Patti Soldavini

Posts Tagged ‘comforter’

Napping With Olive

In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 09/04/2012 at 6:53 pm

“This is called a NAP?”

All week I haven’t felt quite well. A low grade headache and maybe even a fever? But the best (sarcasm) is the feeling of having a pile of damp sand sitting at the base of my throat. Or is that my “cough box?” You know, the one that decides to wake up and go to work in the middle of the night. The one that cranks up the rusty machines and manufactures enough sandpaper to make an army gag. Ugh. And to feel this way when it is constantly damp and humid outside makes it even worse somehow. Even though I am indoors most of the time. It’s the typical East Coast time of year when nature tests our constitution to see just how much ragweed, pollen, and other of nature’s dander we can take. I thought I had a sinus infection and that it might run its course without intervention. But by last night I’d had it with the headache and fever, so I went to the doctor today. And you know what happened? The minute he said I had bronchitis, it gave me permission to feel worse. So I got the prescriptions filled, went home, walked in the door and announced: “C’MON OLIVE. WE’RE TAKING A NAP.” So I take one of the antibiotics, and crash on the guest bed which for some reason is my favorite place to nap when I don’t feel well. Probably because it’s the coldest room in the house, hence I refer to it as the “ghost bedroom.” Olive jumps on the bed and lies next me. Circling only a few times before she decides not to rest her ass on my face. “THANKS OLIVE FOR NOT GIVING ME THE TAIL.” Ahhhh. I love taking naps. (I probably should have been Mexican or French.) I love them even more with Olive beside me. Especially when I don’t feel well. It feels very “meatloafian.”

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Weimaraner Vs. Comforter

In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 09/06/2011 at 7:32 pm

Everytime I watch this clip, it makes me laugh. Taken when Olive was about 9 months old, it shows her fascination with the goose down comforter on the bed. Might I remind you that a goose is a BIRD, so I think that genetically, as a weimaraner, Olive is predisposed to being obsessed with this object. I have now sewn about five holes in the comforter. Each time, her teeth tear a small hole in the fabric, feathers erupt as though Mt. Vesuvius is coughing up more molten lava. I predict that by the time Olive reaches her two-year birthday, I will have sewn another three of four holes up. And trust me, I’m no Betsy Ross, and thank god for patients everywhere that I do not stitch wounds up because when I’m done with a needle and thread, it looks like something Ray Charles or Stevie Wonder sewed up. Really, my sewing skills make Dr. Frankenstein’s look like the work of a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon.

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