I have a feeling this is Brogan’s way of telling me I take too many pictures. If my cell phone disappears I know who the culprit is.

I highly recommend Seth MacFarlane's new album. Not only is it really cool music, but he's got the coolest voice ever. It's so hard to believe the guy who voices half the Family Guy characters can sing like this. I've downloaded one of the songs off this album and once I have money again I'm going to get the entire album. What an incredibly talented, guy Seth is!

For everyone who has asked about my new job and received a somewhat vague answer. The answer really is I don’t know.

The week before Christmas I applied for an ad I saw online. It was in Anderson, which I can reach the south side of in 20 minutes. And it was listed as Administrative Assistant/Executive Assistant. Okay, close, something I can do, and within my pay range based on the criteria I entered. Might as well apply for it. The ad was placed by an agency, and it didn’t list who the actual employer was.

The very next day a representative from the agency called me and was very excited. She tells me it’s a printing company and with my background I’m perfect for the job. We talk some more and she tells me they want someone to start right away (remember this part). I tell her I have to give the animal shelter 2 weeks notice. She asks if that’s a deal breaker. Well let’s see, it’s the right thing to do, the shelter hired me when I was desperate, and, oh yeah, I’m over the legal limit of animals in town; if I piss off the shelter they could nail me for that. Yeah, I’d have to say giving 2 weeks notice is a deal breaker for me. She tells me she’ll check with them and call me back. Later on she calls and says they’re okay with me giving my current employer 2 weeks notice and schedules me for a interview the Wednesday after Christmas.

Interview time rolls around and I drive on over there, timing it as more than 40 minutes commute vs. the hoped for 20-30 minutes. Not a huge deal there, though. The “interview”, such that it was, consisted of the VP telling me how incredibly busy she is and how one of their project planners is going out on medical leave. She tells me she has one other person to interview and finishes up with “thank you for coming all the way from New Castle“ Yep, I’ve heard that before, translate: we’re not going to hire you. Despite the fact a 40 minute commute really isn’t that far, IMO.

Got home from the interview to find a note on my door from the gas company telling me they’ve disconnected me because I didn’t pay my bill. Eight phone calls in three hours later and they tell me they’ll reconnect me in the morning. Cold, cold night in my house that night. But I digress (I do that sometimes).

Tuesday after New Year’s I get a call from the agency telling me I’ve got the job. Woo-hoo! Call the person I interviewed with later in the day to find out what time to be there and confirm that I’m going to give the shelter 2 weeks notice. She tells me she was going to call me on FRIDAY (two days after my interview) but was too busy to get to it. Sounds like I’m going to have my hands full and be very busy at my new job if I‘m her Administrative Assistant/Executive Assistant. Far cry from my past few jobs. Never used my brain at the shelter and wasn’t allowed to use my brain at the hospital.

Two weeks later I show up for my first day of work and wait for my orders. She tells me she’s really busy and I should just job shadow the receptionist for the day. Okay, really don’t need 8 hours to learn how to answer a phone but what the hell, it’s my first day. Meanwhile, the receptionist thinks I’m there to be her backup. Like she needs a full time person to back her up? The sales people think I’m going to be the new project manager. And the plant manager is excited to hear I have prepress experience because he’ll have lots of typesetting for me to do. So for those of you who have asked me what my job is/duties are, I just don’t know.

Remember the part where they said they wanted someone to start right away? Well, for a place that wanted someone to start right away they sure weren’t prepared for it. It was two weeks between the time they offered me the job and the time I started. It was three days from the time I started to the time they actually gave me a computer and email. Not to mention figured out where they were going to put said computer. The receptionist kept asking me “Have they decided where they’re going to put you yet?” Um nope. Turns out I’m at the other workstation at the front with her. Under a framed Biblical quote - it’s amazing I haven’t already burst into flames. Then there’s the little fact that the receptionist is a 50 year old Twilight fan. She listens to the soundtrack to the movies over and over and over again all day long. I’m about to “accidentally” knock her speakers off her desk. Or bring in a Dropkick Murphys CD to play over and over again.

I have to wonder where else they considered putting me. The place isn’t too big and I’ve yet to see any other place I could go. Oh, and when the IT person set up my email and put in the standard signature line, she said “I didn’t know what your title was so I left that part blank” yeah, well that makes two of us who don’t know what my title is. So again, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing there.

But I guess it’s a good thing they had me spend two days with the receptionist because on the fourth day she decided to call in sick. Guess who had to fill in for her that day? It was a long, boring day, that’s for sure. At least at the animal shelter when I answered the phones I had other people around to talk to. Unless they were all out smoking. In that case I could screw around on the internet. Here, nobody spoke to me all day when I was up there alone. And we’re not allowed to access internet email so I couldn’t even check my yahoo account. Note to self: next time you interview someplace, ask if you can get your yahoo email there.

In the week and a half I’ve been there, I’ve learned very little about what they want me to do and how to go about doing it. I occasionally shadow the VP or one of the customer service reps. They tell me what they’re doing but I really don’t learn that way. I need to actually be doing something to learn it. They did have me rearrange the files one day (whoop-di-doo). Interestingly enough, I came across two dozen or so of their clients that I actually applied for jobs at. Kind of ironic that all of these places ignored me or flat-out turned me down yet now I’m working for their print supplier.

Now before you think I’m just a crying, whiny baby (well I am, but that’s another story altogether), I haven’t totally given up hope on this job (yet). I know they’re working on a huge project that will be over next week (February 5 at 6;30 PM to be exact) so they may actually have a chance to train me better then. And no matter how boring the job is, at least I haven’t had to clean kennels and cat cages and wash dishes and litter pans. Nobody has walked in ad called me a bitch or threatened my life because they don’t want to pay the fines on their dogs. And I actually had a weekend! Two whole days where I could do what I wanted, including sleeping in. Despite the fact that I’m gone longer during the day, I think the dogs kind of liked having me home for the weekend.

So there you have it. You know about as much as I do about this job and what I’m doing. Perhaps I’ll know more soon.

The spaniel brain is such a complex machine (too bad there’s no way to show sarcasm online). We’re all still adapting to the new schedule around my house. We get up an hour earlier, mom leaves an hour earlier then comes home an hour later. This week we add back in some evening events at the training club. That turned into a bit of a challenge, no thanks to the spaniel.

One of the club members is a physical therapist who, like myself, sometimes struggles to keep up with her super-fast dogs (border collies). She decided to offer a Fitness for Agility class to members; great idea so I jumped right on board. The first night was stretches and warm ups. Tonight was a basics of pilates class. Next week is balance (God help me!). But I digress.

Anyway, tonight was the first night I had to go to the training building since starting the new job. It takes roughly 40 minutes to get from work in Anderson to home in New Castle. It takes roughly 30 minutes to get from home in New Castle to the club in Muncie. I work until 5:00 and have to be at the club at 6:30. Throw in the fact that I had to take the dogs out to potty and change my clothes and you can see that I was on a pretty tight schedule.

So I leave work at 5:10 and race home, arriving at 5:50. Take the dogs outside to potty then let them run amok while I change my clothes. I can still be out the door by 6:00 (okay maybe 6:05) if all goes well. I feel bad about crating the dogs again but what can I do? It’s only one evening and it’s only a couple of hours. I still had to make myself feel better by giving them special treats. I fill their food bowls and top them off with rawhide strips.

Now Fenway has figured out that food bowl=crate and will go right in. Avery is pretty good about going into her crate whenever I ask. So as soon as they see the food bowls, the terriers crate themselves. Give them their food, lock them in their crates, and turn around to deal with Brogan. And that’s when I ended up dealing with the spaniel brain.

When I left this morning I fed the cats the last of the food in the bag. Because I was running behind this morning (Okay, also because I’m lazier than hell), I tossed the empty bag on the kitchen floor to put out in the trash when I got home. Of course I forgot that the bag was there when I came home and let the dogs out of their crates. Brogan was quick to notice the bag and, like any good spaniel, he had to pick it up and carry it around with him.

So after putting the terriers in their crates, I turn around to find Brogan on the couch and in the bag up to his waist (this was a big, 16 pound bag). I had to call him three times before he withdrew himself and acknowledged me. He looks around and sees the terriers in the crates. Spaniel brain processes this as “terriers are in crates, spaniel is out of the crate. This must mean spaniel is going somewhere with mom” He then proceeds to get his leash out of the box. The ensuing conversation went something like this:

“Brogan you’re not going with me. Get into your crate”

“Terriers are in the crates, spaniel is out of the crate, spaniel is going with mom”

“Brogan you’re not going with me Get into your crate”

“Terriers are in the crates, spaniel is out of the crate, spaniel is going with mom”

BROGAN YOU’RE NOT GOING WITH ME. GET YOUR ASS INTO YOUR CRATE!

Which then results in the spaniel giving me the patented “you’re a mean mom” look. Not to mention the end result of me being 10 minutes late for exercise class. One of my fellow classmates has spaniels and always refers to Brogan as “a perfect spaniel”; for some reason, she refused to believe that Brogan was the reason for my tardiness.

What really sucks is that on Thursday Brogan has a training class at the club. So we repeat this whole process again, only this time he’ll be able to get his leash because he really is going with mom. Which can only mean that next Tuesday we’ll be having the same conversation again because there’s no way the spaniel brain can fathom that he doesn’t get to go with mom every time she leaves the house.

Spaniel is out of the crate, must be going with mom

When Fenway first came to the animal shelter, we tried listing him as a Great Dane mix puppy. We knew it wasn't true, but figured maybe it would help get him adopted. It didn't and he ended up with me. Now there's no denying how much he looks like a bull terrier/border collie mix.

Now that I'm working at a place where I have my own desk, I brought in some pictures of the kids to put on my desk. This is the one of Fenway I put out:

The first question I got was, "Is he a Great Dane?" Damn, where were these people when I tried to pass him off as a Dane to get him adopted?

Because there's a pest in the dresser drawer:

I just want to go on record and say I will never bring a kitten into my house ever again. Pagliacci is going to be the death of me, I’m sure of it.

Yesterday I got home and found a box of plastic baggies on the living room floor. And the baggies spread from one end of the house to the other. I picked up all the baggies (or so I thought, they’re clear so I missed a few), stuffed them back into the box, and put the box on the counter - where I promptly forgot about it.

I went ahead and gathered up all of my shelter-issue shirts, washed them, then put them in a large plastic bag. I didn’t want to forget the shirt in the morning, so I hung the bag on my door knob with my keys. Little while later I heard the bag ripping. Sure enough, Pagliacci was ripping the bag to shreds. Now the smart thing would have been to put the bag in my car. But it was cold and snowy outside. Instead, I locked the bag into Avery’s crate for the night. When I got up this morning I took the bag out of the crate, put Avery into the crate, and then proceeded to walk out the door without the shirts. Good thing I’m working half a day tomorrow so I can turn them in then.

Later in the evening, I saw Pagliacci trot across the living room floor towards the front door. I thought I caught a glimpse of something in his mouth but didn’t think anything of it. He likes picking up dog toys and other miscellaneous items and carrying them around like he’s stalked and killed them. When I got off the couch a little while later, I found the box by the front door - with baggies spread all over the place. Mother Fletcher!

Pick up the baggies, stuff them into the box, put the box down somewhere, I think in the kitchen, and go to bed. Avery and Fenway find their spots on the bed, Brogan finds his spot under the bed, and I start to fall asleep. Suddenly I hear a weird plastic-y rustling noise. Sit up, turn on the light and see Pagliacci leap off the bed and run into the living room. On the end of the bed is the box - with baggies spread all over the end of my bed and the floor. What is his fascination with this stuff?

I get up, stuff the baggies back into the box, decide I don’t want to put them away, slam the bedroom door to keep the cat out, toss the box in the corner, and turn around to get back into bed. Unfortunately, I missed a couple of baggies on the floor (did I mention they’re clear?). I slip on one of the baggies, get my feet tangled up, and fall down alongside the bed.

And what did my caring, compassionate dogs do? Well Brogan peeked out from under the bed, heard me swearing, and crawled as far back as he could get. Fenway peered over the edge of the bed with a look like “Dude, what are you doing down there?” on his face then snuggled into my blanket. And Avery, my heart dog, didn’t even open her eyes; she was comfortable and not getting up for anything. Period.

So I pick myself up off the floor, dust myself off, shove the dogs off of my blanket, and crawl back into bed. 5:00 this morning Pagliacci is outside the door crying. I finally got up and took the dogs outside for their morning constitutional. This is another battleground between me and the cat from hell. I open the door, he runs out. I’d rather not loose him like I did Salieri, so I got into the habit of putting him in a crate before taking the dogs out. He got into the habit of hiding when I get ready to take the dogs out.

Now I take the dogs out without any trouble, but when I open the door to come back in, that’s when he comes out of hiding and runs outside. So I slowly open the door just enough to reach in and grab him by the scruff of the neck (okay sometimes it’s by the head or tail) then I open the door the rest of the way to let the dogs in. So far this has worked fairly well. But I still would rather he not want to go out at all.

The temperature outside this morning was 15 degrees. With the wind chill, it was 14 below. The wind was howling at 35 mph, and there was a few inches of snow on the ground. Okay, little bastard wants to go out in that? Fine by me! Maybe it will sour him on going outside forever. I open the door , we come in, and he runs out. I’m thinking a normal cat would go a few feet and then turn around and come back in. Pagliacci is not a normal cat. He decides he’s going to run around the backyard. I decided to shut the door and wait him out.

Five minutes later I open the back door to see if he’s ready to come inside. Honestly, I expected him to be at the door waiting for me. Nope, this genius has climbed the tree - in 35 mph winds. I asked him if he wanted to come in and he climbed higher. Finally he decides maybe down is a better idea. Does he climb down like a normal cat? Nope, he lets go with his front claws and flops down so his head is lower than his tail. Then he lets go with his back claws and flops down so his tail is low than his head. He flip-flops all the way down like that.

When he gets to the ground, he just stands there. If he thought I was going out in the snow and cold wearing my robe and crocs, he must be insane. I call him again expecting him to run to me. Instead he slowly tip-toes across the yard and into the bushes. Screw it, I’m not playing this game. Shut the door and went to take my shower. Sure enough, 15 minutes later I go to the back door again and he’s standing there waiting for me to let him in.

And, of course, the genius did not learn a thing. Got home this evening and we started the same “run outside when the dogs come in” routine all over again. I was sorely tempted to bring him to the shelter with my shirts and leave him there. Pretty sure they looked at him as my parting gift and never even mentioned him today. I did try to get the ACO to confiscate a husky puppy for me yesterday and even asked if that could be my parting gift. No dice. Looks like I’m stuck with the cat from hell as my memento of my days at the shelter. Which I suppose is fitting given all the idiots and pains in the ass I dealt with while I was there.

---

So here's the timeline:

15 years ago today I left commercial printing for newspaper work. That was more or less a step up the ladder.

Seven years later I left newspaper for PR/Marketing. More or less a couple of steps up the ladder.

Six years later I was downsized from PR/Marketing and ended up at the animal shelter. Several steps, and $10k a year, down the ladder.

Today, 15 years after leaving commercial printing, I leave animal sheltering. Monday I'll be returning to commercial printing - at the same salary I was earning in newspaper. Said salary is still less than what I made in PR/Marketing but still $6k a year more than the shelter.

So basically I'm right back where I was 15 years ago. I can't help but think that maybe I got off the path to my destiny and the universe is giving me a mulligan. What that destiny may be I don't know. I will be working at a high end print shop instead of a little mom & pop place. And I won't be doing graphic design, I'll be more in the business office end of it.

Meanwhile, this is the first time in 15 years I've had to leave town for a job. Hell, it's the first time I haven't lived within walking distance of my job. I have a feeling I'll be using my 30 minute commute to Anderson to try and figure out "where it all went wrong" 15 years ago. Well that and worrying about the fact that I'm leaving Avery in charge at the house (oh dear god!).

They join a gang. And he'll cut you, man!

25 pound spaniel with a plastic knife. I'm scared.

In my bizarro world cats are crated and dogs lounge on top: