Archive for the ‘Pets’ Category

Pardon The Interruption….

April 19, 2011

Years ago, the children were ensconced at the table eating a snack-good time to head to the Head.  “Eat your snack. I’m going to take a shower, I’ll be out in 5 minutes. Do not disturb unless it’s an emergency.”  I ran into the bathroom, jumped in the shower,  and kicked it into gear to get my whole self clean in five minutes.  I was a pro from back in my boarding school days when five minutes was sometimes all the time we had, and then the hot water would run out. 

2 minutes in, the door bursts open.  “Mom is this purple?” It was Whirling Dervish holding up a skirt.

“REALLY?!  Did we forget that Mommy said “Do NOT disturb!”

“Uhhhhh.”

“Is someone concussed?”

“No.”

“Is someone bleeding? Does someone have a limb off?”

“No.  But Momma is this purple?”

“REALLY???!!! Please close the door on your way out.”

I guess I should be happy, she was outside the shower. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had gotten in there with me. Whirling liked to invade my personal space-a “close talker” a la Jerry Seinfeld.  Her usual M.O. was to wait until I was in the bathroom and then come in and step so close to me that she would be standing in my under garments. yes, IN, my underwear.  And it wasn’t as if she was coming to tell me the kitchen was on fire or anything.  She just wanted to chat.  Mind you she had absolutely NOTHING to say to me while I was not in the bathroom.  I guess her mind got rolling as soon as I sat down on the can.   I would have to politely ask her to back up out of my draws and out of the bathroom.  And off she would go, inevitably leaving the bathroom door wide open, leaving me fully exposed for all the world to see.  And she wasn’t the only one.  Her siblings were just as bad. I got asked all sorts of stuff in the water closet. Can I transform the Transformer back?  Momma, can you get the pony tail out of Barbie’s hair?  Mom, can you sign my permission slip?  Can you get this knot out of my sneaker? And so it went. For years.

My youngest is now 8, so I thought I was done with the interruptions.  They still do it from time to time, but for the most part, they stay out, at least until I turn the water off in the shower or flush the toilet to barge in. Some times tey wait until I have finished brushing my teeth to ask me a question or talk to me.  But no.  Now there’s a new interloper in our midst. Butter Face cometh.

My dog has become the Bathroom Bandit. It doesn’t matter what bathroom I’m in or what floor he’s on. He makes his  way to the bathroom heads on in.  He just opens the door all the way and waltzes right in.  He walks right up to me, looks up, as if to say, “Hey, whatcha doin’?” Then he sniffs my shoes, does his doggy circling ritual and then lays down on the rug. And stares.  I don’t know about y’all, but it’s hard to concentrate with the beast ogling me from below, peeping at me underneath my reading material.

I guess I should be thankful, he doesn’t ask me to deknot his bone.

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Weapon of Mass Destruction…….

March 17, 2011

Butter Face

Cute isn’t he?  Don’t be fooled by the floppy ears, and the little eyebrows. This is Butter Face the Wonder Dog and he STINKS! We got him from the folks at Lucky Dog Animal Rescue (www.luckydoganimalrescue.org).  He got us, lookin’ all cute and cuddly.  He did all the adorable puppy things; licking the young superheroes on the nose, chasing the squeak toys, turning his head, and doing those doggy yoga stretches.  I walked out of the kitchen and left the butter on the counter.  Big mistake.  He came around the corner with butter on his chin. Soooooooo, so cute! And then he busted butt.

I knew dogs broke wind.  My best friend had great danes when we were growing up, so I was not new to the doggy gas thing.  But Butter Face was a whole ‘nother story.  My nose hair were singed and I felt light-headed.

People kept asking me if my dog got car sick.  Thankfully, he doesn’t. I’m not sure I could handle my dog barfing in the ride and my superheros really wouldn’t appreciate it either.  Imagine the mayhem that would ensue with the kids trying to jump ship and the dog hoppin’ around in the auto. What he does get while riding in the car is gas. Wicked, WICKED gas.  It is wrong on a whole bunch of levels.

Ya know it’s bad when the humans in the car stick their heads out of the window when Butter Face lets it rip.  He stands with his front paws on the storage compartment between the front seat, looking out the front window, his tongue wagging, leaning on me.  And then Blammo! He drops a bomb that could melt steel.

H-E-L-PUH MEEEEEEEE!  As I gasp for air, I have to slam down all four of the automatic window buttons as my children scratch on the glass trying to escape.  We all lean out the window, trying to inhale fresh air, hoping the toxic waste in the vehicle will dissipate before frostbite or heat stroke sets in depending on the season, before we can clear our lungs. I guess I should be thankful he’s not leaving these foul, malodorous clouds wafting through the house, but the vehicle is such a confined space that concentrates the offense exponentially. Daaaaayuuum!

I’m thinking we should loan him to the armed forces. He could work it like Snoopy, with some goggles and a scarf. Afterall, he is part beagle.  They could strap him on the under belly of a fighter jet and when the time comes, give him a doggy treat, and let him rip it like a crop duster. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!  He could fall a small country in seconds. He would be the pride of the nation.

Well, maybe not the nation, but we at the Edge would certainly be proud of him.  Stinky bum and all.


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