My Tomato Plant is a Diva

The count officially reached five tonight.

I don't like tomatoes. They are squishy, and gross, and ruin everything they touch. Unless they are a)made into a sauce of some sort or b)breaded and fried while still green and accompanied by a light dollop of goat cheese.

In light of my bigotry against tomatoes, it may be surprising to you that I installed a tomato plant in my backyard, in the "vegetable garden" underneath my kitchen window. I just thought I should, since I needed some sort of vertically-growing plant in the space, and it seemed a good complement to the snow peas (resulting in a single yummy stir-fry), peppers (currently being eaten by slugs I believe), lettuce and spinach (won't try that again), cauliflower (not enough rain/watering), and herbs (did well for a while, not anymore) that shared the 5'x5' space.

But I didn't just buy any random pot from Home Depot. I thought ahead and purchased a roma tomato plant. "I'll make sauce out of them," I've been explaining to anyone who will listen. But after the first fruit appeared, and the second quickly followed, nothing.
Just two, lonely, oblong green tomatoes.
Len said I could make a ketchup packet.

But two more babies appeared a few days ago, followed by a third, all on the same sprig. It's doing alright, my little (5-6 foot) tomato plant. I talk to it at least once a day, and I've been spraying the blooms with... stuff. I dunno - it's supposed to give me more fruit. Whatever. I think it just likes the attention.

Feelin' bad

My esthetician said that Venus is in retrograde causing chaos. That must be it.

First, my best friend's dog took her last walk recently. Kita was special. She did a great Elvis impression.
Second, my client's mother told me that my client's three-year-old son drowned at the lake a couple of weeks ago. He leaves behind a twin brother. When I saw her at the salon, she was almost as medicated as I would require. Yeah, yeah, I know kids can drown in seconds. I'm sick of people saying that shit. I've heard that on the local news, thanks. You can't heal a broken heart, ever. Her heart will need a bandage change a day for the rest of her life. But the free-bleeding may end in a few years.
Third, another client's best friend told me that my client's 48-year-old son died of a heart attack while playing tennis. That's why I want to live my life as if tomorrow were my last day. People may think that I'm irresponsible, but I won't die wishing I'd played more tennis.
Fourth, a client put her dog down as well. She drank wine before her appointment. I like wine.
Fifth, a friend is leaving his relationship of many years. It's time for them. But that will not make the process any easier. But I want to be there for him.
Finally, there are some birds in my yard that are missing feathers. I understand why domestic birds have no feathers - they are miserable, caged creatures who are acting out because of their frustrations. But why would I see a bald cardinal? Sad.

So I'm drinking more wine than the surgeon general would suggest. And eating white pizza (in other words garlic pizza). And I may watch Bridge to Terabithia because my client said that it's a good cry.

Sad Dog

Dex is just crying. This poor little dog has creepy-ass maggot-like creatures boring their way up through his skin, and nobody (not me, not him, not Jim) can stop it. He doesn't know why it hurts, but it does, and it makes him sad. He looks at me as if I should be doing something. He's not supposed to ever be uncomfortable. He's only supposed to be relaxed, on the couch, perhaps being fed a piece of cheese.

He is distracted temporarily by the new toy on the floor in front of him - a stuffed skunk, 2/3 scale to himself. It makes a metallic, recorded sound when squeezed. We've saved this toy for months, avoiding the clouds of white acrylic fluff that will dance across the floor by the end of the night (and well into the weekend). But now he deserves it. It keeps him from crying as much.

Oh, and the vet squeezed his anal glands too.
Bad day. Sad Dog

Wolf Worms

Dexter, the cutest dog in the world, has gotten a bad haircut.
After scratching and biting and whining, we took the pooper to the vet (my awesome sister) to get his "hot spots" treated. As the vet tech was examining him, she noted that the spots were more like puncture wounds than raw patches. When Sherry came in and had a chance to examine him, she exclaimed, "I think they are wolf worms!" Which was followed by the vet tech's exclamation, "Cool!"

Now, of course, this isn't what you want to hear when your baby is being poked and prodded on a slippery exam table. While they were excited to see something new, the description made me wanna hurl. Turns out, these things are essentially maggots living under his skin that work their way to the surface to breathe. Jim said he could see it when they squeezed the skin like a zit. gross.

So he had to be put under, then three worms were cut out. We know he has at least one or two more that we have to wait to penetrate the skin before we take him back to the hospital for more poking and prodding. Sherry said that she's never heard of a dog getting more than one at a time. Lucky dog.

We still don't know how he got the parasites, but I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Especailly pussy dogs like mine. He really is a wus. But a damned cute one.