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.

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.

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.

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.

If You Treat A Woman Right

In just over 24 hours from this post myself, Emily and Charmin will all be climbing aboard Stella and heading out to Lamoille Canyon.  I would be lying if I wasn’t having any reservations.  Let’s see why.

1. Mom is not going.
2. Emily is going.
3. Charmin is going.
4. Stella is a 21 year old VW Westfalia.
5. We are driving across one of the most desolate areas in the country in Stella (did I mention she is a 21 year old VW).

Now I knew what I was getting into when I purchased Stella and I fully expect her to make the trek safely.  She in fact has already made 2 long distance treks.  One from Bend to Newport Oregon and then all the way home to Reno.  Another a round trip from Reno to Lake Almanor.  She performed beautifully both times.

This time however, I will be the only “grown up” on the trip and any and all responsibility however is mine and mine alone.  Luckily I am heading out there to meet a group of people for a midweek wedding and I suspect if I don’t show they will make some phone calls (if they have service that is).

I have been giving her lots of love.  Had her reviewed by a vdub mechanic who has given her a thumbs up, checked all her fluid levels and gave her a nice rubdown.  I have been treating her right.

The real comfort for me is that she’s a camper. If something goes wrong, at least we will have a place to sleep till the Cavalry arrives.

Time To Beef Up Security

by He Said

So, yeah.  I'm gonna post something.  I know you all thought we were dead, or had forgotten the password to our blog site.  It's really been none of the above, but just plain laziness.  I don't see all of YOU blogging everyday.  So this might be a bit rambling, or even boring, but I need to get back into it so you all have to suffer through it.  All four of you!

 Braedyn has a new canned response he gives us every time we film a funny video, or take a funny picture or even laugh at something we think is hillarious!  "Don't you put that on the internet!" he will scream at us.

I am not sure how I am supposed to respond to that other than by doing this.

That's not why I started this post.  Today is really all about Emily and her new found fears. Fears of going to the bathroom unless one of us is STANDING there watching her.  I don't know what she is afraid of, and she just says "I'm scared" and will stand in the hallway crying until:

1.  I give in and follow her down the hall into the bathroom or
2.  She pees her pants.

I never let us hit number 2.

This fear has now extended to the nighttime routine.  I tuck her into bed and if I scoot her over to the wall, you know, next to the deep dark crevasse of evil where the wall meets the bed, I have to be careful because the claws come out and embed themselves in the nearest area of my flesh.  That's when the ear curdling cries start as well.

So, I have learned NOT to scoot her towards the wall.

Most recently she began telling me she didn't want to sleep on the lower bunk.  She was scared.

Me: "What are you scared of Em?"
Em: "I hear noises at night!"
Me: "Emily, that's probably Charmin walking around, or me getting up to check on you because you moan at night, or mommy getting up to go potty."
Em: "No, they are other noises.  Its not Charmin."
Me: "What kind of noises?"
Em (speaking in COMPLETE seriousness): "I can hear a man walking around the house and he is carrying a sword he wants to stick in me."

Now I try to be a good dad.  I try not to laugh when my kids say really funny stuff.  This time I kept my composure, but I swear I heard Braedyn chuckling in the upper bunk.

Me: "Have you ever actually seen the guy walking around the house with a sword at night? Because I think I do a pretty good job at keeping strangers with swords out of the house at night."
Em: "I'm SERIOUS!"

And she was.....

I keep looking for evidence of a late night swordsman.  If you see one in my neighborhood, or yours, please, let me know.

Exiting GuyLand

Posted by He Said

This last week I heard a news story on NPR about this phenomenon where boys CHOOSE not to be men until in their late 20's.  What makes you a man? According to this story and the author of a book called GuyLand, it entails graduating from high school, financial independence, marriage and children.  So that’s what makes you a man?  I can assure you I know several males who meet those requirements and do not qualify as men.  I won't name names unless you make a direct financial contribution to my retirement fund.  This story made me think about this, and I believe I have a new life event to add to this list.

For those of you who don't know, we have a dog who is the reincarnation of Houdini but goes simply by the name Charmin.  Go ahead, search the blog and catch up.  I can wait.

So now that you are all up to speed on the fact that our dog can jump over the moon to explore the neighborhood, I have an update for you. It's getting worse. She now loves to do it anytime she wants whether we are home or not. Please, don't comment that it's a behavioral problem. I GET IT.  To fix this issue I started taking her to a dog training class at Petsmart taught by a great lady by the name of Roxanne Kimball.  I had hoped training my dog to understand that I am the leader of the pack would changer her behavior.  I had hoped she would start to stick around when we leave her in the backyard.

This is not what happened.  In fact it has gotten worse.  Normally she only jumps out when we leave.  Recently she has leapt out when we put her out to take care of business, she hears someone or something outside and over she goes. So it’s official.  Yes, I am a crappy dog parent.

The other morning I swore to start walking her regularly.  You know, because exercise is supposed to make your dog happy and suppress the wanderlust. This of course is traumatic in its own right because Charmin gets very protective of of the family when she is on her leash.  She is great at doggy daycare.  They love her there.  Put her on a lease to take her for a walk and she turns into Cujo growling, snapping and all the while wagging her tail like she WANTS to go play, but the second voice in her head is telling her to kill them…kill them all.

So the first day of our new routine, off we went down the street, headed towards the new home construction area.  It's bustling with early morning construction workers.  Full of buff, hard hatted, tattooed and flannel wearing construction workers. You know what I am talking about.  Man's man kinda guys. The kind of guys who have testicles hanging from the backs of their Mini Monster Trucks and fully loaded gun racks in the windows.  You know men who are native Nevadans.

Then I realized.  Here I am walking my dog with her pink collar and her pink leash. I’m comfortable with my masculinity I can handle it.  Then I realize on my way out I had to grab the last travel mug to bring my morning liquid crack with me.  It's not just any mug.  It's a bright pink coffee mug.

Seriously pink.

I realize I look like a walking breast cancer awareness ribbon.

I won’t lie.  I considered crossing the street.

Let me tell you. Nothing graduates you faster from guy land like walking through a construction crew with all pink accessories.  Ok, except maybe walking through WalMart in a Utilikit, but that’s a story for another day. 

All the features you need in a perfectly-sized package

Posted by He Said

The "Education of Charmin” continues.  I have been taking her to dog training classes at PetsMart as I mentioned in a prior blog.  Last week added a bit more stress to the class. Susanne was sick and I had to drag the kids along with me.

Part of the issue with Charmin is that she is very protective of the children.  This means in a classroom with four other dogs and the kids things get a little stressful.  Braedyn of all people provided a little stress relief this week.

One of the dogs was a Great Dane puppy that was taller than Emily, I kid you not. The sweet dog was focusing his attention to two golden retriever puppies so his backside was facing us.  All of a sudden I see Braedyn lock his sights on this dog, and a huge grin comes across his face.

“Daddy, look! He has a really big bum.”

I turn to look and realize that this puppy still has his package and it’s swinging in all its Great Dane glory.

I try to talk frank and grownup with him so I say “Braedyn, that’s not his bum. Those are his testicles.”

The smile vanishes and is replaced with a look of confusion.

“What are those” he asks?

Now come on, we are trying to be grown up about this conversation and I simply say with the straightest face I can muster “Those are the things that hang below your penis.”

I can tell you right now, we didn’t stay grown up about it very long. 

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.”

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.

Koko vs. The Animal

I’ve decided the reason I have play dates at my house is so that I’ll kick up my housecleaning a few notches. Before kids, getting a clean house used to be the frosting on the cake to having a dinner party with friends at our house. Since that doesn’t happen as much anymore, I use our play dates as a marker to when I get certain chores done around the house. And I’ll be honest. I talk out of both sides of my mouth when it comes to this issue. I tell OTHERS not worry about how their house looks when we come over, but panic about getting all the doggy hair balls out of the line of sight before having others over. And I honestly mean it when I tell others not to worry! I think collectively we moms put too much pressure on ourselves to appear that we always have it together. Where I don’t care if someone has vacuumed or dusted or picked up toys before we come over, it PAINS me to have people come over if my house isn’t somewhat June Cleaverish. For our play date today, not only did I clean up all the soap overflow spills from the kids’ bathroom counter, I even had freshly made, hot-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies FROM SCRATCH. Pathetic, I know. Unrealistic, I know. Hey, I used to have deadlines when I worked in the corporate world. I suppose this is my stay-at-home-mom version of “Oh shit, this game needs to be to QA this afternoon!”

As I got ready to vacuum prior to our play date today, Koko and Charmin acted in their typical fashion. Charmin, upon seeing our Dyson Animal vacuum cleaner, fled, leaving a trail of pee, to hide somewhere in my bedroom. Koko, upon seeing The Animal, thought, “Yeah, bitch, bring it on! I float like a butterfly, sting like a bee!” The girl won’t chase a ball, but she totally digs a good tussle with my vacuum cleaner. No joke. Problem is, she freaks out when I pull out the camera. Yeah, go figure. She’s shy, but loves a good fight. I thought, I’ve GOT to at least TRY and get a picture of this. So, as I attempted to photograph her biting, yes BITING, the vacuum cleaner today, I kept missing the perfect shot. Hey, you try to vacuum with one hand, take a picture with the other, AND try and entice your dog to play with your vacuum cleaner. She normally doesn’t need any enticing, but the presence of the camera somehow makes her think it is no longer a fair fight. I gave it a very concerted effort and had one of the cleanest spots on my carpet EVER as I vacuumed it over and over again trying to get the damn shot.

Here is what I was able to capture today:

Braedyn and Emily thought it was hilarious to watch the whole three-ring circus act going on in front of them with Koko in one ring, me in another, and The Animal in the center ring. They wanted in on the action too, so here are their fingers being vacuumed into the The Animal’s hose. And those marking on the end of the hose? Koko’s teeth marks.

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.

It’s Just A Cultural Thing, Right?

I normally don’t blog about work, I mean who wants to get dooced for blogging.  If it meant that I could make a living blogging, hell I might go for it but I don’t see THAT happening anytime soon. 

The prior two weeks I spent doing one on one training with a new employee destined for our China office.  This woman was very bright and friendly.  She was formerly from China, had been living in the states for at least 6 years and was a graduate of an American university.  An American at this point, right?

The second week I was sitting in my cube trying to focus and give somewhat meaningful training. I kept moaning and whining about my sore muscles after spending a weekend towing my family (including Charmin) around on a giant water trampoline tied to my waist.

There I am rubbing my shoulders and she simply looks at me and cocks her head curiously at me.  I assume she cares why I am hurting and I explain what I was doing all weekend and finish up with “I am just out of shape.”

She pauses and like T1000 Terminator she scans me slowly from head to toe and says simply “Yes, you are.”

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:

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!

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Greg has been digging through all of his old Australian Operation Raleigh slides and negatives, scanning them, and recreating this important part of his history. Or reliving his youth. Whichever. Anyway, in one of his boxes of negatives, there were two crystals. With some sort of honing device, our children were drawn to them. Sort of like the orphan Jen seeking the shard of the Dark Crystal. Or Gollum being mesmerized by the Ring. They thought they’d hit the mother load when these precious little gems were discovered.

This morning they were granted permission by the king of the stones, their Daddy, to play with them. Here they are in absolute awe of their innate powers:

 

Against my better judgement I let them bring their “diamonds” into the car with us on our way to a play date. Now Emily can’t find hers. I’ve hunted with a flash light in all the food and crumb infested crevices of the van. I’ve sent in Koko and Charmin in the hopes they had some inkling of hunter ability in them and could sniff it out. Yeah, no luck with them either. They didn’t even clean up the abundance of crumbs strewn throughout the van. Some dogs they are.

Emily is devastated. I can only hope that it will be found at some point in the near future. Who knows, maybe this is the inspiration for some children’s book that will incorporate the pure determination of Jen and the utter insanity of Gollum. Sounds like the makings of a winner, yes?

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.

Breaking And Entering

Tonight Susanne had a hot date with one of her lesbian friends. Who am I to say no when she asks if I mind. Seriously. I should probably stop writing right now. Maybe I should just post once a week about my wife visiting this hot friend, hanging out with this hot group of moms. Maybe I could generate more traffic with a little creative writing about my wife and hot lesbians. Hmm. Something to think about.

So it's going to be just me and the kids and they are begging and pleading to go with her. Tonight as far as the kids are concerned I am chopped liver dipped in creamed earthworm with a side of blue cheese. Seriously. You would think Susanne told them that as soon as she left that I was going to make them watch 60 Minutes. They REALLY wanted to go with mommy tonight. But I had little something up my sleeve.

Braedyn & Emily (almost in tears): I want to go with mommeeeeee!!!

Me: Hey, you guys want to play video games?

Braedyn & Emily: YAAAYYYYYY. Bye mommy.

Score: Dad 1, Mommy 0

I wrangled em up and headed to the game room. I left Koko and Charmin outside because it's hard enough to manage two toddlers and wired console controllers without the joy of dogs dragging the Xbox and Playstation out of the entertainment center.

The kids played for a bit until Dad got tired of “helping”. “My car is stuck", “this is hard”, “can you help me”. Looky there, the time is up. Did you hear the timer? I did. Time to turn it off. Let's go play outside.

Ahhh, peace and quiet. The children are turning the swimming pool into the largest mudbog west of Lake Lahonton and I get to work on the blog. But wait, where is Koko? “Koko, come girl”. I can hear her whining and barking around the corner. Must be something keeping her entertained.

After a few minutes I am surprised she has not come to see me or the kids (she loves to get wet with the kids). I am still being a lazy motha because work has been really tough lately. Nuff said. Who wants to get fired about writing about work (don’t want to get Dooced!)

So I start yelling for Koko, because my lazy ass is NOT getting out of the rocker unless one of the kids falls into the pool face down…and doesn’t get up right away of their own accord. I look over at the fence and whose head do I see poking out from under the fence? Koko’s. From outside the yard! Somehow she managed to escape, and now she is trying to get back in. Apparently I am not as much a motivator as whatever cute poodle she was chasing on her way out because I had to open the gate to let her in.

Guess I am putting wire up this week.

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.

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.