Houdini, Part Freakin’ Two

Posted by She Said

Our dog saga continues, much to my chagrin. Charmin, although her squeezable softness is remarkable, should have been named Tigger due to the freak-of-nature height she reaches in her every jump. We (we being Greg) have lined our fence with an electric wire, which presumably would keep any dog cowering away from the fence in fear of getting shocked. That would be true for any dog that subscribes to the Pavlov theory, and if you haven’t already guess, that would NOT be our dog. She’ll be damned if she is going to let a little jolt stop her from riding along with me as I take the kids to school, attend a birthday party, or even tag along for those once-a-year “fun” check ups.

This, let me assure you, IS. A. BITCH.

Our test run with the fence resulted in me coming home to her terrorizing the construction workers in our expanding neighborhood. The best part? She kept jumping into the back yard of the cookie cutter home that looks just like ours only several doors away. Hey, I never said she was brilliant, just impervious to the powers of conditioning.

As my friend Kerry would say, Oy! I have a headache in my eye!

Gotta love her persistence!

Actually, no I don’t.

Freakin’ Houdini Reincarnated as My Dog

Posted by She Said

Before I am flogged for being a blogger slacker, here’s a summary of my last couple of months that may merit your forgiveness:

• Kids in school – there three times a day for drop offs and pick ups.
• Sell house.
• Pack up house.
• Soccer practices and games.
• Almost move into bane of our existence, aka the condo.
• Get email on the day we are moving into the bane that the sale of it is being “expedited”.
• Decide NOT to move into the bane.
• Frantically find house to rent in the right school zone (not an easy task).
• Find house.
• Track down property manager.
• Soccer practices and games.
• Attend three birthday parties and a BBQ in one weekend!
• Move. One. Van Load. At. A. Time.

OK, can you tell our life has been rather frantic lately? On the upside, we have now been successfully, and I use that term loosely, living in our new house for almost two weeks. As we navigate through school life, work, spelling tests, birthday parties, and boxes, we are trying to find our familial groove again. Apparently Charmin didn’t get the memo. Because instead of just being a nuisance by barking at every moving creature she can spot through the fence like she did at our old house, she has decided to jump it and just go see what it is for herself. Literally. She is jumping our almost 6’ fence.

In an attempt to stop it, we have tried to block the fence.

Didn’t work.

So, we decided to take her to Doggy Day Care, which worked great, but is not practical for every day. So, we bought a “no jump harness” to keep her from being able to extend her legs fully for her full Houdini-like action.

Yeah, that looks easy to put on a dog that won’t sit still, doesn’t it? Houdini could have used one of these contraptions in his act and wowed everyone. After Greg exercised every brain cell getting it on Charmin this morning, we all successfully went on our way. Greg to work. Me to carpool kids to school and to pick up a pizza to have after a late soccer practice tonight. After a successful drop off of kids and a quick run into the store, Emily and I drove home. TO FIND CHARMIN IN OUR DRIVEWAY. AGAIN. After the fume coming from my ears cleared, I could see the neck part of the contraption was still attached to her, but the rest of it was dragging between her legs. I guess Houdini has found a way to wow everyone after all. By coming back reincarnated as my dog. Lucky me.

Moments after getting Emily, Charmin, and the pizza successfully into the house, our not-quite-working doorbell eked out a pathetic chirp. Unsure of whether someone was actually at the door or not, I opened it to find our local friendly Animal Control. Welcome to the neighborhood! Dog ownership doesn’t get much better than this, folks. Let me tell you.

 

Dammit, Charmin. Quit looking so cute.

The Hatching of Evel Knievel 1 and Evel Knievel 2

Posted by She Said

My children believe every living thing – puppies, people – start from that miraculous birthing place. No, I’m not talking about THAT warm and comfy place. I am, of course, talking about… the egg. Endless hours have been spent playing “puppy” where Emily hatches out of an egg and is, amazingly, a pup that can instantly perform all sorts of tricks, like roll over, play dead, and paint. If only Charmin could play this game as well. I’d have our bathroom finally painted.

Yesterday, I am happy to report, in Thing 1 and Thing 2 fashion, Greg and I hatched Evel Knievel 1 and Evel Knievel 2. On a whim, we checked a cool, local iPhone app called Dibbs, that lists everything going on in our area. We found a kite festival up at Squaw Valley and decided to check it out. Only problem we had was after our hour and a half drive up there, we discovered this “free” event required a $60+ ride up the mountain in a gondola to get to it. Lucky for us, there was another “free” event at the bottom of the mountain with some events we thought the kids would enjoy. So, we gave them a choice – go up the mountain and watch professionals fly kites, or stay at the bottom of the hill and get to try out some gnarly, adrenaline-pumping rides.

And then my little adrenaline junkies hatched. I couldn’t be more proud and thrilled for Evel Knievel 1 and Evel Knievel 2.

Emily went first on the zip line:

Then it was Braedyn’s turn:

But Emily will definitely have to wait until she gains some weight to improve her mad gymnastic skills:

Charmin Likes A Little Fantasy Play

If only she could pay her own way using feather boas at a burlesque show.  Probably not gonna happen though.

Don’t bother asking what the boas are actually for.  We are all adults here and you already know. I can say I don’t think we will be using them after the dog has been sleeping on them.

Out with the Old, In with the… Turtle?

Greg and I finished getting rid of our 200 things without a whole lot of effort. Actually, the largest effort came trying to find the time to pick our 5 things each day. On a couple of occasions, we would go a few days without picking anything. Then we’d have a frantic, “Oh damn, I have to pick 20 things today!!” But we prevailed, and got rid of a room’s worth of crap we just didn’t need.

I’m frantically looking over my shoulder as I type this however, because the entire time Greg and I did our contest, we kept the door locked to the room that held all of this stuff. It has been weeks now and even though the kids haven’t noticed any MIA toys, if they saw them in a picture, the waterworks would never stop. “But that was my FAVORITE toy!” Uh-huh. Sure.

We got rid of most of the stuff - gave some away, had another yard sale, and the rest is still in the back of the car waiting to be dropped off at the Salvation Army. And what did we do with the $97.60 we made at said yard sale? We spent it on the newest member of our family:

Blogoshpere, meet Spikey Back Rock Star III. Spikey Back Rock Star III, meet the blogosphere.

Our neighbor found this little guy in his back yard stuck head first in his drainage pipe. It is a good thing he was discovered because he surely would have met his demise before too much longer. We were having a family BBQ when our neighbor poked his head over the fence with the little guy and said, “Hey, you guys want a turtle?” After all the kids stopped screaming “YES!”, Greg took him from our neighbor and got fondled by all the kids. The turtle, not Greg. So, Spikey Back Rock Star III, or Spike for short, lived in our cooler outside for about a week until we figured out what we were going to do. Keep him? Give him away? Decisions, decisions.

After a couple of days filled with hemming and hawing, and hawing and hemming, Greg found someone selling an entire turtle setup on Craigslist for the low, low price of $100. Being the consummate bargain hunter, I said, “email them and ask them if they’d take $50",” thinking there is no way they’d take half the asking price. Then we’d be tipping the scales toward the turtle-free solution. Yeah, not so fast. They took half the asking price. And now we have this little critter in our lives. I also keep hearing from Emily how pretty the lady was that sold it, so it was a little bonus for our pick-up guy, aka my husband.

Now that he is in an actual turtle habitat with the correct water temperature, food, etc., Spike couldn’t be happier. And honestly, neither could we. He’s really fun to watch.

So what if we spent $50 on the setup and another $50 on all the accoutrements a turtle could need. We didn’t technically go out of pocket. Right? At least this pet won’t pee on my carpet.

BRRRRRRR

Susanne and I took the kids to the river today.  We are trying very hard to socialize Charmin so we can work on our training in various locations. 

We visited Rock Park which was recently completely landscaped anew.  It looks great.  For those of you not of this area, the Truckee River flows from Lake Tahoe and the water can be well…a bit chilly.

I had a bit of fun trying to get Charmin to go into the water.

“Get the stick, get the stick!”  After three or four sticks thrown in and Charmin simply looking at me like “Dude, you are crazy” I felt I had to be the big man and lead her into the river. Let me assure you I didn’t want to get in the water any more than she did, so I stepped out onto a rock in the river.

It started out ok.  She looked a little skittish.

Then the panic set in or her girly parts hit the cold water.

I think her claws left scratch marks in the rocks.

Prison Break

Each and every night after the grownups have had their wine and watched their evening TV it’s time to lockup and power down the house before bed. 

One peculiar routine MUST be followed.  If Susanne or I do not remember to extend one of the gates we purchased for riot control and lean it against Braedyn’s door we will hear about it. Oh will we hear about it. 

Usually we will hear his SCREAMS in the middle of the night because FSM FORBID Charmin is ON HIS BED.  You would think she was trying to eat his face or something.

When I was a child not only did my dogs sleep on my bed, but Critter (yes that was her name) and later Sierra (pictured with my brother) would sleep all the way UNDER my covers tucked against my feet.  Seriously.  How does a dog breathe down there next to a teenage boys feet?

Poor Charmin, she just wants to sleep on the end of his bed. Ok, she may try to lick him before she settles down, but its not like he has any comprehension of where that tongue was 15 minutes earlier during a “cleaning” session.

So each and every night I extend the gate and each and every morning Braedyn TRIES to quietly move the gate.  This is my alarm clock.  It’s like the TV show Prison Break, except without the tattoos, and with a dog who’s mouth smells like….well, you know.

Count to Ten Slowly? Or Punch You in the Face?

It was a tough decision too, let me tell you.

I had finally fallen asleep once the kids were snuggled in their beds for their quiet time. After a restless night of sleep last night, I was grateful for the break. And then. BANG! BANG! BANG! Someone was knocking LOUDLY on my front door. I jumped up from the couch whispering “Shh! Shh! Shh!” to the dogs, in a pleading attempt to keep them from barking and waking the kids, if the banging didn’t do it already.

Through the peep hole I see two young women with some sort of lanyard around their necks. And, PFFFT! (That would be the sound of my feathers ruffling.) I have written before about my No Soliciting sign that I put on my door that has worked ever so effectively. Until today. I crack the door open and stick my knee out to prevent the dogs from escaping, and this act was so marvelously done I’m not sure they even knew there were dogs inside, which to them would have made me seem rather crazy. As any cranky, or what the hell, crazy, woman woken from some much needed sleep would say, eyes wide, “YES?”

“Hi,” the woman on the left said in a high-pitched, and irritatingly grating voice.

I simply point to the No Soliciting sign and say, “My kids are sleeping, and I’m not interested in anything you are selling.”

“We’re not selling anything.” The second one tries to hand me a flier.

Again, I squeeze my arm through the crack I’ve made in the door and point to the sign.

Pointing to my wooden welcome sign hanging from a hook on my door, Queen Annoying Voice says, “Well, you also have a Welcome sign on your door, so I was confused.” I swear the bitch even grinned at me in a smirky, what-are-you-going-to-do-about-this kind of way.

SERIOUSLY? “That’s for friends and family” I say, knowing that in 10 minutes I will have thought of the perfect witty thing to say to such an obtuse statement.

“Well, then it should say, ‘Welcome, Friends and Family’.” Finger nails on a chalkboard.

OH. MY. FLYING. SPAGHETTI. MONSTER. She didn’t! I rolled my eyes and shut the door. I have yet to check to make sure my No Soliciting sign and my Welcome sign are still there and not vandalized. I’m wishing now that I had taken one of their fliers and raised holy hell with whomever I could reach at whatever organization they were pushing.

So, I counted to ten, slowly. Then I kicked myself for not saying something more witty to the nitwits. The upside? Koko and Charmin listened to me and were quiet! THEY LISTENED TO ME! Do you understand what that means? It means there might be hope for our backyard yet!

It’s Quiet Time

Last week we had a rather unpleasant experience, the repercussions of which are still lingering for me. I made an appointment to take the dogs to get their vaccinations on Presidents Day. I was surprised they were open but was also thrilled because this meant GREG COULD TAKE THEM on his day off. Why is it such a big deal that Greg take them instead of me? Oh, well, let’s see. I just couldn’t bear taking all the fun for myself! I just had to share. I mean, come on! How much fun is this:

1. Get two kids into the car. (A major feat on most days alone.)
2. Wrangle two dogs into the same car. And, oh, did I mention neither of them really like the car?
3. Back out of the driveway, and just get the car into drive before smelling that gawd-awful smell of dog poop because Charmin FREAKS OUT in a moving car and loses her bowels EACH AND EVERY TIME. (Just ask Greg about trip home from the animal shelter.)
4. Listen to the kids complaining, whining, and crying about the poop smell.
5. Roll down the windows IN THE MIDDLE OF WINTER to aid with the smell.
6. Listen to the kids complaining, whining, and crying about how cold they are.
7. Drive while keeping your fingers crossed that the dogs aren’t leaving poop footprints all over the back of the car.
8. Arrive at the vet’s office.
9. Carefully and slowly open one side door of the van so that no dogs can escape.
10. One dog does try to escape and succeeds in putting a not-so-great-smelling paw print on your freshly laundered jeans, the ones you usually get three or four wears out of.
11. Get both dogs out of the car with a firm grip on their leashes with the one hand that isn’t trying to unbuckle the kids.
12. Do a little dance because both dogs and both kids are out of the car.
13. Open the door to the vet’s office and have Koko turn into Captain Contortionist and somehow gets her big head through her collar as she backs up like Speedy Gonzales on hot pavement. And escapes.
14. Get kids and the one non-contortionist (but trying to be) dog into the vet and ask tell the staff to watch them. Please.
15. Whistle and say “Koko! Come here sweetie!” so sweetly through gritted teeth to try and coax her back to you.

So, being the thoughtful and giving person I am, I thought I’d share in the fun with Greg. Oh, but I’d lend a helping hand and keep the kids at home. At least there would be four less feet to worry about leaving poop prints in the car.

Greg, being the gracious dog-lover he is, agreed to take the dogs for their check-up. To sum up the beginning of the trip: poop in car, escaped dog in parking lot, poop and pee in vet’s office. See? How fun is this?

Oh, then the thing that has been gnawing at me for the last week and a half happened. Koko bit the vet. Koko, the docile one. Koko, the one who we knew we wanted to adopt right away when we saw her just look back and do nothing at the kid who ran over her tail with his tricycle. Koko, my favorite. Koko. The vet wasn’t even touching her at the time, but as he started to reach to her stomach, she gave no warning and just turned and bit. Our poor vet was upset. Yes, he had been bitten, thankfully not bad enough for stitches, but it was the third time in a week. He was a little grouchy about it. Occupational hazard, I suppose.

When Greg got home and told me what had happened, I was completely devastated. And I cried. A lot. For in my mind, she had to go. HAD. TO. GO. After all, I did not want a dog who could do that, maybe next time to one of our kids, in our house.

Greg and I have always been of the belief that we would never keep a dog that bit. BUT. But what if she was so terrified of the entire experience that her natural survival instincts kicked in? It seems plausible and most likely possible that the wrangling into the car, the chase through the parking lot, the dragging into the vet’s office, the being hefted up onto the examination table, and the crazy plethora of scents in the room made her panic. And bite.

Koko is still here, and I’ve started to pet her again. I seriously started to detach myself from her for several days after this happened. Keeping her but not leaving her alone with the kids is completely impractical. I mean, seriously. I have the bladder the size of a thimble and am always running to the bathroom. I’d have more accidents on our floors than the kids AND the dogs combined if I had to run to the door and let them outside first each time. Am I watching Koko’s actions around the kids more? Absolutely. Have we taught the kids not to hug her? YES! Am I still agonizing over this? *Sigh*

I will undoubtedly continue to worry. It IS me we’re talking about after all. But during this agonizing process, I am enjoying moments like these:

I mean, just look at those two. A quiet time. Indeed.

My Own Personal Screensaver

Yes, its not a small little Pug and that’s what makes my movie so much cooler. Look at the big tongue on Charmin.

What Is With The Inaugural Fuss?

From 1-20-2009

Charmin has no interest in the inaugural address. The rest of us enjoyed a few mimosas, french toast and sausage. A nice day off for me and I truly enjoyed watching the inaugural coverage.

Family Awesomeness

Jake came over to play the guitar today to let us hear his progress.  He is teaching himself to play.  So here I am listening to my oldest son playing the guitar and getting the most awesome family cuddle time at the same time.  How could it be better?  The wife was getting me a beer.

Charmin Is Being Charming

Yes, here it is.  A brief moment in time when I wasn’t growling at her, pushing her off my kids or trying to keep her from licking the table.  A moment when I thought that both my dogs were being cute, laying in the sun enjoying the warmth.

Will Lick You For Food

Charmin has an interesting obsession with her food. Once positioned over her bowl she will growl if Koko approaches the outer bounds of our galaxy. It’s rather annoying for us and it reached a new level last night. Charmin was guarding her dinner and Koko was in the kitchen grunting and talking to us. Took me a few minutes to realize it was because she didn’t want to leave the kitchen for fear of disturbing the queen. It’s funny, she expends so much energy trying to prove her dominance that she is exhausted and has to eat lying down.

What’s that Smell?

Koko: Smell my breath, aaaahhhh…

Charmin: No, smell MY breath, aaaaahhh…

There Was a Young Lady that Growled at a Fly, I Don’t Know Why She Growled at the Fly

Well, actually I do know why. And I’ll tell you.

We have two dogs. Koko and Charmin. Koko came first to us about a year ago. She was less than a year old, and the people who had her on Craigslist said their landlord wouldn’t allow them to keep her any longer. We adopted her on the spot because she was great with kids. It didn’t take us long to figure out that the landlord spiel was just a ruse. A cover-up for the real reasons she was being banished from this family. A few of those meticulously crafted lies we were told? Oh, let’s see…

• “She’s house broken.” The truth: Um, I have a spot on my carpet there, and there, and there, and there, and there, and there, and there, and there, and there that says otherwise.
• “She’s a cuddle bug.” The truth: She loves to cuddle with you…in your bed. Regardless of whether you want her there or not. It doesn’t matter.
• “Our children take her for a walk all the time.” The truth: She turns into Captain Spazmo when you try to put her collar on. Their young children, their itsy bitsy, tiny, young, WEAK children take her for a walk? No way. No how.
• “She loves being outside.” The truth: She loves geography. So much so, she will try to get to China. From your backyard. Straight down.
• “She loves people.” The truth: She freaks out when she’s alone. So much so you’d think she was getting ready to be pawcuffed, blindfolded, and strapped down in a dark closet with Skinny Puppy blaring at too high of a decibel level. Yeah, that kind of freak out.

After several months, I couldn’t take it anymore. When it was time to go somewhere, not only would I have to wrangle two kids and all their crap into the car, I would have to literally pick up this 50 pound fur ball and carry her outside. She could tell we were getting ready to leave, and she wanted to let me know she didn’t like it. Not one bit. Take her with me, you say? Yeah, we tried that. Once. I was in the middle of my suave acrobatic act, the one carefully crafted to keep the dog in and get the kids out, when she bolted. Freaked and bolted. I chased her. Dragging my kids. Screaming “KOKO” until I was hoarse. A sailor’s cursing would be considered benign when compared to what was going on in my head at that moment.

So, a few more weeks of dog hell, and I told Greg she had to go. A few months after that (yeah, you can see he listened to me), something in me decided to give her one more chance. One more very expensive chance. We called Bark Busters. It was Koko’s date with destiny. If it didn’t work, she was outta here. It cost a whole crap load of money. And what did we learn? We learned how to growl at our dog. And you know what? The shit worked. She is the best behaved dog, and I absolutely love her. She’s my favorite. (What? Our dogs can’t read. I can express favoritism!) Now if Charmin would follow suit, we’d be one happy family. Brady Bunch even.

So, Greg and I growl at our dogs to let them know who’s boss. Our growls sound something like a deep, guttural, “BAAAAAAAAAAGH!” The kids aren’t considered high in the dog pack, so they technically aren’t supposed to growl at the dogs. But children learn by example, right? And we growl in our house. A LOT. It actually comes very naturally and easy to us now. Probably TOO easily.

At any given moment in our house, you may hear something like this:

Braedyn: “Charmin! Get off of my legos! BAAAAAAAGH!”

Emily: “Koko licked me!” (Tears) “BAAAAAAAAGH!”

Me to Charmin as her nose is precariously close to that dinner plate on the table: “BAAAAAAAAGH!”

Emily after being told she can’t have more juice: “Mommy!” (Tears) “I want more juice!” (Emphatically) “BAAAAAAGH!”

Emily: “Charmin’s on Didi!” (Her blankie!) (Tears) “BAAAGH!”

Emily to Braedyn: “Give it back!” (Tears) “BAAAAGH!”

Me to snoring husband: “Roll over! BAAAGH!”

So, there you go. We growl a lot. At the dogs. At each other. It’s engrained into us as a way to express frustration. To dole out discipline. Whatever. If it doesn’t work, it at least makes us feel better.

And then today:

Me to a fly: “BAAAAGH!”

Yup. It popped out of my mouth before I even thought about how absurd it was.

There was a young lady that growled at a fly. Now you know why she growled at a fly.

The Solution for Anyone Needing a Heavy Breather

Meet Charmin. Charmin is a mut we adopted back in May-ish. From what we gather she is a mix of Shepherd and Chow. Oh, you think she looks adorable, don’t you? Yes, squeezable soft. Yes, look at that face. What this cute little face doesn’t say is, “Hi, I’m going to prevent you from going to sleep at night with my heavy breathing. I turn it on just at night. Just for you. Oh, I know I don’t do it all day long. I save them up for night time. Just for you.”

That precious little face that screams “Adopt Me! Adopt Me!” also doesn’t let you in on her other dirty little secrets. The ones like, “I like to sleep up against the walls at night with my legs in the air. Isn’t that so cute? It’s so cute that I’m sure you won’t mind the fact that my nails scratch against the wall and keep waking you up. Sure, you’re worried about that daughter of yours waking up to my love scratches on the other side of the wall, but isn’t my face so bloody damn cute?” Or "Cushions are for babies. You didn't need those outdoor cushions anyway." Or my favorite, “You LOVE kisses. I can tell. You like them on your legs when you pass by me. I just know it. Come here, my precious.”