The black storm

I never know what to expect coming home everyday. Will I come home to utter destruction, one wagging tail, and the other sitting at the corner feeling remorse? Or will I return home as I left in the morning, with two wagging tails, plenty of licks and jumps?

My lack of time to write is all thanks to our newest addition, our raven-haired black beauty, Dusty Uzumaki Chong.

The bodily excrement in the pee pen has become a norm. So I’m not even touching that – at least not without protection and an arsenal of cleaning aids.
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When it Rains, it Pours

We have been searching for another dog to adopt, off and on, ever since Haydn’s passing 1.5 years ago. In the pass 4 months, we begin to up the ante and reached out to multiple rescue groups and shelters after seeing a few that caught our attention. Those came to naught as we found out quickly. We were always caught in a certain amount of red tape and bait-and-switch tactics. In any case, it was frustrating.

It would have been easier buying a puppy, but we know there are many abused and neglected dogs that needed our love, protection and nourishment. So we persisted – as if we didn’t have enough on our plates. Our weekends were spent making trips around the tri-state area, visiting potential adoptees.

Just as we were about to give up on the search, the calls started pouring in around Thanksgiving. We met Dusty (Trusty), an “owner surrender.” He is a 2-year-old black Cocker Spaniel, with straight, black lustrous fur. He is the envy of Asian girls and my husband alike. However, for unknown reasons to the rescue group, he lost hair from his neck down to his elbows. Aside from that, he is visibly skinny.

Dusty

Dusty

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Stench Kissing

I have been brought up in a house where dirt, dust and general smelliness is equivalent to laziness and utter lack of hygiene. Eighteen years of watching my mom clean, scrub, polish, and meticulously scrap dirt off minuscule holes has done nothing but make me feel guilty…sometimes. Nowadays, I clean when I have to, wash when I run out of clean utensils, throw when I run out of space. Ok, I’m exaggerating here, but I’m not that far off.

The floors are swept once a week. That too, I don’t sweep under the couch or the table. What I don’t see or feel doesn’t exist. The newspapers and magazines are kept because you never know when I would need that article from three years back. At least hubs has found a use for the day-old papers now – part of a wee wee pad. Did I mention that I still keep notes and textbooks from my college and university years? You never know. Each passing of the season is a changing of the guards. Clothes are switched from woolen winter sweaters to skimpy cotton tops, and then there are those that never get worn, but all the same are kept in the pile. New pieces come in, but the old remains. Just like that, the empire is built. The dishes are never washed immediately after a meal – ONLY when my parents are around is this dutifully done. The dishes can wait until the next day, or maybe the day after. I’ve got enough dishes and utensils to go a while without washing. But that would be just disgusting.
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