Mrs. Wigglebottom v. the Hoof

I went out to that great pet place in Bellevue by the Captain D’s and they were like “Um, just call a professional.” I said, “I don’t have the money for that.” But they also concurred that Frontline’s efficacy is going down.

So, I drove clear up to Ashland City, to what I think of as my Tractor Supply Co., and I was one of three cars in the parking lot and the only female customer. Pick-up truck-driving men apparently do a lot of hanging out at the TSC on Monday afternoon.

Anyway, I got the chemicals for the stage before “bomb the fucking house” and a hoof of some sort for Mrs. Wigglebottom.

And I have just spent the last half hour laughing my ass off, because the dog has barked at the hoof, settled down right near it and sighed heavily, barked at me, as if to say, “My god woman! You have brought me something I don’t know how to eat!!!!!!!”, ran from it, sighed some more, barked some more, and now, after I told her she was just going to have to figure out how to eat it, she has figured out a way in.

Thank you, cow, for bringing me such amusement.

On a side note, I’m of the opinion that this hoof may be an awesome treat for her. It’s got some skin and the end of a bone and good connective tissue and, of course, the hoof. It’s a lot to chew on, but it’s like all the part of the regular bone that she would normally finish off in a couple of days without the huge middle part that she then carries around for years.

We’ll have to see how this goes, but I might switch her from bones to hooves.

In Which I Announce that Timothy Demonbreun is My History-Boyfriend

And I start stoking the fires of a campaign to get Charlotte Reeves Robertson a statue. Or a dog park! I just thought of that.

No, that would be terrible.

One should not make light of the terrible things done in battle.

But, no, I’m sorry. The Charlotte Reeves Robertson Dog Park would be hilariously inappropriate and wrong. Hilariously wrong.

Tennessee’s Angriest Gubernatorial Candidate is Angriester

Every other day, there is a story that comes out about our Gubernatorial candidates that makes you wonder if we’re not all having some elaborate practical joke played on us, like, at any minute, some sane candidates are going to come out and be all like, “Just kidding, folks. Vote for us.”

But this is the strangest.

Yesterday, JR linked to a story in which Zach Wamp was, of course, angry about a mailer.

“They painted up my face, created a beard, used all this Middle Eastern looking imagery, and it’s awful,” he said in an interview with The Associated Press. “What kind of gutter politics is that?”

Asked Saturday what part of the mailer he considers to be Middle Eastern, Wamp didn’t cite anything specific.

“All of that, just the whole – I don’t know, I think it’s just ugly,” he said. “It’s like they painted you up to make you look like you’re from a foreign country.”

Today, JR shows us the mailer.

All I can say is “WTF?!” In which foreign country are the walls made of peanut brittle?! Certainly not any place in the Middle East. That peanut brittle would start to soften in the heat and your whole building would be in danger of collapse.

This is literally the strangest thing to happen in the campaign, that Wamp thinks that flyer makes him look Middle Eastern. It is even stranger than him randomly shouting “I love you” at the debate.

I’m not that excited about Haslam being governor, but if Republicans in this state look at their three choices and don’t see that two of them are barely holding it together, I’m going to be very frightened.

Tired

It’s really hard to sleep when you imagine every tiny movement or thing brushing your leg is a horde of fleas descending upon you to feast. I’m headed to the vet this morning to talk to them about a.) something other than Frontline, which, bless its heart, has given up the ghost here and b.) what can I do about all of the fleas that aren’t on the animals?!

I bemoaned my flea status to my Dad this morning, and, bless his heart, he listened while I whined and cried and then said, “Don’t bother to flea bomb. It doesn’t help and it will just make you sick. Go see what the vet can give you.” His vet told him about some spray they have that is very effective.

So, blah. Who even wants to hear about fleas?

Can’t we instead talk about how awesome it was yesterday? How lovely it was to sit under the blue sky with the breeze blowing watching men play cricket?

Or about the distinct lack of metal women in this town?

Or about whether I should start eating a shit ton of garlic to repel those little fuckers until they are dead.

Seriously, I think this is just more flood nonsense. Here it is, August, and this flood is still annoying the fuck out of me.