![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Fever broke a few days ago, thank goodness. But evil chest congestion/cough has spread to nose and sinus. Stupid cooties. I miss my bed. I know I'm with friends for the first time since Christmas, but it would be nice if I could be a little less miserable about the whole thing.
Colonel Brandon has turned into a holy terror. Oh, he's cute and sweet when he wants to be. He spent at least five hours of the first car trip firmly attached to my lap (while I was driving) and no amount of scruffing or pushing or pulling was going to keep him out of it. And because he's spoiled and I'm a giant push over, I let him. Then today, during the two and a half hour trip, he got car sick just ten minutes from our destination and horked up all over my good coat. Which, I just remembered, is still in the trunk of the car reeking of puppy barf. Sounds like a trip to the dry cleaners is in order for tomorrow.
He started biting at my parents'. He used to nip, but now he's biting down. Put holes in several pieces of my sister's clothing. And I feel bad because he's been moved around so much and introduced to so many new people and animals that I think he's not feeling well, but I still have to be the mean one (not that it's working). Poor thing. I'll be glad when I get him home in a week. Of course, I'll have to turn around and leave for another trip not long after that (and he'll have to come with me).
Taking a puppy (at least one as spoiled as CB) on a trip is like taking a new baby. I packed more things for the dog than for me.
People keep asking me to make decisions. I don't want to make decisions, damn it. I want to say "Hey, what are we doing?" and not have to be the one to call around and make it happen. I'm tired and sick and slightly stressed (odd, I know) and I just want to rest. Sleeping in two hour blocks and then getting up to walk the dog, and then trying to fall asleep again just isn't cutting it.
On a completely unrelated note: CSI last week. Grissom. Sara. He does care. That's all I'm saying.
Colonel Brandon has turned into a holy terror. Oh, he's cute and sweet when he wants to be. He spent at least five hours of the first car trip firmly attached to my lap (while I was driving) and no amount of scruffing or pushing or pulling was going to keep him out of it. And because he's spoiled and I'm a giant push over, I let him. Then today, during the two and a half hour trip, he got car sick just ten minutes from our destination and horked up all over my good coat. Which, I just remembered, is still in the trunk of the car reeking of puppy barf. Sounds like a trip to the dry cleaners is in order for tomorrow.
He started biting at my parents'. He used to nip, but now he's biting down. Put holes in several pieces of my sister's clothing. And I feel bad because he's been moved around so much and introduced to so many new people and animals that I think he's not feeling well, but I still have to be the mean one (not that it's working). Poor thing. I'll be glad when I get him home in a week. Of course, I'll have to turn around and leave for another trip not long after that (and he'll have to come with me).
Taking a puppy (at least one as spoiled as CB) on a trip is like taking a new baby. I packed more things for the dog than for me.
People keep asking me to make decisions. I don't want to make decisions, damn it. I want to say "Hey, what are we doing?" and not have to be the one to call around and make it happen. I'm tired and sick and slightly stressed (odd, I know) and I just want to rest. Sleeping in two hour blocks and then getting up to walk the dog, and then trying to fall asleep again just isn't cutting it.
On a completely unrelated note: CSI last week. Grissom. Sara. He does care. That's all I'm saying.