Tag Archives: emotions

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Not A Happy Camper

Charlie is not happy with us this morning.  He didn’t get his breakfast this morning.  No carrots as treats, no fruit after our breakfast and no water.  No, we’ve not decided to save money by rotating starving a different dog each day.  Even though it may come to that if gas prices keep going up.  No, Charlie has an appointment with the vet to get his teeth cleaned this morning, so it was no food or water after midnight for Charlie.

Which sucks for us, because even though we know why he can’t have anything while the other two get to dine sumptuously on Science Diet dog food, all the water they want and the exotic carrots they devour as treats, try explaining that to a dog.  All Charlie understands is that while AJ and Orso were eating breakfast this morning, he was locked up in the bathroom with Mitch.  Some consolation prize for a hungry dog.  I could hear the angry yelps all the way from the other side of the house behind the closed doors.

The look on his face after coming back from our walk was scary when no carrots were handed out to any of the dogs.  The other two kept looking at each other then at me wondering what was up too.  But I figured it would be truly cruel to pass out treats to two and not Charlie.  It was a challenge putting the water bucket down on the floor for AJ and standing guard, hovering over the water bowl until he was finished so Charlie wouldn’t try to drink any.  After watching with a hurt look on his face, Charlie finally left the kitchen and lay down in the dining room, waiting to be forgiven for whatever he did wrong and finally get to eat.

After our breakfast was over and no one got any pineapple chunks as is the usual custom, we have labs and they eat anything, remember, Charlie gave me one last hurt look of self pity and stomped off to the bedroom.  There he curled up into a tight little ball and refused to lift his head to look at me when I tried to pet him and explain once again why he couldn’t have anything to eat or drink.  I know he doesn’t understand me or care, all he knows is that I won’t feed him.  So of course now I feel terribly guilty even though as a human being with opposable thumbs, I know that what we’re doing is the best for him.  It doesn’t help though does it? 

When I left to go to work, Charlie still refused to look at me, curled in that tight ball.  I had no idea that dogs pout.  Who knew?

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A Poor Lost Soul

A washing machine has mysteriously appeared in front on our little burg’s City Hall.  It showed up last week and so far no one has come to claim it.  I have to ask myself if there was some ulterior motive behind the washing machine’s sudden appearance.  Is someone trying to make a point?  Does the City need to clean its dirty laundry?  Does the City have dirty laundry?  We live in a teeny tiny city with a population of about 250, only about 122 homes.  So how much dirty laundry can we have? 

The front entrance to the parking lot at City Hall is well lit with one of those horrendously bright mercury vapor lights, so I would think that the person or persons dropping off said washing machine were well illuminated and therefore either very gutsy or complete idiots.  Or maybe they were wearing cloaking devices that shielded their identities.  I wouldn’t have the nerve or the stupidity to discard an appliance in front of a city municipality structure.  I guess my parents beat the fear of consequences too well into my hardhead growing up.  Maybe that’s the problem today, minimal or no consequences for our actions.  Sorry I almost climbed up on my soapbox.

Anyway back to the speculation about the wayward washing machine.  Could it have run away from home, tired of all the dirty clothes it had been forced day in and day out to clean; now choosing to live a life on the mean streets of our humble little burg?  Maybe it’s just waiting for the bus, even though no bus ever comes to our fair town (not counting the school bus).  Maybe the previous owners are just getting a jump on our annual City Cleanup day.  The only problem with that theory is that one of the rules of the City Cleanup is no appliances.      

Maybe I should take pictures of the washing machine and post around the city and surrounding areas to see if anyone has lost the machine and is looking for it.  Wouldn’t that be a happy ending?

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I’m Mad as Hell…I Just Don’t Get It

I don’t get it.  Right now I’m so mad and frustrated I’m not even sure how to write what I want to say.  I just heard on the news that there is a bill in Missouri to make it legal to shoot mountain lions.  Just because.  Now granted I haven’t read the entire bill, but there is already a law making it only legal to kill a mountain lion if it is threatening you or your livestock.  I don’t need a law for that.  Common sense says that if something, man or animal, is threatening me or my family (dogs included), I have no qualms about killing the threat.  But to just kill something for giggles and grins is totally repugnant to me. 

Why do we do this?  We build and destroy the habitat of wildlife and are then outraged when the deer eat our hostas, the raccoons tear up our trash and there are mountain lions walking through our backyard.    Why are we so myopic that the world is all about us?  I’m not a total tree hugger, but my god when do we stop and start being the caretakers and good stewards of this world?

Okay, I’ll come down off my soapbox, but I’m still pissed as hell.  I just don’t get it.

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Something is Out There

I am always on alert when I walk the dogs in the mornings.  Mainly because it’s dark and I don’t want to get caught off guard when a critter moves causing the dogs to try and give chase with me as the boat anchor on the other end of the leash.  This morning though the dogs started off on high alert as soon as we walked out the door.  Charlie with his head high sniffing the air, catching the tantalizing scent of something.  Orso had his head cocked, with his ears up and turned forward listening to the predawn noises.  As we started off on the walk, Orso and Charlie were straining at the leash, pulling ahead searching the dark for the unknown threat or possible prey.  I reined them back closer to me in an effort to avoid having my shoulders dislocated while I searched the dark for movement too.  I strained to hear any sounds of a possible threat, but the wind was too strong, blowing the dead leaves and bushes all around, making it impossible for my sorry ears to pick up the sound of any imminent danger.

The dogs were keenly aware that something was out there but not sure where yet, jerking back and forward, working to pick up any clue to find the unknown early morning intruder.  Because of their actions, I started imagining what could possibly be out there, watching us.  I have a very vivid imagination and being an Underworld and True Blood fan, I came up with all sorts monsters and creatures out there in the dark waiting, watching and tracking us.  It was a toss-up between, vampires, werewolves or mountain lions.  I also threw in muggers, murderers or the random escapee from the insane asylum.  I was able to concoct a pretty good story about a harrowing encounter with a very large mountain lion during the walk.  Of course, it all worked out and now I have a pet mountain lion.  Not really, but it’s fun to pretend. 

Whatever was out there in the dark watching us, moved off because about halfway through the walk, both dogs calmed down and focused on the task at hand, finding the perfect bush to pee on.

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I Got Rhythm – Not!

When I was supposed to be concentrating on my breathing and clearing my thoughts in yoga class, I started thinking about my performance or lack there of, at my last Zumba class.  I was thinking about Zumba class partially because it was on my mind and partially because I don’t dare totally relax in the breathing exercise for fear of falling asleep.  Mitch swears that I snore and even though I know I don’t snore, God forbid some fluke accident and I did maybe snore, I would be mortified.  And that would be the end of yoga.  Yoga classes twice a week and Zumba class once a week are my most recent attempt to get back in some semblance of shape.  I really love yoga class and the way I feel since starting the class last summer.  I can do a tripod again, something I hadn’t been able to do for decades.  I can’t remember the yoga name for it, but we called it a tripod in school.  A tripod is where you are on your hands and knees.  You lower your head to the mat between your hands, with your arms bent at a right angle, then bring your knees up and place them on your bent arms and balance yourself on your head and hands.  When you get really good, you can move up to a headstand, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon.  Since I’ve had such great success doing yoga, I figured I’d branch out and take more challenging classes, like Zumba.  Yeah right.

I’ve had two classes so far, the first with two other women and the second was just me alone with the instructor.  I really like my instructor.  She is the sweetest person.  Young in shape and she says positive things to me.  I stood behind her off to the side so that I could watch her and myself in the mirror.  Big mistake!  I should have just watched her and not me.  Her moves were fluid and in perfect rhythm to the music, while I was stiff, graceless and behind on every move.  She would signal the upcoming move but half the time I was going the wrong direction, doing the move backwards, sideways or not at all.  Basically I suck at Zumba.  Maybe I was wearing the wrong clothes.  A baggy t-shirt and sweats are not especially sexy or hot looking when trying to dance to sultry Latin tunes.  Even the creepy old guy that came to gawk in the doorway took one look at me and ran screaming into the street.

Halfway through the class, as I was sucking air, sweating like a racehorse and becoming even more wooden in my moves, it dawned on me, maybe I should take up kickboxing.  I don’t have to be able to sway my hips in a sexy manner when doing a roundhouse kick.  I think I can do tough, because fluid and rhythm are definitely not in my body’s vocabulary.

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The Great Bathroom Remodel Comes to a Close – Finally!

 On April 16, 2011, the first day of our vacation, we started the most labor intensive remodel of our master bath and on January 14, 2012, we are finally finished.  It only took two days shy of nine months to gut and totally revamp the eight foot by ten foot room.  I had this improvished model of reality that the remodel from start to finish would only take one maybe two weeks.  I had no idea what taking out the bathtub, the vanity and removing one closet would entail.  By some sheer miracle of faith, we are still married (to each other!).  There were times I didn’t think the room would ever finish or that our marriage would survive.  The only thing left to do is hang some decorative pictures, even though Mitch looks completely baffled when I mention that, as to why anyone would hang something other than a robe or a towel in a bathroom.  This has been the crux of our differences. 

But I must say that the bathroom looks awesome.  Much better than it did, with the ugliest vanity on the face of the planet.  No more is there a faux wood grain counter top.  Gone is the chipping porcelain sink.  The two pedestal sinks look so clean and contemporary.  Banished is the cramped, closed in space.  The custom cabinets made by Smithville Custom Cabinets look rich and warm, giving us ample storage.  The outdated hanging lights attached to the ceiling are gone and recessed lighting floods the room.  The tile floor looks so much better than the old linoleum and using the same porcelain tile as a baseboard was a stroke of genius, if I do say so myself.  It really does look very nice, though Mitch says was too labor intensive compared to regular wood baseboard. 

I took pictures of before, during and after, but you have to actually stand in the room to fully appreciate how hard Mitch worked and what an accomplishment he made.  I kept a spreadsheet of all the money spent on the remodel and we completed the project in at just under five thousand dollars.  Mitch did all of the work himself, with the occasional help from a few friends.  Otherwise the cost would have been much higher.

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I Tortured My Dogs Today

I tortured my dogs today.  I tortured them viciously, remorselessly.  I did it with malice and premeditation.  I was the ultimate evil pet owner.  Charlie tried to escape the onslaught by huddling deeply in one of the dog beds.  He looked up at me with pitiful soft eyes, begging for mercy.  Orso jumped up on the bed and curled into a ball hoping for leniency, bracing for the worst.  AJ stood silently by me looking up at me with soft loving eyes hoping for a reprieve and letting me know he loved me even though I was not the loving pet owner he deserved. 

But I’m the worst pet owner any dog would ever have.  I wielded my instrument of torture with the precision of a skilled surgeon.  I worked quickly, leaving the dogs no escape from their fate.  All three knew the worst was yet to come.  I showed no outward emotion on my face, but inside I felt a degree of satisfaction, maybe even a little evil pleasure at their despair.  Yes, I was enjoying this.

They finally gave in and hung their heads knowing there was no escape and gave into the inevitable.  My instrument of torture?  A leash. I made my “water” dogs go for a walk in the rain.

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No Way to Start the Day

There is nothing worse than putting on your eyeliner and a GIANT HUGE spider drops on the countertop not two feet away from you.  I almost lost my eye.  Stupid spider didn’t even have the good manners to drop slowly on a web trailer.  No, he just free fell and landed hard.  I think he was slightly dazed from the fall because there was a long moment from him landing, me screaming and him running off.  If the countertop was anything else besides granite, I think he would have left a dent.  Of course the spider then ran toward the back of the countertop and disappeared.  Lucky me, I still have one eye left to do, and my sink is in the corner, leaving me vulnerable to a sneak attack by the rabid arachnid.

Mitch as usual looked at me with that condescending expression, head tilted to the left and down. I moved the Kleenex box, the huge spider ran out from behind and off the countertop to the floor.  That’s when the screaming started again.  Now it was on the floor and on the move.  Luckily, Mitch saw it first and smashed it with his fist, yuck.  I made him put the smooshed spider in his trashcan – not mine, then wash his hands WITH soap.

Thank god I can at least go to work with both eyes done.

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Happy Birthday Charlie

Charlie turns seven on Halloween. His date of birth sort of says it all when you describe him. He is the sweetest most lovable psycho dog anyone would ever want to own. One minute he’s sitting beside you looking up at you with the softest expression then a split second later his face changes and no one is sure who’s inside there looking out. It’s pretty unsettling to anyone who comes over.

 Charlie is animal aggressive thanks to a dog attacking him as a puppy owned by a woman that lives around here once in our yard and another time on an encounter while walking him. That pretty much set the tone for all other dogs in Charlie’s mind. We have to be very vigilant around other dogs. It has taken months of hard work to get him to play with our friends’ two dogs. When their two dogs and our three get together, we are all on guard for any change in the force.

We have our first pheasant hunting trip coming up shortly and now that he’ll be seven, we’re hoping that some of his exuberance at being out in the field doing what all of his instincts are screaming his brain to do (better known as running around in the field totally out of control, flushing birds a mile away) will be diminished. Not likely! But we’re holding on to hope. What can I say, I am a Pollyanna.

This year we’re going hunting with middle aged to senior citizen dogs. AJ is eleven, Charlie will be seven and Orso (non-hunting Lab) is five. Mitch is still optimistic about Orso. I don’t hold out much hope though. Maybe we’ll get to work the fields at a more sedate speed instead of the 4mph walks I’ve done in the past.

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A Dog is a Dog is a Dog And a Loved Member of the Family

 My son lost one of his dogs this past weekend.  His dog was ten years old and had a stroke.  That’s not particularly old for a dog, but not young either depending on the breed.  It came on fast and was not expected, which makes the loss more ragged and raw.  No one is ever ready to lose a member of the family, whether human or animal, but when it is unexpected there is a huge sense of loss. 

His loss made me remember Buddy, our yellow Labrador.  He was probably the best dog ever.  He always had a smile on his face.  Buddy was our constant companion going everywhere with us.  He was about twelve years old when he woke me up very late one night bumping into the cabinets in the bathroom acting disoriented.  His abdomen was huge and rock hard and he was panting heavily.  I thought that he needed to go outside to go pee or maybe he had to poop badly.  I had no idea what was wrong with him.  I took him out and watched as he stumbled outside.  He collapsed in the yard so I rushed back inside and woke up Mitch to help me get him in the house.

Mitch carried him in and laid him on the kitchen floor.  AJ laid down beside him, I sat on the floor by Buddy’s head asking Mitch what was wrong mentally imploring him to fix it, make it better for Buddy.  Neither one of us had ever heard of abdominal torsion.  We sat on the floor helpless watching him take his last breath.

As Buddy took his last breath, AJ laid his head on Buddy’s neck.  I believe AJ was trying to comfort Buddy.  I looked at Buddy but it didn’t dawn on me yet that he was gone.  I asked Mitch what happened, to fix Buddy.   Make it better.  Make him well.  As an adult, I knew Buddy was dead, but the little girl in me, wanted a higher power to fix everything, to right the universe, turn back time.  It wasn’t possible and I sat on the floor sobbing over Buddy, the best friend I’d ever had and beloved family member.

Family and friends all tried to comfort us, say something magical that would make us feel better.  It did and it didn’t.  Knowing that Buddy had touched so many hearts and we had so many friends helped, but the loss of him hurt so much.  It was a physical pain, in the chest, and behind the eyes, trying fruitlessly to hold back tears.  Trying to be a grownup, knowing it was just a dog and dogs die, but a dog isn’t just a dog, he was part of our family and it hurt as much as if he were a person.

I tried to comfort my son, saying all the things people say when you lose a family member.  Saying all the wrong things, realizing as I was saying them, it wasn’t enough and couldn’t find the magical words that would make him feel better.  But there is no magical word out there.  Loving and loss are the yin and yang of life and both are needed in our lives.  It’s what makes us compassionate and whole.

Buddy died in 2005 and I still miss him terribly.  I will laugh out loud as I remember some of his antics and shed a few tears occasionally, but that’s all part of loving and I am so glad that I have that ability.  I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Buddy -  1994 ? - 2005