Creampuff Revolution

Double the Wrinkles = Double the Heavy Breathing

We have long felt that Princess Emmeline Louise would be the only dog in our home until she went to the dog park in the sky for a number of reasons.

1. She doesn't really dig on other dogs.

Okay, so just the one reason then. 

But with so many cute wrinkly dogs out there in need of homes, we started to wonder if perhaps Emmy Lou, as she slowly reaches seniorhood at 8 1/2, would be able to get over it. What I'm saying is that Jesus really laid it on our hearts to think about adopting another rescue dog.

So every time we saw a rescue dog on the Vancouver Shar Pei Rescue page or the TnT Shar Pei Rescue page, we oohed and aahed and wondered a little bit but knew that these dogs weren't right for us or we weren't right for them.

Some dogs needed a yard (which we don't really have). Some dogs were young and perky (which Emmy really hates). Some dogs seemed affectionate (which we can't have, because Emmy's complete indifference to us is part of her charm). Some dogs needed a firm, experienced hand (which we don't have, because Emmy is our first ever dog and she's freakishly good, except for how she's sometimes a douche on walks).

But something clicked when we saw Lola's picture on the Facebook. I don't know what it was. Her one good eye? Her fat little waggly tail? The fact that she is nine years old and has been left outside, unwalked, lying on the concrete in her yard all day, every day, her whole life? Who can say? All we knew is that she would be ours.

Because COME ON! LOOK AT THAT FACE!

We went to meet Lola on Sunday and I took it as auspicious that when they first met, Emmy Lou and Lola touched noses and Emmy actually gave a little tail wag, which is extremely rare. Then she went on to whiz all over Lola's yard and drank Lola's water, and Lola didn't care.

So after arranging with TnT volunteer Amanda to have Lola visit the vet this week for her obvious eye problems (and less obvious leg problems), Katr and I hit the PetSmart and bought everything they had. Naturally, Lola would have to have three beds, like Emmy - one living room bed, one office bed and one bedroom bed. The PetSmart employees were mystified by this arrangement. 

Jean at PetSmart: "So...you have three dogs?" 

Me: "No, no...just two dogs."

JPS: "Who is the third bed for?"

Me: "No, see...our current dog has three beds, so this new dog gets three beds."

JPS: "Ohhh. Huh. Is it a puppy?"

Me: "No! She's nine years old and mostly blind."

JPS: "Oh my. Oh, aren't you a precious person? Dave - Dave - Dave, come 'ere! Dave, this lady is adopting an old, blind dog."

Dave was pretty impressed.

After a successful vet visit and a no-barf trip in Amanda's car, Lola arrived at our place yesterday and immediately staked her claim on our yard with the most massive dump I have every seen. Then she told Emmy all about it.

Lola: OMG, did you SEE that? 

Emmy: You disgust me.

We all hung out outside for awhile and then we decided it was time to introduce Lola to a new concept - being inside during the day! Her previous family only let her inside at night to sleep, so being indoors while it was still light out seemed super weird. So Lola got as close to outside as possible.

 
and then, hours later...still right there. Emmy's all "Why doesn't she just get on her bed like a normal person? What a nimrod. Hey, is that a salmon treat?"

Not shown in this shot is one of Lola's three beds, which she has yet to embrace. 

Despite her obvious confusion at her new circumstances, Lola still managed to eat a full meal and get drops in her sad little eyes with no fuss. She is also super keen to walk, even though her back legs are a little wobbly and may require surgery. As with most blind dogs (and the honey badger) she doesn't give a shit - she does just fine with her schnozz. As you can see, she's a big mammajamma - so I'm sure a more reasonable diet and lots of little walks will make things a easier on those hind legs.

It's been less than 24 hours and so far, so good - no dog fights, no messing in the house and no crazy barking! Naturally, outdoor dog Lola is happier being close to the outside instead of in the office with us, but she's slowly inching closer. Maybe we'll even get her on a bed today! Right, Lola? Right?

Good dog.

 

 

Creampuff Kicks Off Her New Career

My utter and complete devotion to jam is well-known to my friends and should come as no surprise to any of you, who are keenly aware that I spend most of my eating life trying to find the most efficient way to acquire the diabeets.

Jam in all its forms is delightful to me - when my mom read the book Bread and Jam for Frances to me as a kid, I could never understand how Frances eventually got tired of her "all bread and jam" diet and finally went back to spaghetti. I assumed it was because she was a badger and not a human child.

It is surprising, then, that, given my devotion to jam and my worries over the coming zombie apocalpyse, I have never actually made MY OWN JAM. But all of that changed last week, when Sust, an expert in food preservation keen to pass on her skillz, took me out to Westham Island to get me started in my new career as a jam artisan. Now, here are some photos.

I love Sust because she doesn't fuck around. Sure, we went to a Bissett Berry Farms, a U-Pick Farm, but we had no intention of we-picking. Sust had called ahead to make sure there was a wide selection of "they-picked" fruit available for our jam project. So you can imagine our chagrin when we arrived and found that the farm had failed to update their voicemail and that the berries they had were not the berries we were looking for. 

"The tayberries are available for u-pick," the farm girl said brightly. "It's easy pickings out there, if it makes a difference. People are coming back with full boxes after only ten or twenty minutes!"

It was a beautiful day and I didn't know what tayberries were, so after some minor grumbling, Sust and I grabbed some boxes and headed out to the fields. 

This is what tayberries look like. Not shown - the extreme prickliness of the foliage. That was some prickly prickly shit.

This is what half an hour of "easy picking" looks like. Not shown - scratches, bug bites, sunburn, sweaty butt crack, juice stain under my boob in the shape of Elvis.

We returned triumphant to the little farm store and paid for the fruits of our labours...then bought a million pounds of pre-picked blueberries as well, before heading back out on the road.

At Emma Lea Farms, we each picked up a flat of raspberries and Sust bought even more blueberries and I bought a large number of cherries because they are awesome.

Then we stopped off at Westham Island Herb Farm, which was the cutest farm ever and I want to live there.

They didn't have berries for sale but who fucking cares DONKEYS

mini goats

FUZZY COW

Artfully arranged vintage farm implements

Love it.

After a delightful break for lunch during which former American Sust tried to explain to our perplexed waiter that "iced tea" should not contain sugar, we hit the Save-On and Canadian Tire for canning supplies. FUN!

Once Sust dropped me off at home, I wanted to lie down but berries were a-spoilin'! So I made like Ma Ingalls and got to picking over some berries. I did the tayberries first, because I'd found what looked like an awesome tayberry jam recipe on Chef Heidi Fink's site.

Here are the prepped tayberries on the stove.

Now, with sugar! At this point, I was ready to stop and just eat it as is, but I didn't want to waste all of Sust and Chef Heidi Fink's canning advice.

I brought the jam to a boil.

And then I stopped taking pictures because OH MY GOD, BOILING JAM, WHY ISN'T IT GELLING, SHOULDN'T IT BE GELLING, FUCKBALLS, WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS POT, WHY WON'T IT - WHY CAN'T I GET IT TO  - FUCK! FUCK! WHAT THE BALLS IS HAPPENING NOW WITH THIS GODDAMN MAGNETIZED LID LIFTER

Then the next day, I made raspberry. JAMS!!

The tayberry jam turned out very well - despite my initial gelling issues, it firmed up real nice. I used WAAAAAY less sugar in the raspberry batches, so it turned out a little looser but still real tasty. So I called it "compote". Because "raspberry sauce" sounds like you fucked it up but "raspberry compote" sounds deliberate. YOU'RE WELCOME.