Guess Who's Feeling Right at Home?

Seems like Little Missy has gotten over her "new girl" issues. ;-)

Gak!

I know I just did a WTF post, but it seems like lately the world is just full of WTFs.

The other day, I read an article about the world's record holder for the longest fingernails. Before she was in a car crash this past February (which apparently broke some of her nails), each nail was almost 3 feet long. The 68-year-old great-grandmother had been growing them for thirty years.

The first thought that went through my mind when I saw her picture was "GAH! MY EYES! MY EYES!"

The second was, "How in the heck did she drive a car like that? It's a wonder she didn't have LOTS of accidents!"

Well, the article didn't actually say if she was driving or not, so I guess maybe we could infer that she was a passenger in the vehicle.

And of course---being me---the next question I had was, "How in the world did she wipe her own ass?"

Even with one of those long wipey-stick things you can get from a medical supply store, her nails would still get in the way, and unless she had 5-foot-long arms, I can't see how she could maneuver it.

So did she have someone wipe her butt for her like Henry VIII or did she just sit in her own fug all the time?

Was the wiper a relative? A paid companion? How much would a professional butt-wiper make these days, considering that medical insurance or medicare prolly wouldn't cover a home health-aide worker for someone who is willfully disabled?

How did she bathe? Dress? Or even sleep, for Pete's sakes? Did she hang off the rafters like a bat at night? Is she married? Could you imagine crawling into bed with those at the end of the day?

Since the article said she had been growing her nails for 30 years, and they were almost 3-feet long each, I did an off-the-cuff calculation of nail growth of around 12 inches every 10 years. So at age 48, her nails would have been a foot long (Can you smell a Mythbusters experiment coming on?).

On Sunday, I decided to try it out. Just for a little while to see what it would be like. We had company coming Monday for a cookout, and I needed to get cracking with the cleaning.

But first I needed to gather some information.

Honey, I asked. If I broke both my arms, would you be willing to wipe my butt for me for 6 weeks or so?

"I don't see how I'd have much of a choice".

That's my man. He's put up with me, my kids, miscellaneous spot-welding in the middle of the night, my nose-hose and other downright annoying habits for the last 17 years.

What if I was uh---disabled on purpose? Would you wipe my butt for twenty or thirty years?

He gave me the hairy eyeball. "Only if you were getting a million dollars annually and I got special seats at the Superbowl every year."

Well yeah, I get it. True love only goes so far. I wouldn't wipe HIS butt for 30 years either.

So I duct-taped wooden skewers to my fingers. I felt like Attila Scissorhands. It lasted about 3 hours.

Could I wash dishes? Not really. I had to "palm" the glasses, turn them over, and try to grip them from the bottom to put them in the washer. Then I had to kind of grab the scrub brush in the joint between my thumb and first finger to scrub plates, and damn, that hurt!

Could I wipe the counters? Took at LEAST twice the time it would normally take. Had to wipe sideways to try to get the edges, and I could only go as far as 10-inches from the wall and between the microwave, etc.

Could I make the bed? Forget it. Then again, I rarely make the bed, so I guess it doesn't matter.

Could I vacuum? Ok, I was able to get that under control. But if my "nails" were any longer, I don't think it would happen.
Could I do Laundry? No. Could I empty the garbage cans? No. Could I pick up dog poop? No (and amazingly enough, the dookie wasn't from Little Missy, but from our OTHER little yorkie, who is misbehaving in protest for bringing the interloper into HER home).

Could I skewer a poopy little dog and roast her over an open flame?

Absolutely.

Could I poke the men in my household to do the stuff I couldn't do? Yep.

Now came the bathroom test. I was able to slide my pants down with my palms. But when it came time to wipe? Gah!

Tried to wipe down the front way. The "nails" ran into the side of the bowl. Tried the back way. Same problem.

I ended up standing up, kicking off one pant leg and putting my foot on the stool.

Yeah, that worked. I also stabbed myself in the thigh.

Then I couldn't figure out how to put my pants back on again. I shuffled over to the bathroom door, cracked it and called, "Honey? Sweetie? Could you come here and help me for a minute?"

Hubby poked his head in the door. Took in me with my "nails", my pants down around an ankle---and zeroed in on the box of Tampons that happened to be sitting on the counter (just got them from the store and hadn't put them away yet).

"No." he said. "Oh HELL no!" And slammed the door.

So I tore those suckers off and called it a day. How in the heck could a person function with 1-foot fingernails, not to mention 3-FOOT fingernails?

Fingernail Woman says that the car crash (and subsequent nail breakage) "robbed her of her identity".

I'd say it more or less "robbed" her of being waited on hand and foot like she's been for the last 20 or so years. I can't believe the level of self-indulgence it would take to have this kind of hobby or how a family could enable it by decades of servitude.

Guess it's time to pull yourself up by those bootstraps, Lady.

All on your own, this time.

Oops, I Did it Again...

Became a mommy, that is. ;-)

Have to introduce the newest member of our household...Little Missy.

A business acquaintance of Hubby's knew we had a couple of Yorkies and asked if we knew of someone who would be willing to take on an elderly dog. The dog's current owners didn't think they could handle her any more and were thinking of putting her to sleep if they couldn't find her a new home.

"Is she sick?" asked Hubby.

No.

"Vicious?"

No.

"Why in the hell would they put her to sleep then?"

Turns out, Little Missy had some peculiar habits ingrained by her original owner, and just wasn't fitting into the household, even after 8 months. The current owners had tried real hard, but they were miserable, the dog was miserable and they knew it would be hard to place her.

For the first 12 years of her life, Little Missy was the sole companion of an elderly woman. Not only did the woman HAND feed her, but apparently never allowed her to go outside. For anything. Ever. She allowed her to void whenever and wherever, and just cleaned up after her.

Maybe the dog's name was really Little Messy.

After the woman died, her niece, who is a neighbor of the current owner, took Little Missy in until they could find her a new owner. The dog, never having been trained to eat from a bowl (or it could have been grief), wasted away to 2 1/2 pounds.

The children of the current owner had lost their dog when it got hit by a car. They heard that the niece was looking for a home for Little Missy and offered theirs. How much trouble could a little Yorkie be?

LOL.

They were able to train her to eat from a bowl, and fattened her up. They were able to partially potty train her, but the poor dog is half-blind and kept getting lost in their backyard. She'd get scared and hide when they called her, so they'd have to do a lot of hunting.

They couldn't crate her at night, because she howled all night long. They couldn't leave her out of the crate, because she pooped and peed all over the house in the middle of the night. They finally came to a compromise...when she was in the house, they put her in diapers.

And let her sleep on their bed.

Above all, they had small children running around, and it scared the dog. Plus they both worked full-time, so they'd crate her for most of the day. They just didn't feel that they could handle her another winter, and being crated up most of the time was no life for her.

So we got a new baby.

Boy, is she a sweetie. After a lot of butt-sniffing, our dogs welcomed her to the pack. Maybe a little too enthusiastically at first---she was a little standoffish the first day.

We were worried a bit about the night thing, because we crate our dogs at night. But we put her carrier over in dogtown, and there hasn't been a peep out of her at all. I think she was just lonely.

As for the pooping and peeing thing...she isn't incontinent, and she doesn't soil her crate. She's had a couple of small accidents, but we let the little yorkies out every hour, and she has easily found the "potty place" outside and goes. We all just have to get used to the schedule, and she needs to let us know when she has to go, as do the other dogs.

The only real issue is that she is not a lap-sharer. While the other Yorkies are more than willing to share the "prime" snuggle spot with her (which happens to be Daddy's crotch), she isn't willing to share with them. If she gets there first, then she wants it all to herself.

The other dogs sense this, so it has become a battle over the crotch. Bet Hubby is just loving it---all these females fighting over the manly parts. ;-)

The other quirky habit is that she has a stuffed pink elephant that she drags around and humps quite frequently. Kitty (Big Kid's girlfriend) forgot a small stuffed animal she carries around in her purse (it's a mini-Tigger), and Little Missy got a hold of it last night. Tigger was completely and thoroughly assaulted.

If she wasn't already attached to her name, I think we'd call her Nova. Oddly, her hind legs are a little longer than her front, and her butt is jacked up like a '72 Chevy Nova.

All in all, I think she's going to fit right in!