Don't bite the hand that feeds you.

Rod went to work angry this morning.

And limping.
Bela, the love of his life, kicked him in the thigh yeaterday. This after they had traveled over hill and dale for hours and she had been as sweet as honey the entire time.

He reached out for her lead rope to take her into the barn and tuck her in for the night,
That is when the little darling struck. Rod instantly became the Horse Whisperer, as he lost his voice from the pain.

I was watching the Oscars (glad you won, Ann Hathaway. Nice dress, Charlize Theron. Also love your pixie cut.) so I missed the "attack."
Perhaps I would have been more sympathetic and it would have impacted me more (get it?) had I seen it.

Clearly, looks can be deceiving.

Not that I didn't feel bad about his pain. I did and I do. Rod is angry at Cabela because he feeds and cares for her, so he feels she should reciprocate by being kind, sweet and calm, and be interested and energetic on the trail.
He feels she shouldn't bite the hand that feeds her.
Literally.
She should not bite. Or kick.

Side note: One time, Rod's parents offered to take  us out to dinner.  Rod started grumbling when they showed up early and I tried to hush him so they wouldn't hear. He sighed, and said. "You're right. You should never bite the dog that takes you out to dinner." That is now a treasured saying in our family lore.
As is another gem Rod coined, "Home is where you hang your head." I could write hundreds of posts with Rod's sayings.
As he was describing his complicated feelings towards Cabela, he said, "I guess I really appreci-hate her."
Rod is like a walking blog post. A bruised and limping blog post.

My Monday will be better than his.

I really like Mondays. They are routine. I get certain chores done every Monday. I do bible study. I take the dogs on walks. I make dinner. I do business work from the weekend. I believe Mondays are the anchor of my week.
After reading what I just wrote, I believe the vote is in:I am the most tedious,mundane person on the planet.
 If I were smart, I would delete it all and go mountain climbing or para-sailing so I could write an exhilarating blog for you.
But no. You get to hear how I wash my sheets every Monday and look forward to...
wait for it....
clean sheet night on Monday nights. Woohoo!! There should be a parade celebrating Clean Sheet Night. But that would be too exciting for my blog.
I'm sure all of my Monday Fun is so inspirational for you. If you are inspired to, say, go organize those darn kitchen cupboards, than my job is done. If you are banging your head on your desk because that is more fulfilling  than reading this blog, then I apologize. Just know you are appreci-hated anyway.

Crazy Cat Lady

If I were you, I would not read this blog post. I would see that it is probably about cats and I would move on to another blog. A blog about macaroni and cheese, or a blog about how to heal the blisters on your big toe, (pictures included!) or even one about costumes for Guinea pigs in South America.

Frankly, I am not an admirer of the cat. I am an avid dog person and I feel that makes up for my lack of feelings for cats. They just have so much disdain for their owners, and human beings in general. I care about cats about as much as they care about me.

 So, you can imagine my horror when I was visiting my grandson, Max, and I inadvertently rolled in cat pee.
Yup, I did.
Max invited me into his tent to cuddle and read books and as I crawled in I put my hand in something wet. Then I sniffed my fingers and smelled the excruciatingly rank odor of cat pee. (Obviously, if I could go back in time, I WOULD NOT SNIFF MY FINGERS. But, if I am reliving moments, I would not crawl into the tent in the first place.)
With cat-like reflexes, I leaped nimbly out of the tent and threw myself, and my wool Michael Kors sweater into the nearest sink and began scrubbing frantically. I really hoped Max was okay, but I couldn't stop to check. BECAUSE THERE WAS CAT URINE ON ME.
EEEEEEWWWWWWW!!!
 Guess what? People don't actually die after they roll in cat pee. This is an urban myth. You do smell like death and it can encourage violent tendancies towards any cats in your general vicinity, but you don't literally die.You may really want to strangle any cat you see. Or blow them all up, or something.
Oh, chill out, PETA. I'm exaggerating for the sake of the story. Not about the pee, just about what I would do to any cats. I wouldn't really harm them.
 At least not so you could prove.
 So,putting on my brave face and smelling faintly of cat, I headed out to meet up with my friend Jen. Jen loves cats, and was kind. She kept insisting she couldn't smell it. But I think that was because she wouldn't come within 10 feet of me. And she has a chronic sinus infection.. And she kept her face averted and both hands covering her nose all evening. 
You do what you gotta do. I get it.
(side note: for those of you wondering why in tarnation I didn't just remove the cat urine sweater, I had a fashion conundrum. I was wearing skinny jeans, which I shouldn't be wearing, but covering up with the bigger, longer sweater. I obviously couldn't take it off and be seen in public. And I was 40 miles from home. It was a dilemma. Clearly, it was more important for me to look a certain way than to smell a certain way. I have my standards.)

I was not finished with felines yet. The next day, Rod took Cooper in to get groomed. He came back home with this.

I am just telling people he is a Lion Doodle. (Please do not feel sorry for Cooper. He seems to like his new 'do and he doesn't get the house all muddy like he did before. Now just Rod and I do.)

Yesterday, I was getting ready to go to bible study and I had decided to wear my favorite sweater du jour. I bought it right before the holiday season because I liked the abstract print, the fit and the kicky fringe.I am a sucker for the fringe. I wear it all the time. It is also long and covers my mid section which, hello, is a plus. Here is a picture of the sweater. Cute right?

So, as I'm doing my hair in the bathroom yesterday, I felt kind of creepy-crawly, like someone was watching at me. I had to stare for a full minute before my mind accepted what my eyes were telling me.

There was a cat on my sweater
I was wearing a cat sweater.
Let's pause right there for effect.

The cat was there all along, just waiting to pounce. It stayed hidden during church and trips to the grocery store. It crouched there silently all Christmas Eve, watching and waiting as we feasted and exchanged gifts.
I just never saw it. And neither did anyone else, apparently. At least they didn't say anything. Maybe they just assumed I was the kind of person who wears a cat sweater to Christmas gatherings.
And I can't tell you how much that hurts.
I am the crazy cat lady. I just didn't know it.

Guardian Project Guest Blog

Brandy Maddox from Purposeful Living asked me to do a guest blog (I just actually typed "guess blog.hmmm.) this week.
So I did. Here is the linky: Guest blog.
Brandy is involved in a brand new project called "The Guardian Project" and they launched just this week. I'm super excited about what they will accomplish, and along with that, I am so moved by their hearts for the most vulnerable people group anywhere; the unborn.

The Guardian Project is raising funds to outfit an ultra-sound machine into a mobile unit. This way, they can take the ultra-sound technology directly to the women who have need of it.
Abortion-minded women.

 Studies have shown that a vast majority of women who view their child on an ultra-sound do not go through with an abortion procedure. (Wonder why the people at the abortion clinic didn't let me see, or hear, the ultra-sound when I was getting ready for an abortion....?)

Go to The Guardian Project website, like them on Facebook and see how you can be involved with this amazing work God is doing through these people who just asked God, "What can I do?"
God bless them.