Where have I been? What have I been up to?

Unfortunately, the answers are right here, and not much. Still plugging away at school. I'm trying to devise an independent major so I'll have more room for electives because being a double major barely leaves me room for core. I've become very interested in philosophy this semester and may minor in it if I can be certified for the independent major.
I'm looking into careers to keep my fed and sheltered while I pursue my writing. If anyone either knows, or knows someone who knows what is entailed in editing or literary agency, drop me a line. I'd like to stay near the writing profession, since it's where my interest lies. Or better yet, how does one become a professional book reviewer? Anything that pays me to read is a good job.

In older news, I got a puppy. Thisbee, bless her soul, had to be put down last summer when she went into kidney failure at the amazing age of 21.

Boston, my remaining kitty, was raised by a dog and growls, chases her tail, guards against intruders, fetches, and all around acts way more like a canine than a feline, so I thought a dog would make a better companion for her than another cat.


Also, Gram was very picky about what kind of cat I was allowed to get. No white, not even if it also had black. She says white cats are crazy. No cats from my Mom. (Mom lives on a farm and has a new litter running around every month, it seems, but my mom has very bad luck with cats. All of hers get some disease, like FeLV, and need to be put down.) Gram decided she would accept a striped cat, but it had to be orange, or brown like Thisbee. Black and white stripes were a no.

Ironically, even though Gram didn't want me to get a dog, she had less rules about what I couldn't get for a dog. She didn't want a big dog. That was her only rule. I didn't want a hound dog (because of their baying howl).

After a month of touring the local pounds, I came home with this:



Yes, he's so cute and tiny. It didn't last (not the tiny part at any rate). His previous owner dropped him off in run sometime in the night with a female pup we assumed was his sister. No note, just a bad case of fleas and tics. Frontline cleaned up the pests and after a week of no one claiming him, I brought him home and named him Tarent. (At the pound, they called him Jack, which just made me think Captain Jack Sparrow because this was just after Pirates 3 hit theaters. Plus, I'm not a big fan of giving animals common people names.)


The pound guessed he was 4 months old and a Cocker Spaniel mix (even though his sister looked like a coon hound). The vet pegged him at 3 months (he's now 9 months old), and he's nearing the 50lb mark, not your typical cocker size. The vet thinks he's more setter. I think he looks more like an English Setter, but with shorter fur and snout. I no longer have to bend over to pet his head, and he's now strong enough to pull me off a curb when we go for walks. The cat, by the way, NOT happy about the dog. They're learning to get along, though. Tarent likes to play "poke the kitty" where he jumps back and forth jabbing paws at her. Boston, in return, likes to chew on Tarent's legs. I guess it works out evenly.

I'll try to be a more vigilant blogger. For the holiday season, my next blog will have an entertaining story about Christmas tradition in my family, but for now, I bid you adieu.


Later Days!