I was looking through my old blog, all the pictures of the dogs and horses and rabbits and all the stuff on the farm. You wouldn't have caught me saying it a couple years ago, but I think I miss it.

I'm down to just Gizmo now, but when I lived there, we had three dogs. Now there are six, some of which I haven't even seen yet.


We had piles of rabbits. Literally piles of them.


Chief when he was a puppy. He's all grown up now, and working.


It's like it was an entire lifetime ago, training Sully and planting vegetables.


Sullivan.


My sister and Ed.

Time sure does fly, I suppose.

Since when are we not allowed to be dissatisfied with aspects of our country? I've noticed this trend lately in e-mails I receive from my radical right-wing uncle from Georgia. "If you don't like (insert government policy or program, public opinion differing from author's), then you should leave. As far as I'm concerned, if you've listened to "Teenage Wasteland" and didn't like it, then you can get the fuck out. This is America, goddammit! What are you, some kinda commie asshole?

So, according to my uncle in the forwarded emails he sends, we aren't allowed to complain about certain government policies, or express opinions that differ from those of people just like him. What gives, then, since I'm getting emails about Barack "Osama" trying to take the Christ out of Christmas, and pictures of him dressed up like an 1700s Native American? Or that letter from the former VP of Procter and Gamble, titled "Why You Scare Me," in which the author rambles off a big, steaming load of bullshit.

I didn't think I could be any more shocked by the immaturity of so-called adults in the U.S. And then this shit starts filling up my inbox. Honestly? Grow up.

A blogger brings up a good point. Google makes it awful damn hard to maintain your real-life dignity while on the Internet, especially if you are writing personal things about your life.

That is where all of our pseudonyms come in. I'm B. Most of you don't know my real name. My boyfriend's real name doesn't actually start with a J. What IS my real last name? It isn't hard to find out if you are an Internet detective.

Which begs the question, is it really a good idea to put kids' real names on our blogs, especially if they are too young to either agree to it, or understand the consequences of it? One commenter of the post mentioned said, "Kids and people were being stalked, kidnapped and all sorts of other horrible things way before the internet." It's easy for a stranger to follow us home from the store and kill us in our own houses.

There's also the possibility that some day my kid could Google their own name, or, God forbid, mine, and find all sorts of horrifying things.

What do you think?

You know how sometimes you get a burst of energy and decide to do something like, say, clean your closet? And then halfway through, when everything from your closet is all over the place, you kinda run out of steam?

I can't see my bed right now, and I am paralyzed with confusion over the best way to organize all the crap I decided I'm keeping. The last time I did this, the same thing happened and I ended up stuffing everything left over into the boxes and putting them back. It looks like I'm going to have to do this in increments.

Yesterday while I was waiting in the vet's office, I sneaked a peek at Gizmo's chart. He has officially been labeled a special needs dog because he has to take medication for the rest of his life.

Someone suggested I get him a medical ID tag just in case he runs away and someone finds him. I need to buy some pet stairs because he is not allowed to leap around on the furniture like a mountain climber. I have to buy him a new cage that is less open, or pad the one he has, in case he has a seizure while I'm not home. Last night, while someone was ridiculing me for paying the money I did, for "just a dog," I was thinking about how my routine is going to change now that Gizmo has to take his pills at 7am and 7pm. I have to either be home at that time, or take him with me when I go places at night.

It's funny how even a special needs dog can completely change how I go about my daily life.