Day 35: A Baby Kangaroo, an Ox & Five Hounds.

Before I get to anything else, it should be noted that the weekly weigh-in will be delayed until I get home tomorrow. I can't bear to use Mom's scale - a new mechanism might report a false weight and freak me out. Since I'm already neurotic about the fact that there WILL be a major increase in poundage this week, more grist for that particular mill is just a bad idea.

Now the good new ... I am victorious! That's right folks, you heard it here first: I won last night's final scrabble game. Mom and Isabelle tied for second, and Bob, well, I'll just repeat for the record that he doesn't really try very hard. I couldn't have done it without managing to drop both "jo" and "ox" on triple word scores, so I guess I owe a debt of thanks to my animal friends.

The animals that live here in the house, however, are another matter. To them I merely owe credit for the fact that I've gotten less than four hours of sleep every night I've been here.

Have I mentioned that my parents have five dogs that weigh a collective 415 pounds? That's not five pets - that's a pack. And when one hears a noise outside, or sees a jackrabbit go by, he or she sets up a howl and races for the kitchen dog door. The others, no matter what they're doing or where they are, instantly drop everything and streak out to help protect the homestead (barking all the way). Unfortunately, this ballistic reaction can be counted on regardless of the time, and believe me, there's nothing like being jolted out of a 3:00 a.m. sleep by the incessant baying of five hell hounds. (In case anyone's worried about untimely wild animal deaths outside, the dog door leads to a fenced-in quarter-acre of land.)

The fact that my mother has acquired this many dogs is actually kind of ironic. When I was growing up, I was all about wanting a dog. One I could play with, who'd chase balls and roughhouse and pull me on my skateboard.

Imagine my joy when Mom and Stepfather #1 (StepOne) brought home ... a poodle. Mom didn't really want a dog to begin with (she quite rightly hates it when people get dogs only to leave them home alone all day), but StepOne was desperate for a chocolate-brown miniature poodle (yes, the thought that he might be gay deep down HAS crossed my mind.) I spent years begging for another dog, but Mom always said one was more than enough.

You can understand, then, why I find it kind of bizarre that Mom now has a French Mastiff (105 pounds), two rescued Collies (70 and 60, respectively), a mental St, Bernard mix (110) and a German Shepherd mix (70). To be fair, they're all wonderful dogs - sweet and loyal and loving and filled with personality. I actually adore them, especially the blonde collie and the mastiff. Like Mom says, you get used to the occassional din. They're worth it.

Still, I'm looking forward to sleeping in my own quiet bed tomorrow night. Plus, I miss my two dogs something awful, even though I know they've been having a great time with Jackie and George (and yes, don't worry, I'll continue the walks. I have to do something to re-lose the four or more pounds I'm guessing I've packed back on over the holidays).

Okay ... it's 11:50 p.m., and I since I have to get up at 4:00 a.m. so Bob can take Isabelle and me to the airport, I guess I should hit the sack.

I can only pray that the critters outside keep their distance.