I didn’t have this ready in time to post on Gus’ actual birthday, but here is a video montage of photos taken since Gus was born on December 28, 2008. There is sound, but if you’re at work or your ears are too delicate for swears and rap music, you may want to listen on mute. Also, it’s kind of long because Gus is pretty cute and we’ve take a lot of pictures of him, and by “we” I mean “me.” I’m like the paparazzi up in here.
Happy (belated) birthday Tiny Pooper!
Janie’s friend Mary sent Gus a winter coat. It’s a little snug for him, but it still fits. We normally have him out wearing a sweater or a waterproof fleece jacket for evenings when the weather is chilly and wet, but since we’ve had some significant low temperatures the past few days, it might well be time to bust this coat out for a few of our evening walks. I think he’ll be especially thrilled when it’s time to put on the hood.
This was probably taken sometime in the early spring of this year, based on the ever-evolving ways in which we tried to keep Gus contained in one part of the house (see the white board). This is one of my favorite Gus videos. I apologize in advance for my high-pitched puppy-talking voice.
Gussy received this stuffed sheep from my sister’s friends on Thanksgiving. He absolutely loves it and by the next day he had chewed part of the face off (covered by his ear in this photo) which I sewed up last night as we sat in bed and watched Xena: Warrior Princess. Also, you can’t see it but he’s also eaten off several of the white tendrils. He has yet to make it squeak on his own, which is going to keep him busy for many, many hours. He just bites it as hard as he can, his entire body convulsing with every ounce of energy his tiny figure can muster. It’s cute and sad all at the same time. (Thanks J & A!)
Since I’ve been laid up, there hasn’t been a whole lot to do other than to make Janie angry by threatening to clean out her nightstand drawer where she hoards things like medication, nuts and writing implements. I dug around in there and found our Flip camcorder and we spent several minutes Thursday night watching old videos of Gus when he was just a tiny guy, way back before we had to chase him down the hall to extract that giant piece of cat shit from his mouth. Here’s one from the spring:
Our cat, Ducati, took it upon himself to attempt murder on Augustus this weekend. I was in the office when I heard skittering feet and knew that Gus was probably involved because he’d just wandered down that way. I walked down the hall and as I turned into the bedroom I watched Ducati scurry up onto the bed and hold his paws in the air, yelling I didn’t do nothing to no one! Murder was the case that they gave me, but I’m innocent! I’m innocent. Gus sat in the corner, pressed up against the wall, freaked out and frozen. He was soothing himself by singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow. I picked him up and immediately noticed the blood on his neck. Then the blood dripping down the wall. Then the blood all over my hands and then all the blood pouring from his ear. I held him close and ran down the hall into the bathroom while yelling for Janie.
Janie! Something bad has happened! Don’t freak out, but come help me.
What? Why is there blood all over the hallway? What happened? What’s going on?
It took us a while to figure out that all the blood was from just one wound on his ear. It was a small gash, but our boy is a bleeder! Soon our mostly white bathroom looked like a murder scene. Our bathtub was spotted with blood, as were our floor, toilet, sink, drawers and towels. It took us several minutes to get the bleeding to slow down and, after a while, when everyone was sufficiently covered in red stains, I gave Gus to Janie so I could start cleaning up. Suddenly she felt weak, had trouble breathing and, apparently, could not hear.
Are you okay, Janie?
I’m starting to go deaf and this leads me to believe I might pass out.
It was the most articulate sentence every spoken by a human being about to fall over, that I know of. My only other experience with someone fainting was when that girl, Kate, in grade school, passed out at basketball practice and she didn’t have a chance to accurately voice her symptoms. One minute we’re lined up for some drill or whatever and the next minute she’s on the ground, woozy and crying. Janie was nowhere near that out of it. She sat on the toilet and I told her to put her head between her legs. I took the bloody dog from her and rubbed her back. It was a god damn disaster so, of course, I started to giggle.
After we all settled down and I made it known that I had managed to keep my shit together in an emergency while Janie wilted under the pressure, we gave Gus a quick bath. This was a bad idea because after we dried him off with a towel, he shook several times and flicked bloody droplets all over the place. We cleaned them all up, but the entire time I kept thinking to myself: Oh god damn! If someone finds Janie dead one day and CSI comes up in here and stars spraying luminol and finds all this blood spatter, I’m totally going to jail for a crime I didn’t commit! I should consider packing our bags, research countries with no extradition treaty and burn our house down. Problem solved!