from days at work or at the university. And then there’s my dad. I remember him in that house.

Intellectually, I realize that the sale of the house doesn’t mean I’ll forget. I know my memories are not somehow tied up in the wood and concrete that make up that building. But I can’t help but feel as though they are. As if having that house there somehow solidifies my gray matter.

Jessi, at work, says she has no similar feelings about the house her parents live in because she moved alot when she was a kid. So I guess it’s because I only know that one house that I feel that way.

And like I said, I know it’s not rational. It’s not logical. My memories are what they are regardless of what external cues are there. And it’s impractical to think that you can keep every place you live and go back whenever you want.

But that doesn’t keep me from feeling…. nervous? sad? morose?