Tag Archives: hobkin

Skunk flights of fancy

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fosteronfilm and I have odd chats. Mostly, I think my husband humors me, but he also has a delightfully whimsical streak which I love. Yesterday, I took it into my head to teach Hobkin how to “sit.” Erm. I’ve had better ideas. Anyway, in the ensuing discussion I had with my hubby, I then suggested I might try teaching Hobkin how to trot and canter. That obviously led to the subject of Hobkin as a mount . . . for a very, very small rider, like say a pixie or a sprite. Consequently, I spent some time watching Hobkin trundling about the house. He’s got short, stumpy legs, which results in a pronounced rolling gait. I can’t imagine that would be a very comfortable ride. Probably a lot of dizzying rocking back and forth and bumpiting, but on the other hand, he’d be very very soft to sit on. I went so far as to suggest out loud that I tie a stuffed animal or paper doll onto Hobkin’s back to see how they would ride. Wiser minds (fosteronfilm‘s) stepped in and nixed that idea. But he did go on to say that a sprite would probably be the best rider for Hobkin because their wings could serve as sort of a stabilizer against the worst of Hobkin’s trundling–assuming, of course, that they could avoid being eaten by their erstwhile mount. At that point, I dissolved into giggles.

Not a riding animal:

   


Writing Stuff

Received:
14-day rejection from Fictitious Force after making the second round of readings.
129-day “I have held onto this tale based upon the strength of your writing. However . . . ” from Shadowed Realms with invite to submit again.

Fooie.

In better news, I published a Tangent review written by sartorias for Paradox #7 and she had lovely things to say about my “The Tiger Fortune Princess”:

“Foster writes with a graceful, easy touch, with just the right images, making the story into a tapestry.  We’ve already seen the whole from the beginning, but that in no way takes away from the pleasure of going over it bit by bit in order to savor the details.”
–Sherwood Smith, Tangent

All black again. And skunk feet.

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The Great Highlighting Debacle has come to its predestined conclusion. I dyed my hair back to black. And yes, I have learned my lesson. The color of my hair is black, and black it shall be. Never again will I muck with the natural order of the blackness. So mote it be.

Hobkin is in full winter skunk mode. His coat is getting soft and thick, and all he wants to do is cuddle with me on the couch. It’s adorable except he’s been wanting a full half of the space. He keeps nudging me over until he’s taking up as much room as he possibly can. I guess he thinks if there’s two of us, we should split the chaise 50/50. And if I try to scootch him over, he tenses up his muscles and digs in–even in his sleep!–and makes it really hard to nudge him over. I could just lift him up and plop him down again, but that seems rude somehow. Well, he’s cute, so can get away with it.


I love it when he sleeps on his back with all four paws in the air.

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Parental Visit and Skunk Annoying

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Got an email from my mother. She and my step-dad are coming to visit in October from China. They’re doing a tour of the U.S.–part business and part pleasure. He’s got a conference in Chicago to attend, and they’re visiting family and friends en route between California and New York. My step-dad has gotten me a three-volume set of Journey to the West, the mythological fantasy of the Monkey King! Isn’t that the coolest? It’s amazing how fond I’ve become of my stepfather in such a short amount of time. We’ve hit it off quite nicely, and I’m not unaware of the irony that he knows my proclivities and tastes better than my mother does. Gimme books over pink dresses any day.

Hobkin is slowly metamorphosing from a bratty summer skunk into a couch potato autumn one. I followed him around with the camera as he contemplated getting into mischief. He was less-than-pleased by my attention. Or perhaps it was the flash.


Digging at the hardwood floor. I’m not exactly sure what he thought he was going to accomplish doing that.

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Swag and skunk tail

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Hah. As soon as I start complaining about a lack of swag, the boxes start rolling in. Six boxes on our doorstep, some of which contain nifty freebies like t-shirts and movie tickets, and some which contain *ahem* not-so-nifty freebies. And the dining room has once again acquired a cluttered appearance. Trade-offs.

I don’t think the FedEx guy likes us. He doesn’t even ring the doorbell to announce his deliveries anymore. He just plops them on our doorstep and runs off.

In other news, I’m debating whether we need to give Hobkin a bath. What’s triggering this conundrum is that I, err, dropped a dollop of whipped cream on him. I cleaned off most of it, but there’s a patch of fur on his tail which is sticking up funny now.

   


Writing Stuff

Been working on my talk for Ann Crispin. Thanks to everyone who made suggestions. I have, ye verily, incorporated them into my lecture. I also ran through it several times last night (poor fosteronfilm had to listen to me), and after just a few trial runs, my throat went dry and my voice started going. Sheesh. Apparently it’s a good thing I’m starting to practice early. I need to limber up my underused vocal chords. Also updated my handout of useful URLs. Most depressing, several of the pro markets that were on my list last year have either folded or gone on indefinite hiatus. Just doing a quick glance over the market listing I keep handy, a ridiculously large number of my favored markets are closed–both pro and semi-pro. The current state of viable short fiction venues is not good, although there are new ones sprouting–like Son & Foe, Farthing, and Aeon. Still, sigh.

Hobkin ate a candle!

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Had a very pleasant evening with fosteronfilm‘s brother. We had homemade pizza, beer bread, and birthday cake for dinner (yum!) and spent the rest of the time chatting. I adore Matthew’s family. I also get a kick out of watching the Foster family traits and seeing how genetics carry over–my repressed psychology researcher coming out. Matthew and his brother are very much alike in some key ways, moreso than I’d realized before. Not having siblings, I find such parallels downright fascinating. They both have interests that they’re fervently passionate about, being able to talk endlessly about their respective subjects if allowed. For a while, it was Matthew talking about movies, then his brother switching the subject to historical medals and related stuff, then Matthew volleying the subject back to movies–later, rinse, repeat. Eventually, I turned the conversation to family reminiscing, and it stayed there for the remainder of the night. Hee! My in-laws are adorable, every one of them.

However, as I was putting away the cake, I tossed away the blown-out candles, but unbeknownst to me at the time, I’d dropped one of them on the floor. Hobkin discovered it, and since the base was still covered in yummy chocolate frosting, immediately snarfed it down. I looked down to see him eating something, and puzzled, I tried to see what he’d gotten a hold of. The only thing left was a few slivers of wax. In the past, if it had been one of the ferrets, I would have panicked and rushed him to an emergency vet clinic. However, after our Styrofoam peanut experience, I wasn’t freaked. I was a bit concerned about the chocolate in the frosting, but overall, I’m counting on him being fine. Skunk digestion tracts are pretty hardy, especially compared to ferrets. There’s really no chance of the candle causing an obstruction. I suspect the tiny bit of chocolate has given him a slight upset tummy, but there wasn’t very much. We’re watching the litter boxes to make sure that all *ahem* comes out fine in the end. So far he’s already shown that he’s not obstructed, and I think I saw the wick, but Matthew was less certain. . . that’s probably TMI, isn’t it?

Helping dire_epiphany with a huge pile of edits for the Dragon*Con program book. I shall be scarce this weekend . . .

Blood, blood, and biters

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The hospital vampires took their two vials. I’m quite fond of the main technician there. She’s both extremely pleasant and speedy proficient with the sticker. fosteronfilm and I had a discussion about needle technology. He thinks they’ve improved since he was a wee bairn, smaller needles with larger openings or something like that, because overall the blood letting procedure is much less painful and arduous than it used to be. I’m not so convinced that it’s the technology and not just a run of good techs. However, we are agreed that the little plastic collection thingy that allows them to switch vials without having to withdraw the needle is a lovely invention.

In other blood-related news, the vet called with Hobkin’s blood test results. He got a clean bill of health. Hurray! In fact, the vet said that Hobkin’s numbers were VERY good, not just “acceptable” but excellent. The only exception was his calcium levels which, while in the normal range, could stand to be higher. So, more cottage cheese and instant milk for our skunk. I’m just so delighted and relieved that his blood panel came out so well. More proof positive that omnivores thrive on a vegetarian diet.

In less good news, fosteronfilm went out to mow the lawn yesterday, and while he was doing some preliminary weeding, he disturbed a nest of fire ants. They nailed him four times on his hands before he could shake them off. Man, those buggers are vicious. So my hubby spent the next hour icing his bites and the evening in a Benadryl haze. Poor Matthew! And, of course, the lawn went another day without mowing. That’s something we didn’t have in Illinois, fire ants. Scary enough to make burly contract workers scream like little girls and go running pell mell away. In our first year here, we were ye verily puzzled at the behavior of these hairy, macho, grunting men we’d hired when they were constructing our sun room and encountered a fire ant hill. We thought, “It’s just some ants, sheesh” and mocked the big, burly contractors (behind their backs, of course, because we are neither insane nor foolhardy). Since then, we have come to understand the peril and menace which are fire ants. Fortunately, I haven’t been bitten, but considering how much more sensitive I am to insect venom, and how brutal fire ant bites are, I’m hoping to continue that trend. I’ve never been stung by wasp or bee either, so I have no idea whether I’m allergic.


Writing Stuff

Ooo! I received my contrib. copies, the contract, and invoice form for “All in My Mind” that was reprinted in Polish in Nowa Fantastyka. Yay! It’s strange receiving a contract after a story has been published, but it’s not like I’m about to make a fuss. I’m just pleased that I’m going to get paid. Not to mention that I now have copies of this story in a language I can’t read. How cool is that?

And another “ooo!” The Sword Review just published my reprint “Second Daughter.” This must be my week for reprint stuff.

Skunk-human trauma-drama

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Have you ever noticed how similar “trauma” and “drama” sound? Skunk drama. Human trauma. In short, the vet visit was traumatic for all. Hobkin has not forgotten nor forgiven the last time he was in there. Fortunately, the vet hasn’t forgotten the last time either. He didn’t suggest that they take him out of the room, and they even had me put him on the scale to weigh him, although in the past they have had a vet assistant scoop him up to put on the scale. However, even though I was in the room, along with his godmother and another skunk-savvy vet tech, all of us holding him, he put up a huge fuss, shrieking and struggling when they went to get a blood sample. He was very loud. So loud the nice couple in the next room with the bunny commented on it when we encountered them in the waiting room for check out. (The bunny looked rather put out as well.) And Hobkin slashed up my hand pretty good. That was somewhat on purpose on my part. I wanted to make sure that if anyone got bit, it’d be me, so I was prone to sticking my hand and fingers in his face when I saw he was getting ready to lose it.

My poor lil guy!

The vet couldn’t do a proper check-up because Hobkin wouldn’t tolerate him touching him except when he was restrained, and restraining him was too stressful for everyone to do for longer than it took to get the blood sample. So the vet didn’t charge us for the office visit . . . which is nice. We ended up only paying for the blood test and his shots. Although at the same time, I would have liked Hobkin to have received a thorough, hands on examination.

The general consensus on his teeth (the vet got a few chances to look into his mouth, and once Hobkin had settled down I was able to show his godmother and the vet tech the state of his gums) was that he can probably stand to go as is for another year, but to try to do what brushing and crunchy food feeding we can. Next year they’ll knock him out to do his exam and blood draw, and while he’s out, give his teeth a good cleaning.

Back home, Hobkin was groggy from the shot, and Matthew and I were exhausted from the experience. There was much napping all around.


How can someone so angelic-looking turn so completely into a demon beastie?


As we knew already, Hobkin’s pudgy and could stand to lose a half pound or so.


Writing Stuff

6 more crits this morning from Critters. So far, the tale has been very well received. Have started doing rewrite tweaks. Pair of editing passes completed.

Club 100 For Writers
45

Skunk trauma imminent

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This afternoon is Hobkin’s annual check-up at the vet’s where he gets his shots and yearly physical. Last time, they wouldn’t let me hold him when they went to draw blood, and actually took him out of the room for the procedure. They’re afraid of him biting me and then me suing them. As if. He’ll be less likely to nip anyone if I’m holding him, and I’d much rather he bit me than anyone else. And if he did bite me, of course I’m not going to sue them.

He screamed for me when they took him away. Now Hobkin doesn’t typically vocalize. Skunks are very quiet pets. He’ll occasionally huff if he’s miffed, and I can count on one hand how often he’s “roinked” in distress, so I’d never heard him scream before. He sounded like a parrot being tortured–shrill and loud. They brought him back to me, very unhappy and very scared, his whole front dripping wet from the isoprophyl alcohol they’d spritzed him down with in their unsuccessful efforts to jab him. He stopped screaming as soon as they handed him to me, and he consented to letting them both draw blood and poke him for his shot without a peep, although clinging to me with all his fuzzy might. Hobkin’s never trusted the vet again, not that he was overwhelmed with him before. I hope they remember this experience at his appointment and let me assist. My poor baby. At least his godmother will be there. If they won’t let me hold him, he might be okay if she does.

And . . . it begins. The first boxes of Dragon*Con Film Festival swag have started arriving. Several boxes of flip books for Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride are now sitting in our dining room. Sigh. I may as well say good bye to my dining room until September.


Writing Stuff

Found out via aimeepoynter that Ellen Datlow mentioned me in the 2004 Years Best Fantasy and Horror! Alas, it’s for my work as managing editor of Tangent and not for any of my fiction, but I’ll take what I can get. I shall continue to press my nose against the window of the writers who’ve gotten an honorable mention or *gasp* even been published in those hallowed tomes, but at least my name has appeared in one of them. It’s a start.

And, err, 14 crits this morning. Meep. I solemnly swear I will never again complain about a lack of lovin’ in the Critters queue!

New Words: 500
On the Korean folktale.

Club 100 For Writers
44

500/day
66

Guilt-trippin’ skunk

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I spent far too much time on this game: Planarity. It’s addictive in its simplicity and elegance. I knew it was time to stop when I still saw the lines and vertices when I closed my eyes. Glah.

Hobkin’s nails tore a hole in my sheet, at which point I realized it was time he had a trim. He hates having his nails trimmed, the poor lil guy, but I’ve got a system. I hold him down and clip, and he huffs at me. I’m the only one that can seem to manage it. If fosteronfilm tries to assist, he gets snapped at. I managed to get all of Hobkin’s front toes, but nicked the quick on the last one. He winced and wriggled and glared at me accusingly, at which point I felt so guilty that I immediately stopped and gave him a cookie. Yeah, my pet skunk guilt tripped me.


Writing Stuff

Got an email from the editor of the Sages and Sword anthology. He’d offered to pay me for my story earlier, prior to publication, but the contract had stipulated “on publication.” I thought he’d forgotten our correspondence and I shrugged it off, but he had remembered and wanted to make sure he honored his offer. He suggested I cross out the relevant line in the contract and replace it before sending it back. Unfortunately, I’d already mailed back the contract. (So I asked him to do the crossing out before sending me my copy for my records.) I’m quite impressed by the professionalism and class that displayed on his part–to make sure I got paid when he said I would. Not to mention I can really use the money sooner. Alas, I wish payment on acceptance rather than publication was the industry standard instead of the exception.

My folktale is up at Critters, and so far, no love. Zero. Hunh.

103-day form reject from Absolute Magnitude. I had a feeling this one was coming. Actually, I’m expecting another one today or tomorrow as I heard they were having a slush party last weekend and I’ve got another submission with them. On the matter of slush parties, DNA, as far as I can tell, enlists friends and assorted acquaintances to sort through their submissions, regardless of editorial experience, plying them with food and drink. I guess the philosophy is that anything that really grips your average reader and makes it up to the editor is worth having a look at, or maybe they only invite knowledgable readers to their slush parties. I dunno. But it does strike me as haphazard and inconsistent.
200-day pass from Neo-Opsis after making it to their second round with invite to submit again.

New Words: 300
On the Korean folktale.

Club 100 For Writers
43

Pie v4.0

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Baked what I suspect is the final blackberry pie of the season. fosteronfilm holds out hopes that there might be enough of a harvest for one last pie, but the bushes are fading fast. It’s a race between whether the berries die or finish ripening. We shall see.

I’m getting pretty adept at the pie thing. I’ve started getting creative:


I decorated it with shapes and stuff!

Hobkin’s been a royal brat these last couple days. Yesterday afternoon, it was way too early for his lunch, but he was pacing in the kitchen and trying to herd me there, obviously wanting to be fed. I sat down on the floor in the living room to try to distract him with play time. What did he do? He goes behind me and tries to push me into the kitchen. When that doesn’t work, he digs at me, apparently trying to loosen me from my spot, and when that doesn’t work, he nips my rear. Impudent fuzz beast! After I finished laughing and berating him, I got up and he got an early lunch. Yep, I’m a wuss.

This morning he woke me up at an ungodly hour (gah, it’s before 6AM!) by first kicking me as we were snoozing together, and then walking over me on his way to his hutch. He’s lucky he’s so damn cute.

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