Don't you hate it when you think something is yours, only to find out that there is more involved than you thought?
Such is the case with our new home.
When we accepted the sellers' terms to rent for the first year and then enter into a "lease to own" agreement, we thought it was over and done with. We were just waiting to hear how much they wanted for first, last, and deposit, or if they were going to waive some or all of that because we were buying the house at the end of the year. When our real estate agent called, we though that was what he was going to tell us. Instead, he told us we had to fill out a form giving them permission to run our credit (along with sending a $35 check for the privilege of doing so); a few days later, he emailed me a form to fill out which was essentially an application to rent. What the fuck? Then he told us we would get an answer today. It turns out that the sellers are on vacation and, while they are in contact with their agent, we haven't heard a word. We called our agent, and he said that we would definitely hear by tomorrow. It sure as hell won't be later today - it's after 5:00 p.m., and the office is now closed. I barely made it through the weekend; now I have to wait until tomorrow. My anxiety level has gone through the roof, and I have to get through tonight somehow. Thank you to everyone who is keeping us in their prayers. Pray extra hard tonight, will ya?
Then there's Emma. We took the pot roast to the vet on Wednesday morning to get spayed. She is the only dog I know who loves going to the vet, even though by now she knows that the vet isn't a fun place. She just loves all the people there - and I think she knows that she gets yummies from everybody in sight. We handed her over to the assistant, kissed her goodbye, and went home to wait and worry. When the call came later that afternoon saying she was just fine and had come through it with flying colors, we were VERY relieved. I went to pick her up because Hubster was busy with work and dragged my mother along (I never know when I can't drive, so I wanted her with me in case I went weird). Mom uses the same vet, so all the people there know her. We were sitting in the waiting room when one of the ladies came up to us carrying a velvet bag and an envelope. She sat down beside me and said, "Cheyenne has come home". I didn't hear much of the rest of what she was saying because she opened the bag and slid it down to reveal a box which had Cheyenne's name on it; both Mom and I burst into tears and were too busy making a scene to hear much of anything. Another of the staff promptly brought over a box of Kleenex for us. It turns out that they did the same thing they did for Monkey - there was the box with Cheyenne's cremains, a certificate stating that she was cremated alone so there was no chance of mixing ashes, and a plaster cast of her paw print with her name embossed on the side. It was just too much, so I handed everything over to Mom. Mom hugged the box to her chest and rocked back and forth while she wept. If I could have walked out of there, I would have, but Emma was about to make her grand entrance.
And what an entrance it was! She came bounding into the room, wiggling all over the place and wanting love from everyone in the waiting room (there were two other women who were looking at me like I was an alien and staring with that imperious look that says "you're a piece of trash"), but the poor thing had one of those lampshades around her neck that kept getting caught on the floor (while I didn't have a lampshade around my neck when I got spayed, it HURT - I wasn't bounding anywhere). Emma isn't that high, and she usually walks with her head down and swinging (unless she's scored something good, in which case she holds her head high and prances). I was given instructions on how to care for her, pain killers, tranquilizers, and a bunch of paperwork; then I held up the cone so Emma could walk to the door. Even so, it caught on the doorframe, causing her to stop in fear. The assistant picked up Emma and put her in the carrier in the truck. Emma promptly laid down and began to whimper. Was the day going to get any worse?
I had to think that. We got home and cut off the cone (Emma can't fold that solid body enough to get at the incision), after which she began running all over the place, jumping off the couch, and doing everything she wasn't supposed to do. We gave her a tranquilizer (which didn't do a damned thing), and tried to keep her quiet. It was like trying to keep a bear from shitting in the woods. So I called the vet the next day and found out that I could give her up to three tranks at a time. We gave her two, and it knocked her out. However, I had to be sitting in my chair so she could cuddle up next to me (she manages to wrap her body around my hip). While I've gotten a lot of knitting done, I haven't got much else completed. She's asleep in her carrier right now because when she comes off the tranks, she turns into Cujo's first cousin. We ran out of them this morning, but the vet refilled them. After I shower and get ready, we have to go to Mom's and pick them up. Then it's over to Mervyn's to buy some clothes. After all these years, they're going out of business (they opened their first store in 1945 right up the street from where I live). It's truly sad - my family knew Mervyn Morris, the man who started the chain. In fact, he wanted my grandpa to be head of security for all his stores. Grandpa turned him down - after all, he was a cop, not a door shaker. Anyway, Emma is doing fine - she just needs to calm down. A LOT.
I also have signed up for a motorcycle instruction class. It's a two-part deal: the first night, I go to a five-hour class where I learn all about riding one of the beasts. I think I take a test at the end of the class, too - we're given a workbook when we arrive. Then that weekend, I actually ride for five hours each day, rain or shine. That part of the class is on the blacktop of the school which is right next door to my junior high school. It'll be weird to see it - in fact, I'll be able to see my old locker from where we'll be riding. If I'm able to complete that part of the course to the instructors' satisfaction, I get a certificate which waives the riding portion of the DMV test. I just have to take the written test in order to get the designation on my license which allows me to ride them on the street. All this for a scooter. But it's approved by the CHP, and I felt it was necessary to learn how to ride correctly, especially since Idyllwild has changeable weather conditions. Besides, I'll ride the scooter for a few years and then get a motorcycle. Those Victorys are awfully wicked. ;)
Both Hubster and I went through illness last week, the above-mentioned items, and a number of other things which ate up all our time. The sale was a huge success, and we got a bunch of orders which we're still filling. They'll all go out tomorrow for those of you who haven't received them yet. I'm hoping the business really takes off after the IK ad; if it does that, then I'll hire someone to come in and help me with it. That way, orders will go out immediately and Hubster won't have to interrupt his work in order to help me.
So now it's off to get ready, slide on some nice warm sweats, and go get the tranks from Mom. We're going to need them tonight, especially since Emma will be charged up and ready to roll when we get home. I hate to dope her up, but she has to rest. It hasn't even been a week. I will admit that it's funny to watch the back of the couch from where I sit and see toys go flying into the air from one end to the next as she races up and down, gleefully grabbing everything in her path and demolishing them. She's got to lay down, though, or she runs the risk of popping her internal stitches. Besides, neither one of us can work if she's running all over the house.
I think I'll ask the vet if they also prescribe human tranks.