No, this is not a figment of your imagination.? I’m actually writing a blog post.? Finally, I’ve finished editing, tweaking, and pretty much hashing to bits my manuscript, and I’ve entered the truly terrifying portion of the entire process–querying agents.? Eek.? There’s loads more research involved than I ever anticipated.? Like, some agents? love chicklit, while others think it’s the root of all evil.? Some dig paranormal, while others prefer the term “urban fantasy”? (yeah, I’m not really sure what that means, either) or supernatural.? So basically, I have to tailor? my query letter to each individual agent.? Luckily, I found this amazing author through Kristen Nelson’s blog posts on query letters who actually responded to my shameless begging via email and assessed mine.? She even responded the next day, if you can believe it, and was unbelievably supportive.? Her name is Sherry Thomas, and her book Delicious is supposed to be great—hopefully she won’t mind me posting a link to it here.

So, anyway, while I wait for my rejection letters to pile up, I’ll probably have more time for the little things.? You know, stuff like feeding the children, letting the dogs out, saying “hi” to my husband? on at least a weekly basis.? ? And, oh yeah, writing in my blog.

? Speaking of doggage, Fergie and her crazy brother Leo are off pretending to be show dogs in Texas right now, but never fear.? Since our home obviously isn’t complete without more dogs than we can possibly manage, we have two geezer Ridgeback fosters right now, Cooper and Sara.? ? They’re 12 and 14 and apparently, just got to be too much for their owner to handle.? Um, yeah–I can see how all of that sunning and sleeping might? pose a challenge.? ? Grrrrrr………

Anyway, hopefully I’ll post photos of them here soon, and I’ll post a link to Ridgeback Rescue once their photos are up there.

More soon……

Buffy quote of the day:

Evil Swimming Coach–Boy, when they started handing out school spirit, you never even got in line, did you?

Buffy–No, I was in line for ‘shred of sanity’.

In non-Buffy related news, I’m making pretty good progress on the manuscript.? Well, all except for the part where, in? her frantic? attempt to? purge the? two minuscule raindrops from her coat (because she might have melted otherwise), Skye proceeded to burrow the comforter? right into the back of my laptop.? Which would have been fine, had I not been peering closely at the screen at that exact moment, looking for a file.? The end result?? Said laptop crashed down and nearly severed my nose from my head.? ? There was blood and everything.? I’m okay today, but my nose seriously is still a little crooked.? And painful.? And I have to laugh at the irony.? Skye is, like, the only halfway well-mannered Ridgeback I own.? If she ends up being the one to have broken my nose, which survived? countless alteration attempts from Seger, Sunni, Fergie, et al., it’s going to be pretty darn funny.? All except the part where I look like I went two rounds with Mike Tyson, that is.? I guess on the plus side, my ears are intact.

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I’m sipping a? glass of water (yes, exciting beverages abound when you’re trying to de-caffeinate yourself), and just happen to glance out the window.? And there she is, in all her patio table hogging glory.?

I realize that Ridgebacks love to sun, but surely there should be some boundaries involved?? Like, say,? no putting your stinky hound dog body on the same surface where I might eat my lunch?? I mean, God forbid she has to be in the yard for even a millisecond without at least a drop of sunshine.

Next she’ll be demanding I actually polish the sucker before I let her out in the morning.

You’d better watch it, hound dog.? Or else I’m moving your sun-lovin’ tushy to Seattle, home of the dreary gray drizzle.? Nothing like trying to? satisfy that UVA jones? on some? damp chilly glass.

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You’ve gotta love a girl who’s okay with her? station in life…….

….of course, it’s easy to be okay when your station is Queen.

At least? Her? Royal Fergieness? was gracious enough to? allow hubby a blankie while he broke his back on the floor.? Perhaps in the future I can persuade her to toss him a pillow as well.? And while she’s at it, maybe pass a decree mandating the use of matching socks.

Just had to post this photo my aunt sent me from Colorado of Zag (Fergie’s? ONLY black? nosed show littermate out of seven show puppies) playing with Dimond.

From my angle, it’s hard to tell if we’re looking at Ridgebacks or kangaroos.? Although, I bet kangaroos inflict less damage on remotes and shoes.? (Yes, Zag, I’m talking about you.? Even if you are a black nose.)

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Okay, so things are FINALLY settling down to normal here after my 5 day stint at the Ridgeback National Specialty in Gettysburg, PA, which involved me leaving my almost one year-old and 4.5 year-old home alone with my cleanliness-challenged husband.? Although I have to say, I was completely shocked in a good way? when I arrived home and? our house was not only still standing, but actually didn’t resemble a recent bomb site on the inside.? And nary a broken glass to be seen.? Honestly, I’m left sort of wondering when the bulldozer came and how long it was here, but that’s okay.? I mean, I don’t really care what means achieved these ends, as long as? they don’t? involve me wading knee-high through daddy-was-home-alone-with-the-kids carnage.

At any rate, I’ll try to write some about my adventures this weekend, but for now, here’s a photo of me and the Ferganator in our hotel room, with all the awards she helped win.? As it turns out, Fergie apparently is good for something other than destroying random objects around the house.? Although saying she was? “good” at the show would probably be a bit of an overstatement—just ask my aunt.

Just lock me in a padded cell.? Please.? Because the enormity of my decision to leave? the kids with hubby? while attending the annual Ridgeback Specialty is starting to sink in.? And the deeper it sinks, the more obvious it becomes that I have utterly and completely lost my mind.

Any mother with even an ounce of sanity would spend her first kid-free days in over a year doing something relaxing.? Like soaking in a spa while eating bon bons and getting a foot massage by a young Antonio Banderas doppelganger.? Or lounging on? a squeezably soft yet tasteful comforter at the Four Seasons while ordering room service and reading trashy novels, only venturing out to float on a raft in the pool while sipping a strawberry margarita.? ? Or perhaps even sending the kids away so she could hole up in the house ALONE while eating Dulce de Leche Haagen Dazs and watching endless reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Veronica Mars.

But apparently all my sanity was sucked away into? the black hole of? motherhood long,? long ago.? Because instead of doing any of those things, I’ve chosen to squander my hard-earned freedom at a dog show.? Where the dogs will be pampered more than I.? This wonderful trip involves me flying on a red-eye (read, no sleep whatsoever) and arriving? at 6:00 a.m.–just in time to shower and throw on some show clothes so I can take the Ferganator into the ring.? Where instead of humiliating me with her naughty antics in front of just a few local Ridgeback folks, she’ll get to take on the whole nation.? Then, there’s the endless pottying of dogs, exercising of dogs, grooming of dogs (okay, so at least with Ridgebacks, the grooming part is? pretty brief–thank god I didn’t choose Samoyeds), before staying up late at the Top 20 event, followed all too quickly by the next show morning, where I will attempt to split myself in two so that I can show multiple dogs and puppies in stud dog and brood bitch.? Speaking of which, maybe I should just enter myself in the latter category.? Think I’d have a shot?? My kids are pretty cute, if lacking in ring demeanor.? Which basically is to say they’ll fit right in with the rest of the crew I show.

And then for the grand finale, I get to drag my kid-free butt out of bed at? 4:30 a.m. so I can have the supreme honor of driving 50 miles to the lure coursing field,? because nothing says relaxing like being? dragged willy-nilly across a dirty old field by four absolutely bunny-crazed Ridgebacks.? And of course, there’s the peaceful event of chasing the especially naughty ones down after the course is over.? To add to my vacation, I’m sure I’ll fall a few times, as well as almost pass out from the humidity.? Oh, and lets not forget that during this entire “vacation”, I’ll be pumping at least four times a day.

And then there’s the return home, where my house will surely look like a condemned property inhabited by one hundred transients and ten families of rats upon my arrival.

So, please, lock me up.? And make sure you do it before 7:37 p.m.? Otherwise, save me a strawberry margarita? (or five) in Pennsylvania–I think I’m going to need them!

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So I admit it–I was wrong.? Apparently Fergie is good for something after all.? Check out these bad boys:

We had Fergie get preliminary scores on her hips and elbows, since we plan? to let her chase the plastic bunny bag (or perhaps pick up a few pylons again)? at the National Specialty next week.? As expected after viewing the X-rays, the hips came back excellent.

Alas.? If only excellent hips were linked to excellent? behavior.?

Hold on everyone, because here comes Armageddon.

Well, maybe not for you.? But for me?? It may as well be.? Because next week I’m leaving for four days to attend the annual Rhodesian Ridgeback National Specialty in Pennsylvania.? Which means the hubby is staying behind.? With both kids.? In the house.? ALONE.

And while the idea of a four day kid-free vacation sounds like a little piece of heaven right about now (even though I’ll miss the little stinkers like crazy), the idea of returning to the shambles of what was once my fairly structured life is going to be something altogether less angelic.? Not to mention that I expect my house to be in shambles as well.? Literally.

It’s not that I don’t think hubby can handle taking care of the kids, dogs, house, shopping, chauffeuring, and all the accompanying chaos that makes up the life of a stay-at-home parent.? It’s just that I don’t think he can complete all those tasks without letting a few things slide along the way.? And I’m shuddering inside at the non-stop visuals my overactive imagination is so thoughtfully providing me.

I know, I shouldn’t sweat the few, minor little details. Like what they’ll be eating (for my son, whatever no-no’s he can coax out of daddy–which is to say, Oreos for breakfast and? Ho-Ho’s for dinner.? The baby will probably get her first taste of? Ho-Ho’s as well.? Okay, now I’m REALLY hyperventilating).? Or what they’ll be wearing (striped shirts with checkered shorts that have already been worn five days in a row.? In the mud.? And rain or shine, the baby will likely be naked).? What they’ll be doing (watching non-stop episodes of entirely inappropriate violent cartoons.? And possibly even my hubby’s favorite–zombie movies).? What they won’t be doing (managing to find the trash can or the diaper pail.? Or buying more toilet paper when they run out, and instead, resorting to hubby’s old sock method.? Gag).

I know.? I KNOW.? I shouldn’t? fret so much over my husband’s priorities.? Or lack thereof.? And just because last time I left him unattended with the kids this happened doesn’t mean anything quite so dramatic will happen again, right?? Especially given the fact that we’re down to only a single table in the entire house now. Statistically speaking, our odds of breaking the one remaining glass table have got to be pretty darn low.? Right?? RIGHT???? ? And as a plus, the Ferganator? will be in PA as well, leaving? only the marginally naughty, shoe-eating? Skye hound and the growling Pig dog.? ? Fergie alone is the equivalent of about eight GOOD dogs, so surely this has to be helpful.

Seriously, though, I’m okay leaving the kids with hubby.? He’s got to be one of the most involved fathers I know, and as a consequence, he is entirely secure in his ability to take care of the kids while I’m away.? And so am I.?

Really.? It’s the house I’m worried about.

But maybe I’m overreacting a little.? I mean, just because the house looked like this last time I left hubby to his own devices–WITHOUT THE KIDS–doesn’t mean it could get that? much worse? in just four days WITH the kids.? Right?? RIGHT???

Yeah.? Right.?

So, hypothetically speaking….is it too late to change my ticket?

You know how dogs possess preternatural powers of sensitivity in all the old animal stories?? Like whenever Timmy’s sick, Lassie mopes? for days, fretting about him while laying plastered? by his bedside, until at long last his fever breaks and she’s instantly joyful again?? Well I’m hear to tell you, when it comes to Ridgebacks, it’s all a crock of crap.?

Unless, of course, Ridgebacks typically express their sensitivity by eating your favorite pair of shoes.? Because that’s what happened here.? There I was,? practically dying from some preschooler-induced illness consisting of the production of copious amounts of snot and feeling hotter than Brad Pitt in a loincloth? , and what does Skye do?? Why,? in her extreme empathy for her? nearly dead master, she mangles my fabulous kitten-heeled, goldish-bronze, go-out-and-party sandals beyond any hopes of recovery.

Or maybe I just jinxed myself by talking about how she’s the good one in the house.? I can hear Fergie snickering all the way from Colorado, while Grandmama Shani is giving her the paws up from the Bridge.

So tell me–how does she manage to look so innocent:

while performing deeds of such? vile depravity:

All I can say is, she’d better not think she’s crawling into my bed tonight with the reek of her? hideous dead shoe breath.? Sole killer.