I Expected Nothing Less

Yesterday was a very busy full day. There was the normal Saturday grocery store excursion and walking in the dogs, plus it was also my birthday, so I had a few extra planned outings. A friend and I got manicures and lunch, margaritas included, then a birthday party for my three year old granddaughter and dinner out afterward. A very full fun day, except for one little thing, Orso.

All day long Orso was just lying around doing his usual dog thing, eating, sleeping and more eating. Orso was lulling us into that false sense of security where we believed that when we left giving each a rawhide chew, both would be happy and content until we came home. Not! We weren’t even gone that long, only four hours. Of course it was all my fault.

As we pulled back into the driveway, the dogs were at one of the windows barking away, glad to see us. I walked into the house to let the dogs out while Mitch put the car in the garage. The first thing that greeted me was the can of lunch size soup on the dining room floor. Unopened, but it had definite teeth marks in the plastic lid. I continued on into the kitchen and saw some large white flecks on the floor. Closer inspection revealed they were crushed eggshells I was saving for the garden. Must not have been too tasty. The bag on the counter that held the ten cans of soup I planned on taking to work was missing two cans and I had only found one so far. I turned and noticed that the butter I left on the counter height kitchen table was missing in action also.

The reason we bought the counter height table was to keep the dogs from reaching the table top and liberating any contents residing on said table. Evidently we were wrong again! Now I was on a hunt for one more can of soup and a butter container. I found the soup can in the living room with lots of teeth marks. Orso must have really wanted to try the chicken noodle soup. There were indentations in the metal lid but didn’t quite get through it, lucky me. Found the can of soup now in search of a half full container of butter. I found the empty container of butter and its lid lying inches away on the bolster bed. Orso carried it in to enjoy in a more comfortable setting. The container had multiple teeth marks punched through the plastic and the inside had been licked so clean there was nothing to wash out for the recycle bin.

A half pound of butter, mind you not margarine, oh no, it was real dairy butter that he consumed in a matter of minutes, meaning he’ll probably be very poopy for a few days. Some dogs might get sick after consuming a half pound of butter, but not Orso, he’ll breeze right through this and go on like nothing had happened. Because Orso is a lab, I am not worried a bit. Labs are built different, land sharks that eat anything that doesn’t eat them first and nothing seems to bother them. I know this from experience, first with Buddy our yellow lab, then with AJ our black lab, whole consumed thirty chocolate candy bars and the wrappers at one sitting and never even burped.

Why am I blaming it all on Orso, because in nine years Charlie has never initiated any counter surfing, no he waits and lets someone else do the dirty work and then enjoys the buffet too. Orso is a lab through and through, his stomach is his number one concern. I think it talks to him all day, “Feed me, feed me”.

What a fitting end to an otherwise great day.

Photo Shoot

Here are some photos from a play day with a new friend, Eddy, and because I’m not feeling very creative.

Eddy and Orso face to face

Orso

Eddy checking out Orso’s pearly whites

Charlie looking happy

Who wants to play stick – come on let’s play stick

Eddy and Orso winding down

Two tired puppies

Photos taken with my Canon Rebel

Wall Check

This afternoon I was doing my weekly wall check for slobber bombs and there were a lot as usual, there were even a couple way up high on the wall. I thought to myself, “what does Orso do, stand on his back legs put his front paws on the wall and sling his head around to whip a slobber bomb as high on the wall as he can?” Is this a game with him that he keeps score with Charlie over, “I can shoot a slobber bomb higher than you?” I sprayed the Fantastic antibacterial cleaner over each dried gross blob and scrubbed them off the wall.

I stood back and surveyed my handiwork and noticed the walls now have clean spots where the slobber bombs were, standing out starkly against the rest of the walls. This means that in order to not have lighter colored spots dotted around the room I need to wash all of the walls and clean off a year’s worth of pipe tobacco smoke, dust and god knows what else. I filled a bucket of water and cleaner, grabbed the step ladder and washed all of the walls in the living room. I stood back to admire my work again, and decided that no amount of soap and water were going to improve the look of the walls.

That means only one thing, time to paint the walls. Since I have to paint the walls, I might as well freshen up the room with a new color, a new look. If I’m going to go with a new color on the walls I need to spend some quality time at Lowes and Home Depot staring at paint chips for hours, searching through the myriad of colors and hues in my quest for the perfect shade. For some this may seem to be a chore, but to me this is one of my most fun things to do. Every time we go to Lowes or Home Depot I wander off to the paint department and load up on scads of paint chips. Even if I have no painting project planned I can stand there for hours, just looking at all of colors, thinking about which room I would paint with the different shades. It makes Mitch crazy, when I come home with an armload of paint chips and paint books. Mitch’s idea of painting a room any color other than white is off white. He’s very adventurous don’t you think?

In order to spare Mitch the agony of living through another painting project, I just won’t tell him. I’ll go to Lowes early when he’s at work, stock up on paint chips and stick them all over the wall in the living room to see which one I like best. Then I’ll head back over and buy my paint and paint the room before he gets off work. It will be a surprise and I can guarantee you it won’t be white.

A Romp in the Snow

Saturday afternoon we took the dogs out on the peninsula to run around and burn off some energy.

Charlie running across the peninsula

Charlie running the other way

Charlie giving a really good impression of a Chupacabra, of course it fits him

Charlie getting down and deep going after a promising scent

I hope nothing is attached to his head when he comes back out

Charlie on point, something smells interesting

Charlie intent on something in the underbrush

Charlie going down the rabbit hole

It got away

Charlie still hunting

Orso hunting for frozen goose poop. Everyone has their priorities.

Photos taken with my Canon Rebel

So Many Choices

Oh what to do, what to do, so many choices. My fun options for the day, finish working on the tax return, clean out the closet or spend some quality time on my elliptical working out. I mean, these are some difficult choices to make. Which sounds like more fun, taxes or closet, closet or working up a sweat, I just can’t decide. How much fun can one person stand on a snowy cold Saturday? Any takers? No? Can’t say that I blame you, I even gave Mitch the choice of taxes or ironing and can you believe it, he would rather spend the afternoon ironing than work on the taxes.

I would make the dogs do the taxes, but they don’t have thumbs so they get out of it by default. They get to have all the fun. They lay around sleeping on our bed storing up energy to be able to eat, run around like lunatics and sleep some more. I shouldn’t complain, I have to do the taxes because we are lucky enough to have jobs to feed us and pay the bills. Sidebar to the jobs, I splurged and bought a Powerball ticket at the store so maybe next year we won’t have jobs. We’ll still have to fill out our tax return, but it will be more fun when I have a few extra zeroes and commas on the end.

And because of the jobs I have a closet full of clothes that I desperately need to clean out. I can also blame the jobs for me buying the elliptical to work out on at the odd hours of the day and night. Come to think of it, it’s all the jobs fault I have to make these choices. If we didn’t have jobs, I wouldn’t have to fill out a tax return (no earnings), clean out a closet (no clothes) or work out on the elliptical (no elliptical). We would starve and freeze to death, but that’s beside the point. I wouldn’t have to make a choice between the above options. I would have other more fun choices to make.

Choices, like which bridge to sleep under, which dumpster to go diving in for dinner, or searching for a job to be able to eat and stay warm. Okay, so I don’t have anything to really complain about, but it’s my Saturday, my day off from the grind, my day off to do something fun. I could be going hiking or shopping, something fun, but no I’m sitting here trying to decide between taxes, cleaning out the closet or working out. I would flip a coin, but then I would have to flip it twice and with my luck the coin would roll into the closet and I would have to clean it out to find out which choice won. I am such a drub.

A Catastrophe Narrowly Averted

The day started off so benignly, I took Mitch to work, walked the dogs, went to see my grandchildren and picked Mitch up from work. Boring stuff. After we got home from picking Mitch up, I started to fix us some lunch. Mitch was in the process of changing out of his work clothes to his grubbies so he could finish installing a step to the passenger side of the pickup truck. It’s a real challenge for me to climb into the truck, since I’m vertically challenged. Yesterday he installed the driver’s side and today it will be the passenger side.

I had set the table and finished making the salad, filling the salad bowls when I heard a weird noise coming from the third bedroom. I turned to look and saw both of the dogs lying on the floor in the dining room not the least bit interested in the noise. Because of their lack of interest I thought that Mitch was looking for something there.

We are in the midst of ripping up the hardwood floor and replacing it with bamboo. Because of the age of the house there has been some settling and the back corner of the room has sunk a few inches. Mitch is tearing out the floor and the subfloor to assess what will need to be done. This has left a small hole in the floor opening up to the basement on the old side of the house. The basement on the old side is made up of shelf rock, limestone, I believe. It’s very primitive and if I had a way down there without going outside first, I would have the perfect place for a wine cellar, cool and dark. Otherwise, it’s just creepy down there.

I called out to Mitch to ask what he was looking for and there was no response, but I could still hear the rustling sound. So I walked to the bedroom stepping over two sleeping dogs and started to walk in the room to ask Mitch again what he was looking for. Imagine my shock and surprise when I walked in on one large panicked squirrel running around in the room jumping up and down on each window looking for a way out. How he got in there I have no idea, but the last thing I wanted was the dogs to wake up and discover him in the bedroom. There would have been mayhem and carnage unimaginable. I’m not sure the house would have survived.

I quickly stepped out of the room and started yelling for Mitch. I had no idea where he was, so I ran to the door and shouted for him out in the garage, luckily he was still in the house and I didn’t have to search for him, leaving the squirrel and the dogs alone together. I told him we have a squirrel in the house, to which he didn’t believe me. I told him where it was and grabbed the dogs to take them to the master bedroom for the squirrel’s safety. Of course the panicked squirrel didn’t stay in the bedroom; no he ran to the kitchen and starting running around under the kitchen table. All I could see in my future was it jumping up on the table destroying dishes and scattering food everywhere. At that point I probably would have just burned the house down.

Mitch stood there watching the squirrel run around with a silly grin on his face. I could see the ten year old boy very close to the surface just when I needed a superhero and not a ten year old boy. Mitch regained control of himself and told me to open the kitchen door, close the bedroom door and hand him a broom. I thought oh please don’t start whacking things. I don’t want squirrel parts everywhere and in the course of killing the squirrel destroying the kitchen. I know most men resort to the caveman inside when an opportunity to be the tough guy comes along and I didn’t want to have to clean up the mess.

Thankfully Mitch just used the broom to point the terrified animal in the direction of the open kitchen door. The squirrel couldn’t get out of the house fast enough; he raced across the yard and fled up a tree. I still am not sure how the dogs missed the sound of the squirrel running around in the bedroom or didn’t catch a whiff of him either. But one thing’s for sure, I am really glad they didn’t.

He’s My Doofus

Question: Know anybody that wants a ninety eight pound drool machine? Answer: No one in their right mind. Don’t get me wrong, I have no intentions of getting rid of Orso or Charlie for that matter. I simply posed the question to examine on my own sanity or lack thereof. The main reason we have dogs is for pheasant hunting. The by-product of that is companionship, unconditional love (from both humans and dogs) and entertainment. So why is it that we own a ninety eight pound chocolate lab that doesn’t particularly like water that would prefer boat rides to swimming and doesn’t care at all for hunting? Oh sure he enjoys being out in the field with us, wandering around behind me so I can break down the brush ahead for him. But the idea of sticking his nose to the ground and searching for a bird is beneath him. That’s Charlie’s job. Orso will rush up and try to play tug of war with Charlie when he finds the downed bird. But the hunting part, that is not his style.

Orso’s main purpose in life is to eat anything and everything he can get in his mouth, sleep on our bed sprawled out to his full five and a half foot length and launch drool missiles on as many walls as possible. He is also the most vocal dog I have ever seen. He barks at me when I pick up my purse and put on my coat to leave because he wants to go too. He barks at me when I come home. He barks at me when I do take him with me, especially when he has to stay in the car. Orso has learned and memorized the routes to the store, the gas station and Mitch’s work and knows the difference in each. When I take Mitch to work in the morning he just sits patiently and barks once to tell Mitch goodbye. He knows when we go to the gas station and waits patiently while I fill the tank, watching all of the other people around. But when I go to the store he howls like a girl as soon as he figures out where we’re going. People turn and stare at the shrill high pitched wailing coming from this huge brown head hanging out of the car window. God forbid if I go someplace he is not familiar with or take a different route, he starts wailing before he even knows where we end up at. Sometimes he is the most annoying dog ever.

Orso is also totally devoted to me. He follows me everywhere. When I sit at the computer he jumps off the comfy bed to lay on the floor next me. Outside he follows me or lies down to watch me mow and when I’m done he runs down to meet me and walk back beside me while I push the mower to the shed. If I can’t go on the walk for some reason and Mitch has to take the dogs by himself, Orso turns his head back over his shoulder to watch for me. Mitch has said on numerous occasions that he spends the major part of the walk tugging on Orso’s leash to get the dog to walk with him

He’s a big a doofus, but he’s my big doofus.

Snow Dogs

What is it about snow that makes a seven year old dog think he is a one year old puppy again? We had about two inches of snow the other night, but the streets had been cleared making it easy to walk the dogs. I took the dogs on a walk and both acted like perfect gentlemen as we left the house and walked down the street. All three of us were on the lookout for deer or other wild animals in the dark. Charlie and Orso, because they want to chase something anything, me, because I don’t walk to get my arms ripped out of their sockets or knocked off my feet and slammed to the pavement left to freeze in the dark. I know, pretty selfish on my part, but I’m the one with the house key.

Everything was nice and peaceful, a great walk all the way to the dam. On the way back I spotted three deer standing in a yard up on the hill, but lucky for me the wind was blowing the other direction so the dogs didn’t pick up their scent. We walked past them, with the dogs oblivious and the deer stood very still waiting for us to get beyond them. Both dogs sniffed and peed on just about everything they could all the way back.

Just as we got back to our driveway, which hadn’t been shoveled yet, Orso decided that he was twelve months old again and spun around in a circle and jumped at Charlie for a full on tag team match, leaving me on the ground with my feet sticking out in front of me. Luckily I went down on my rear end and not on my face or we would have had dog stew for dinner. Orso turned around looking a bit contrite, not too contrite but a little and when he realized I wasn’t dead he turned back to Charlie for a snow romp. I let go of the leash too late to save myself but in time to not get dragged into a chest bumping dog wrestling match.

It took me ten minutes to get them back under control and into the house. It seems Charlie can still act like a puppy too when the mood strikes him.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas from Orso, Charlie and me. Mitch too.

Snow Day

Sunday playing in the snow. We got about 3 inches of snow, not bad and the dogs love it.

Charlie clearly enjoying the snow

A frozen lake

Orso on the hunt for frozen goose poop. So gross.

Charlie always hunting.

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	Broge on A Crime Scene
	Jonathon A Coates on Fast and Deadly Charlie
	Jonathan Caswell on I’ve Learned My Lesson
	Jonathan Caswell on Ripped Off Twice
	Jonathan Caswell on Ripped Off Twice

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