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xerinmichellexI realized as I was getting ready to write this that I haven't mentioned the new addition to the family who has a starring role in this little tragedy I'm about to tell. Therefore, an introduction is in order.
Making his LJ debut, across the internet, from his little home next to the toilet in the downstairs bathroom....heeeeeeere's....Jackson!
I promise, he's usually a happy dog,
but in every picture I took, he looks sad or very possessed;
though sometimes he acts like a devil dog.
Before it's asked, no, he's not named after this Jackson, but this badass. He's closing in on four months and he's a Labrador Retriever-Terrier-shh!-Rottweiler mix. He likes chewing, puppy treats, belly scratches, proving he can still fit in your lap even though he's over 20 pounds now, eating his food in under a minute, eating everything he can find because we absolutely, never-ever feed him (can't you tell he's starving?), running upstairs where he knows he can't go, running downstairs to the basement: also a no-puppy zone, and trying to get the not-dogs (read: cats) to play with him. He dislikes the word "no", the black not-dog that hisses and tries to claw his eye out when he just wants to say, "Hey, how's it going? I'm Jackson.", the grey-and-white not-dog that actively charges at him like a bull, his leash, other dogs, and rain.
Okay, now that's out of the way, we're back to the incident on Monday. I'll visually paint the scene: I'm sitting on the couch, watching The Nutcracker (I warned you all that we would have a Nutcracker mention), Jackson comes running into the living room, puppy style--you know, when their paws are still too big for their growing body, so they're flapping all over the place and it takes about as much effort to stay upright as it is to run--carrying one of the many tennis balls that he's scattered (read: stashed) around the house in his mouth.
Me: OMG! I figured out a potential scene for my manuscript.
Jackson: BALL!
Me: Jackson! I've got a scene! I've got a scene!
Jackson: BALL!
Me: Okay, so maybe it's a tiny scene...like really tiny. But I've got one scene out of...a lot. A lot of scenes.
Jackson: BALL. MOUTH. YOU.
Me: Okay, and maybe it will get cut if I decide to go a different route with the story itself. (Note: I'm struggling right now with figuring out how the story begins...and the beginning is very important. Like I mentioned before, I have this great idea, but in lieu of not being able to pull it off, I've got a back-up plot...which, if I'm being completely honest, has a great world that I've built along with it and could really sell the novel when I get to the querying stage...or there's another plot, the original one from a couple years ago, that's the easy route and if I give up completely; but, going back to the "Golden Plot", I would totally destroy many of the scenes I've got playing around in my head...and I'm rambling again, so let's just get back to Monday night.)
Me (continue): ....That is, if I go with Plot B. I don't know where I'd stick it if I go with Plot A because it wouldn't be necessary. And don't get me started on Plot C. Also, don't get me started on how I'm suppose to incorporate fairies because fairies and steampunk are so overdone already and I don't particularly like fairies. Have I mentioned that there aren't even fairies in the original fairy tale? But everyone expects a fairy of the sugar plum variety if you even mention the word "Nutcracker." Oh, you've got a ball. You wanna play fetch?
Jackson: *thumps tail*
Me: Well, the first part of fetch is giving me the ball.
Jackson: MINE!
Me: Yes, I know. But if you want me to throw it, I need it in my mouth--I mean hand!
Jackson: BALL! MINE!
Me: Here. Give me the ba--
Jackson: OM NOM NOM!
Me: Ow! That was my finger! I use it for typing. YOU BIT MY TYPING FINGER! Oh, it's okay--it's just a scratch. Waaaait...AH! It's bleeding! You sliced my finger! I'm dying! I'm dying!
Jackson: BALL? *he proceeds to drop the ball at my feet*
Me: I'm...dying...and right before the snowflakes...dance...
Jackson: BALL? *nudges ball with his nose*
Me: You are so lucky you're cute.
I've heard that head wounds bleed like no other; but I'd argue fingers come in a close second. Especially when it takes about 15 seconds for the bleeding to start. He got me clean across the tip of my left, middle finger (oh, sweet irony)--not across the nail, but the tippy tip. Like right along the spot I use to hit the keys on, say, a keyboard. And have you every tried to bandage such a cut? It is not cute and seriously limited my mobility. That's why I spilled the cat bowl all over the floor, okay, Mom? (For the record, it's better today in that I can hit the keys without wincing. But yesterday was really touch-and-go.)
And let me just say Jackson was on a tear that day because just a few minutes after he bit me, he bit my mother on her thumb. And a few hours prior to that, he pulled her across the parking lot at the vet's, causing her to wipe out and skin the palm of her hand and knee. Like I said, he's lucky he's cute. Also, he's quite possibly possessed. Possibly.
Making his LJ debut, across the internet, from his little home next to the toilet in the downstairs bathroom....heeeeeeere's....Jackson!
I promise, he's usually a happy dog,
but in every picture I took, he looks sad or very possessed;
though sometimes he acts like a devil dog.
Before it's asked, no, he's not named after this Jackson, but this badass. He's closing in on four months and he's a Labrador Retriever-Terrier-shh!-Rottweiler mix. He likes chewing, puppy treats, belly scratches, proving he can still fit in your lap even though he's over 20 pounds now, eating his food in under a minute, eating everything he can find because we absolutely, never-ever feed him (can't you tell he's starving?), running upstairs where he knows he can't go, running downstairs to the basement: also a no-puppy zone, and trying to get the not-dogs (read: cats) to play with him. He dislikes the word "no", the black not-dog that hisses and tries to claw his eye out when he just wants to say, "Hey, how's it going? I'm Jackson.", the grey-and-white not-dog that actively charges at him like a bull, his leash, other dogs, and rain.
Okay, now that's out of the way, we're back to the incident on Monday. I'll visually paint the scene: I'm sitting on the couch, watching The Nutcracker (I warned you all that we would have a Nutcracker mention), Jackson comes running into the living room, puppy style--you know, when their paws are still too big for their growing body, so they're flapping all over the place and it takes about as much effort to stay upright as it is to run--carrying one of the many tennis balls that he's scattered (read: stashed) around the house in his mouth.
Me: OMG! I figured out a potential scene for my manuscript.
Jackson: BALL!
Me: Jackson! I've got a scene! I've got a scene!
Jackson: BALL!
Me: Okay, so maybe it's a tiny scene...like really tiny. But I've got one scene out of...a lot. A lot of scenes.
Jackson: BALL. MOUTH. YOU.
Me: Okay, and maybe it will get cut if I decide to go a different route with the story itself. (Note: I'm struggling right now with figuring out how the story begins...and the beginning is very important. Like I mentioned before, I have this great idea, but in lieu of not being able to pull it off, I've got a back-up plot...which, if I'm being completely honest, has a great world that I've built along with it and could really sell the novel when I get to the querying stage...or there's another plot, the original one from a couple years ago, that's the easy route and if I give up completely; but, going back to the "Golden Plot", I would totally destroy many of the scenes I've got playing around in my head...and I'm rambling again, so let's just get back to Monday night.)
Me (continue): ....That is, if I go with Plot B. I don't know where I'd stick it if I go with Plot A because it wouldn't be necessary. And don't get me started on Plot C. Also, don't get me started on how I'm suppose to incorporate fairies because fairies and steampunk are so overdone already and I don't particularly like fairies. Have I mentioned that there aren't even fairies in the original fairy tale? But everyone expects a fairy of the sugar plum variety if you even mention the word "Nutcracker." Oh, you've got a ball. You wanna play fetch?
Jackson: *thumps tail*
Me: Well, the first part of fetch is giving me the ball.
Jackson: MINE!
Me: Yes, I know. But if you want me to throw it, I need it in my mouth--I mean hand!
Jackson: BALL! MINE!
Me: Here. Give me the ba--
Jackson: OM NOM NOM!
Me: Ow! That was my finger! I use it for typing. YOU BIT MY TYPING FINGER! Oh, it's okay--it's just a scratch. Waaaait...AH! It's bleeding! You sliced my finger! I'm dying! I'm dying!
Jackson: BALL? *he proceeds to drop the ball at my feet*
Me: I'm...dying...and right before the snowflakes...dance...
Jackson: BALL? *nudges ball with his nose*
Me: You are so lucky you're cute.
I've heard that head wounds bleed like no other; but I'd argue fingers come in a close second. Especially when it takes about 15 seconds for the bleeding to start. He got me clean across the tip of my left, middle finger (oh, sweet irony)--not across the nail, but the tippy tip. Like right along the spot I use to hit the keys on, say, a keyboard. And have you every tried to bandage such a cut? It is not cute and seriously limited my mobility. That's why I spilled the cat bowl all over the floor, okay, Mom? (For the record, it's better today in that I can hit the keys without wincing. But yesterday was really touch-and-go.)
And let me just say Jackson was on a tear that day because just a few minutes after he bit me, he bit my mother on her thumb. And a few hours prior to that, he pulled her across the parking lot at the vet's, causing her to wipe out and skin the palm of her hand and knee. Like I said, he's lucky he's cute. Also, he's quite possibly possessed. Possibly.
