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Finances Real Life

Somewhere, There’s a Silver Lining…

"Shine On"
“Shine On”
Taken November 10, 2007 with Canon PowerShot A550

It was a wicked week. Ups, downs, and a few upside-downs, to boot.

On the “up” side, the Lily-Dawg has her new home. As I write this, I imagine she is either paddling in the creek or lazing on/tearing through the back field of “her” farm, located down the line toward Teeny-Tiny Town…

It’s possible, too, that she’s slobbering into the wind with her head stuck out the passenger window of her new owner’s car. The new owner, you see, prefers dogs to people, and the older dogs are spoiled right rotten. Lily, at 10, is now the second of what The Dog Lady considers to be her “older kids”. And the “older kids” get the Extra Special Treatment, which includes rides in the car. Every time The Dog Lady gets into the car.

The Dog Lady came to my work to get her. Kyla tearfully brought Lily over, introduced her to her new Mom, and ran her through her groovy-cool set of “gimme the treat” tricks. The Dog Lady was especially tickled with Lily’s high-five. And then, she promptly renamed the dog “Lillers” and removed the leash, saying, “Now, let’s get rid of this nasty ol’ thing, eh?”, to which Lily Lillers readily agreed, very much approving of the disgust with which The Dog Lady threw the thing into the trunk – most likely never to be retrieved again.

When she went to let her into the back seat, though, the Other Older Kid told her to piss off. Lily Lillers was unperturbed, however, and simply called shotgun.

It was unbelievably excruciating to watch Ky wipe the tears away as best she could, and turn her back on the dog to walk away. Lily Lillers had a hard time at first, too, trying to scramble over The Dog Lady to get out the window and back to her kid. She settled down quite happily again, though, as soon as Ky disappeared around the building. That somehow made me feel worse.

And Sheikh the cat, who went from avoiding the dog to stalking the dog… to shooing the dog away from her own water dish so he could drink first… to doing this really hilarious “duck-down walk” while following the dog around very closely, making it necessary to continuously bob his head so as not to get hit with her tail… to sleeping beside the dog… is moping around, demanding to know where his dog is…

I kind of miss her myself. All her F-ing hair is still here, however, so I expect I’ll get over that.

Eventually.

Meantime, I’ll just keep picturing Lillers The Lily-Dawg slobbering into the wind with her “laughy-face” on….

* * *

One of the “downs” of the past week was the mysteriousness going on at the J.O.B…. what with secret meetings, and the near-completion of several construction projects, and confusing replies to the “what’s going on?” questions… which all ended up being boiled down to most of the staff being laid off in a couple of weeks’ time, when a form of automation process kicks in… no more dancing in the parking lot. Sigh…* Those remaining will be trapped (trapped, I say!) behind glass.

No one’s saying yet, who’s staying vs. who’s going, but some have already put their notice in (thankfully for me, because the fewer there are when the axe falls, the better my chances of avoiding it, I think).

I’ve continued to apply for jobs in my New Weird Field as they come up over the last eight months, but generally don’t even get an interview. There are too many people in administration et al, who have been laid off, but at least have actual working experience, applying for the same jobs, I think. When I do land an interview, it invariably goes very well, but again…. I have no “real” experience in any of the fields I have accreditation in.

So, I’ve begun to apply for other “crap pay” jobs. And I’ll be crying on Louie’s shoulder over it all, mooching for more hours, just as soon as…

As soon as…

As soon as…

(Yeah, this is a hard one… the “upside-down” part…)

Just as soon as I go talk to the mortgage holder of the house that’s not supposed to be mine, because my “legal” papers, once translated to plain english only stipulate that The Sire agrees not to try and get money out of me for the place.

Worse, the mortgage holder is a credit union; the only type of banking institution that can legally suck my wages away whether I can afford it or not. Which I can not.

My new lawyer told me, “Now, when you go down there, and they ask you for your work number, for God’s sake don’t give it to them! Hopefully, they won’t find out where you work until you can get the place cleaned up enough to live in. It doesn’t look like you can afford both places…”

When I morosely pointed out that in a couple of weeks, I may not have a work number to not give to them, he jumped on it, very pleased, apparently.

“Good! You won’t be lying when you tell them that you’re looking for employment. With luck, they won’t foreclose before you can get things straightened out.”

I asked him if there was any way at all out of this, other than taking over the house….

“Weeeeellllll….. you could do what The Sire’s doing, and just ignore it altogether – they may not look for you if they can find him…. but when they foreclose, it will affect your credit something awful.”

“So, that’s a ‘no’, then, huh…?”

“You could claim bankruptcy…”

And that’s a ‘no’, folks. Not doing that. Nope.

And worse…. if all goes well, and I take over the payments, get caught up on the defaulted payments and overdue taxes and insurance, and then sink a shitload (more likely two shitloads. Three even.) of money into fixing the place up to sell, I can’t sell it unless The Sire signs off, or I can get a court-order.

And worser, even…. if I do all of that successfully (read: when pigs fly and other miracles), he could legally walk right back in and take the house out from under me, simply by beginning to make the payments himself, again. I don’t think he’d do that; I really don’t – but the thought that he could

You see, the part in my “legal” papers that states that I give up all rights to the house, its contents, and any or all income or profit from its sale, is already in plain english and means sort of, almost, not-quite-exactly that. The house is “ours”. Or the house is “his”. It ain’t never “mine”, even if I get stuck paying for it. The only way around that is another court-order.

And, hopefully, that will be the silver lining I’m looking for… followed shortly thereafter by the sale of the F-ing money pit.

Random Song-for-the-Day: “Rock and Roll Song” – Valdy

Categories
Finances Fur-Babies Little Bits of Stupid Real Life

A Sad, Sad Story with an Almost Happy Ending…

On Guard
On Guard
Taken August 9, 2008 with Canon PowerShot A550

I’ll be using a lot less of my little stepper machine in future, I think…

Since I bought the Prissy-Van, “Walking-About” has declined to “walking across the street”. Ky and I (who has yet again been re-named – she is “The Evil Hypnotist”, and you’re about to find out why) both worried this would happen.

And that our bums would suffer for it.

Which they have. Mine started to get flabby, so I bought one of those little stepper things that look like bike pedals. I will attest that they work wonders on flabby bums.

Ky’s bum got big. Er. BiggER. Not big (She’s bigger than me, now. She may read this. I may suffer.). Thankfully, the little stepper-thing works wonders on big. er. bums, too.

Finding time to go on Walk-About disappeared about the same time the snow flew for the first time last fall. We were going to get snowshoes, just like the last five winters, but, just like the last five winters, winter came and went, but we are still snowshoeless. The stepper made us feel a lot less guilty.

But…

We will be walking again. And again… and again… and again… because…

We now own that dog you see up there at the top.

Again.

The Lily-Dawg was ours for her first couple of years, until we moved into a squinchy little apartment that was not dog-conducive. Ky could see Lily whenever she wanted to, though, so she didn’t really get the chance to miss “owning” a dog.

Two days ago, when she went over to visit Lily, there was no Lily there. The cat was gone, too. They both just up and ran off. Together, apparently.

Yesterday afternoon, after I worked the first of several night-shifts and just got to sleep, the phone woke me up. It was Ky’s dad, calling to tell us that he had discovered Lily’s whereabouts.

She was at the pound. Of course.

It would cost $160 to bail her out.

Plus a fine because she hadn’t got her yearly registration.

Plus a fine because she’d wandered off possibly-rabid to spread infection throughout the neighbourhood. No, Sir and Madame, telling people that “the dog is friendly” does not protect her from rabies.

I knew damned well, too, that they wouldn’t let me take that dog out of there without proof of ownership, fines paid or not, and my name is not Terry Becker, is it? No, it is not. I would have to take him with me to pick Lily up.

Except…

He couldn’t come with me when we wanted to go, and Ky was in full “THEY’RE GOING TO DESTROY MY DOG!!!” mode.

So she and I went by ourselves, hoping that her freaky ability to talk anybody into (or out of) almost anything might spring the dog. And between Ky’s freaky ability and my $160, the dog was sprung. See…? “Evil Hypnotist”.

Although the Dog-Jailers didn’t want to give up the dog to anyone other than the registered owner, my child suggested that since he hadn’t registered Lily this year, he possibly hadn’t done so ever. Could they go back to the 2001 records to find the registered owner of the imprisoned? Please…? Pretty, pretty please…? Yep, they could. Turns out…

*I* own the dog. Which means *I* own eight years of fines. So said the lady at the pound with a wicked grin, just before telling me that they don’t generally pile fines on top of each other like that. And just after that, she told me that they would waive the non-registration fine altogether and just give me a warning. And if I could find a vet willing to spay a ten-year-old dog within 30 days, she would be happy to give me back $90. Again… “Evil Hypnotist”.

I called around… I can kiss my $90 goodbye.

Ky is painfully aware that we may not be able to keep her dog. We have no room. We have travel plans. I have my Big Dream Fund to continue funding. DOG was not part of my agenda.

We’re going to give it a month and then see where we’re at. If money/space/dog-hair concerns get to be too much, Ky will attempt to find a new owner for her Beloved Lily-Dawg. One that doesn’t let her out the door for the neighbours to call the dog-catcher on to come out and “pick up a stray off my lawn”.

So it seems that my lucrative days of Ends-Meeting-and-Even-Over-Lapping will temporarily come to a halt until I find out how much this animal is going to cost me in food, shots, fees, vet visits, and allergy meds. The meds are for the allergic kid. I thought cat hair was bad. Holy shit.

Anybody out there want a dog? Please…? Pretty, pretty please…?

Random Song-for-the-Day: “World of Two” – Cake

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