Tag: satire

I Need a Little Cheese with this Whine

I am becoming a non functioning adult.  This year I am so unprepared for Christmas.  In years past, I always had the Christmas cards mailed by the tenth of December, I haven’t even bought any yet and it’s the twelfth!  I made clear lists and knew exactly what to get everyone.  Not this year, I have no ideas and there is no inspiration in sight.  I used to love the hustle and bustle of shopping, getting out there and finding that special gift for each one.  Now the crowds are claustrophobic and my patience is short.  After standing in the checkout line for over forty-five minutes at Cabelas Saturday, (the first stop) on our annual shopping trek, my enthusiasm started waning and after the half hour wait in line at Nebraska Furniture Mart, I was ready to call it a day.  And we hadn’t started shopping for everyone else. 

I was excited for Christmas back in October, now not so much.  I need more time, more ideas and the energy to execute.  Is this stress or lack of interest?  I’m suffering from input overload.  I need a spa day, but don’t see that happening anytime soon, I don’t have the time.

I am an Evil Person

I’ve been slowly and methodically corrupting Mitch, bringing him to the dark side without his knowledge.  It is so much fun.  To know Mitch is to know what an old soul he is.  I think he was born old.  He has never done some of the truly inane antics everyone has done growing up.  I am constantly shocked at the lack of silly things he hasn’t done.  Every teenager has at one time or another has cut donuts in a parking lot.  Not Mitch.  Mitch was into “entrepreneurial” endeavors growing up.  He had no time for crazy immature behavior.

So now I have to help him make up for all that lost time, even if I have to drag him kicking and screaming into having silly fun.  I can’t go into all of the things he never did, the list would be too long.  But I’m going to help him cross them all off the list, one silly act at a time. 

Last night for dessert, we had leftover pumpkin pie (who doesn’t).  I got the Reddi-Wip aerosol whipped cream out of the fridge to put on his slice and the dogs got very close.  They know what comes out of the can.  AJ has taught Orso that if he sits in front of me with his mouth open, I’ll squirt some in.  It is hilarious to watch whip cream flying through the air and landing in and around the dog’s mouth.  Charlie wants it too but won’t let you get close to him with the can.  He wants the Reddi-Wip squirted on your hand and he’ll lick it off.  Sissy.  Well I asked Mitch if he wanted some squirted in his mouth and he said. “Absolutely not!”  He’d never done that as a kid and wasn’t about to start now.  Really!  I laughed so hard.  Everybody has squirted Reddi-Wip into their mouths.  It was almost a rule, once you opened the can, some had to be squirted in your mouth.  Everybody knows that.

Well needless to say, I harassed him long enough and with the right amount of wine already consumed, he relented and let me squirt some into his mouth.  The look was priceless.  I still laugh when I remember the look on his face.  I asked if he wanted more and sadly, he declined.  Oh well, one down many more to go.

Poor Mitch.

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.

Stinky Dog

What is the attraction to dogs with dead disgusting thoroughly gross smelling animal carcasses?  And it’s not only animal carcasses, it’s animal poop, urine or the likes that dogs love.  Charlie especially.  The more wretched the better.  I’ve lost track of the number of times Charlie would be off exploring on our walks, then come racing back to me with a proud expression of excitement on him, as if he’d won the lottery.  He would smell so bad I would barely be able to get close enough to put the lease on him and take him home for a bath in the basement garage.  Because no dog will come into my house smelling like that. 

This hunting trip was no different.  Monday, last day of the trip, Mitch and I were working a small stand of tall prairie grass, about the width of a football field and the double the length.  Perfect for four hunters, but also manageable for two.  We’d made the trip from one end to the other without any success and decided to walk back through one more time, just to give it a complete sweep.  I was in the middle of the field and Mitch was close to the south edge, when I heard Mitch hollering at Charlie, “No Charlie, get up.  Quit!”

I asked him what was up and Mitch told me that Charlie had found a deer carcass and did the stop, drop and roll.  He came up thoroughly pleased with himself.  Charlie came running over to me for a whiff.  Lucky me.  Both Mitch and I said simultaneously, “You’re getting a bath today, Buster!”

Feeling sorry for the dead deer and sorrier for me, because I was the giver of bathes, I restarted working the field.  We hadn’t made it twenty feet when Charlie came upon more remains of another dead deer.  Thinking he’d hit the jackpot, Charlie dive bombed head first into the disgusting pile of bones, fur and flesh.  I yelled at him to stop, but he was in stinky dog nirvana.  I finally had to use his shock collar to get him to stop.  Charlie was so proud of himself, he strutted up to Orso with his head high, as if to say I am the king of stink!  Smell me I smell absolutely wonderful. 

What a stinker, literally.

Learning Something New

This year on the annual “Great Pheasant Hunt” the weather was more cooperative.  Saturday was sunny and chilly around 38 degrees to start the day.  Too windy, with sustained winds around 20 miles an hour, but it was dry, no rain or snow.  Not too bad all things considered.  AJ and Charlie were beside themselves with energy and excitement for the upcoming event.  Orso was just along for the ride, as usual.  No interest in hunting, just happy to be with us. 

Even though we’ve been pheasant hunting for decades, Mitch for almost five decades and me for twelve years, every year we either learn something new or a better way to prepare for hunting.  Because we don’t get the opportunity to go hunting as often as we would like nor do we work the dogs as much as they need to stay at the top of their game, the first day has always been very chaotic.  The dogs have so much pent up excitement at finally being able to do the one thing they were bred for, hunt birds.

Fifteen minutes into our first morning, we always tell each other that next year we need to come up a day earlier than everyone else to wear the dogs out a bit and never do.  This year was no different, but now we’ve added a twist, next year we plan on getting set up about an hour before the others and work the dogs away from where we plan on hunting, so as not to chase off any pheasant that may be loitering in the area.  We definitely don’t need any more handicaps. 

This brilliant idea came to me watching the dogs the second morning totally out of control running through six foot plus tall dense prairie grass, losing sight of them almost immediately.  I stomped down the hill and up to Mitch, poor unsuspecting soul, and said, “I have a thought.  This area is too hard to manage the dogs with all of this energy.  We need to slow them down.  I think that we should take them across the draw to the open hilly field and run them to burn off some of their exuberance.  What do you think?”

Mitch was experiencing as much frustration as I was and quickly agreed.  We both knew that there were birds laying low in dense grasses and didn’t want the dogs to scatter them.  So we called everyone out of the prairie grass, called the dogs and regrouped.  As expected one was missing.  AJ was nowhere to be found.  I told Mitch to hold on to both Charlie and Orso while I tromped off to find AJ.  Orso, thinking he was going to miss something immediately started wailing so I told Mitch to let him come with me.  I found AJ heading back to the cars having lost us.  After getting all of us together, Mitch explained our plan and off we headed across the electric fence that we always forget to unplug until one of us remembers the hard way.  Everyone else that hasn’t touched the fence yet laughs at the victim, really glad it wasn’t them. 

Even though it was only 40 degrees, the dogs found the pond at the bottom of the dam a refreshing swim.  Brrr.  Hydrated and renewed, the dogs bolted off up the open ground.  We started yelling, “Whoa!” as soon either Charlie or AJ got too far ahead of us.  The plan was to keep both of them working close to us.  Orso wasn’t a problem never straying too far ahead, as I constantly clomped him in the jaw with my heel.  He prefers to let me clear a path, less effort on his part. 

After walking and working the dogs from one end of Todd’s land to other, we succeeded in taking some of the out of control excitement out of them.  We decided it was time to head back to the tall prairie grass and give it a thorough sniffing.  The dogs worked wonderfully and rewarded us with two more birds.

Who says you can’t teach old dogs new tricks?

Who Takes a Cell Phone Hunting?

First morning of the annual “Great Pheasant Hunt” was a crisp sunny morning about 38 degrees with 20 mile an hour sustained winds out of the south.  This made it a challenge for the dogs trying to catch a promising scent.  The windy conditions made it a challenge for us too.  The dogs quickly disappear in the six foot plus tall prairie grasses.  So we have to stop, watch for movement of the grass and listen for the sounds of someone or something moving in the dense grasses.  This is to determine where my fellow hunters or the dogs are, which direction they are moving and which way I will go. 

We hadn’t walked fifty feet when a pheasant bolted for the sky catching us all off guard.  We watched its’ flight and marked where it landed, so we would get a second shot (literally) at the bird.  Moving on, we headed in the direction of where the pheasant landed, the dogs were almost out of control with pent up excitement and finally getting to do what they’ve waited a year to do.  Within twenty feet of where we had marked the bird’s landing spot, AJ was dead on the bird.  It took two shots, one from me and one from Mitch to take him down.  First morning jitters, I hoped.

 We started up the hill spread out to cut off any retreat of a wayward bird and to not shoot each other, intent on anything that flies, and ready to shoot at the first sound not belonging to one of the dogs when there was a melodious sound of a CELL PHONE RINGING!!!  Who brings a cell phone hunting?  I understand the safety factor of having a cell phone with us in case of an emergency, just like carrying identification so they can identify the body.  Not only did he answer the call, but went on to have a lengthy conversation with the caller.  The temptation to shoot the offending party was great but I refrained. Willpower…does a body good.

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.

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.

A Bored Dog Wears Me Out!

Dogs do all kinds of things when they’re bored.  They can be terribly destructive, chew on furniture, shoes and tear up stuff.  Dogs will start snooping around, checking out something that smells interesting then go after it with a vengeance.  Where some people eat when bored, Orso drinks when he’s bored.  He finds the one pastime that he really likes.  Orso drinks water.  Not just come into the kitchen and drink water when he’s thirsty. Oh no.  Orso will stand and lap at the water in one of the water buckets in the kitchen, not really drinking, but sort of flicking his tongue into the water, just killing time waiting for something to fall off of the countertop.  He tries to be so nonchalant about it.  If we’re not paying attention to him, he will stand there for five or ten minutes playing in the water.  The next thing we notice is that he has drained the bucket.  That dog has drunk a gallon of water just being bored killing time. 

It doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world, drinking too much water.  It’s not fattening, calorie free and keeps your skin hydrated, all silky and smooth.  Sounds great, until 12:45 in the middle of the night, when a giant dog head starts banging the side of the bed to wake you up because his bladder is about to explode.  Whenever any of the dogs gets up in the middle of the night, they only come to my side of the bed.  Mitch always gets to stay in Z land mainly because someone could drive a car through the house and he’d sleep through it.  Not me, I’m a light sleeper so whenever anything stirs I’m awake.  Raising two boys and staying one step ahead them creates light sleepers and it just stuck, even after they grew up, moved out and started their own families.

So at 12:43 to be exact, Orso started banging his head on my side of the bed.  I turned on the light and tried to coax him onto the foot of the bed and go back to sleep, but he was having none of that.  He had to go out RIGHT NOW!  I dragged myself out of bed and of course the other two got up also, because when mom gets up, we all get up.  Mitch can get up go to the bathroom or wander around the house, nobody else stirs, lucky me. I took them outside and Orso stood out there and peed in one spot for 8 minutes, I know because I timed him. 

Now we have something new to watch out for, because I do not like getting up in the middle of the night for anything or anybody, especially not a dog.

They’re Just Like Kids

I had to do the “hidden objects in the mouth” check again this morning after our walk.  This year has produced a bumper crop of large acorns.  These giant acorns are the ones with the fuzzy caps still attached when they drop off the trees.  It sounds like a hail storm when the acorns start falling down.  As big as they are, the acorns gain velocity the farther they have to drop before hitting an unsuspecting object below.  I had a car that looked like it had been through a really bad hail storm after being pummeled from falling acorns.  Anyway I digress.

All of the dogs love these large acorns and will stop dead in their tracks on our walks to crack and eat them.  Orso only likes the fuzzy cap, (go figure) and after chewing off the cap will drop the acorn to the ground, which Charlie or AJ will then snatch up and crack with their jaws, eat the nut meat and spit out the shells.  On our morning walks, I don’t have the luxury of standing around shelling acorns for the dogs.  Mornings I’m on a schedule and acorn shelling is not on it.  As the dogs try to stop and eat acorns, I have to yank on the leash or leashes of the offending dogs to drag them along.  I constantly remind them that this walk is not a brunch walk, but a business walk and they need to get to it, just like kids. 

So now all of them are getting cagey.  They will walk along, dip their heads down and snatch up acorns without missing a step.  Yesterday, I noticed that Charlie was walking rather sedately, staying close to me and not wandering around sniffing and peeing on everything.  He would turn his head to glance up at me then turn back quickly so I couldn’t really see his mouth.  I stopped and bent down to get a closer look, and sure enough there was a large acorn hanging out of his mouth.  I let him take it home but made him spit it out before going inside; I wanted to avoid the truly unpleasant sensation of stepping barefoot on broken acorn shells left as a mine field on the dark brown rug.

This morning, both Charlie and Orso had hidden acorns in their mouths to savor later this morning after I left for work.  As I did the “Drop it!” command, I heard multiple acorns hitting the steps.  Charlie being the smaller of the two only had hidden one, but Orso, having the jowls of a Mastiff, had squirreled away FOUR in his mouth. 

Dogs are so much like children, and I had thought that now I could relax and enjoy life with both sons grown, married and with children of their own.  But no, now I have to revert to my parenting days when I raised my sons and had to stay three steps ahead of each of them, just to maintain my sanity.