Dog spelled backward

I woke up yesterday morning with an extra person in my bed - my daughter. She's twelve now, and hasn't climbed into my bed in years, so I asked her what was going on. She explained that she had thrown up in her bed a few hours before. (*She also told me that afterward, she slept the rest of the night in her bathtub.)

The night before, we had a strange bit of behavior from "her" dog, Biscuit.

For background, our dogs stay downstairs in our house. We used to have a baby gate on the stairs to keep them from venturing upstairs (because they had occasional accidents up there), but have removed the gate and they stay down.

**For more background, Biscuit, now seven, is a sensitive dog, especially to weather. She gets very nervous when it rains, and generally hides in my closet during storms or even hard rain. Sometimes, however, she sneaks upstairs and hides under my son's bed during bad weather.

So, Sunday night, Biscuit kept going upstairs. Instead of hiding, however, she kept going upstairs, then halfway down the stairs, then back up, then down, and so on. She finally laid down in my daughter's room, still agitated.

My daughter has a day bed with a trundle, and she uses the trundle as an auxiliary night table, piling books, purse, and other items on it.

When I went upstairs to check out the situation, and to tuck in the kids, the girl and I decided that Biscuit was up there to stay, so we removed the books and other items from the trundle so that Biscuit could sleep there.

The dog stayed up there a few minutes, then came downstairs.

A few hours later, my daughter had thrown up all over both beds. As she correctly noted later in the day, if Biscuit hadn't been acting so strange, she would have thrown up on her homework, her school books, her beloved Harry Potter books, her purse, and more.

She concluded that it was a great stroke of luck. I, however, remembered that dog spelled backward is God. And I thanked Biscuit for taking such good care of her girl.


*Yes, in her amazingly rational adolescent, fever-addled brain, my daughter figured that, even with an extra bed upstairs and a perfectly comfortable sofa downstairs, the best place for her to sleep was the bathtub. Because it was near a toilet. She went to the spare bedroom and got pillows and bedding and removed all the shampoo, soap, and other containers from the tub, and made a little bed there. The best I can figure is that she was running a high fever and was completely out of it. Because that's one of the most bizarre things she's ever done.

**We got a surprise snow event later that night, waking up to 3+ inches of snow that were not predicted, but I don't think this was why Biscuit was so agitated.

Doggone weeds!

That adorable dog you see above this post came to us with a hidden talent. I don't know if he was trained to do this or not, but he's an uncanny gardener's assistant. I awoke early today and discovered that it was cooler than usual, so I decided to spend some quality time outside, first watering and weeding in our Uptown Community Garden (and only was divebombed twice by the aggressive birds), then weeding my fallow garden.

Despite every dog training authority's advice, I let our dachshund, Klaus, join me in the garden. He's an energetic guy, and he loves to be in the sunshine. I'd also seen his gardening streak once or twice before, so I thought he might be helpful.

Understatement of the year. We had an old cabbage plant that was well past its prime, so I was breaking it down and deciding whether to remove the roots or let it regrow. Klaus found the thick stem I was working on and set about destroying it, systematically, then chewing up the six-inch stem and spitting it out. Compost, anyone?

He's most effective, however, in clearing sections of the garden. If I start pulling out grass or clover, he essentially pushes me out of the way and gets to work. He digs and digs, and, as he finds roots or vines, pulls those with his teeth. It's really remarkable to watch, because he's very focused on the task and does not generalize it to digging the entire yard.

Poor guy, though, he got plenty of dust in his nose, and now he's sitting next to me, sneezing. And falling asleep. Gardening is hard work, after all.

Absurd

Bullet points to illustrate why being a mom is so much fun:

• When discussing my daughter's reading choices, I pretended to throw up in her mouth.
• On the way home from the grocery store, said daughter and I fantasized about awesome pet names. Since our current dogs are named Biscuit and Gravy, we decided their successors should be named Mr. Waffles and Beignet. But the true winner of awesome dog names is what she (at age 6) originally intended to name Biscuit: PUPCAKE! (The name was vetoed by my very heterosexual husband.)
• Being on instant message with the same daughter, discussing how the satellite wasn't working because it's raining. A transcript follows....

She: the satellite is out
me: Is raining
She: yes
is
me: right
sometimes the satellite doesn't likey the rain
She: ha ha
me: so yeah, that
She: Why are we chatting on gmail when we are in the same house?
me: good question
She: WE ARE LAZY BUMS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
crap i dont wanna be a lazy bum
me: then come downstairs, silly
I'm a wet lazy bum
She: ha ha did u just walk the dogs?

So apparently, we're lazy, I'm wet, and that's funny.

Sorry

I know! Dozens of people depend on my words to get them through the day. And I'm failing them.

But I have a good excuse. Honest! I'm sick as a dog (well, sicker than my dogs...they're not sick at all) and still don't feel like myself. I'm leaving Dr. Google alone because he'll tell me that I have Lyme Disease or M.S. and really I think it's just a virus. But if I'm not better by tomorrow I'll go to the doctor, just to hear her tell me that it's just a virus and all I can do is wait it out and rest.

This has thrown me off my 5K training. And blogging. And reading email. And a lot of other things. But I've watched a lot of "How Clean Is Your House?" and "The Dog Whisperer" and this other show, which might be my new favorite show ever, "You Are What You Eat." TLC - you're on notice. I'm going back to school to become a dietitian. When I'm done, I'm expecting a fat contract to do the American version of this show. Because I'm perfect for the job.

I promise that I'll post more this week. But I cannot guarantee the quality of said posts. And still, no laptop. Ten days and counting.

The kitteh is verah verah cute

I don't have mad photoshop skillz, so not much chance of any lolcats, but here is a smattering of cute kitty and kiddy photos. Because all of the above are, indeed, quite cute.

Introducing Roxi.

New addition

We got a kitteh we got a kitteh we got a kitteh!

Susie was spending all her time here and was becoming a zombie, so I figured procuring a live kitten might be a better idea. And my friend Julie had some sitting around her house (well, running more than sitting, but sometimes sitting). So we brought one of them home. The dogs sniffed and sniffed and she hissed and hissed and then totally got over it and rubbed all over the dogs. Then she hid. And I haven't seen her since 10:00 last night. Which is why I don't have a picture. She is apparently very shy.

Welcome to the family, Roxy. I hope you come out and play with us soon.

If my life took a wrong turn...

I could easily end up here.

Thank goodness my husband found this clip to forewarn me.

Miscellany

Without anything deserving of a paragraph, here's a collection of bullet points. Because you know you like them.

• My daughter now needs daily showers.
• My dog needs to act her age (she's five and acts like a puppy).
• I'm not excited about all the touch-up painting that needs to be done at the house.
• I met a local blogger yesterday which was cool. There might be more on that later, as the story unfolds. At this point, it was just coffee and conversation. A little like a blind date, except less pressure and you already know a lot about each other (unless our blogs are both big fat lies, which could be interesting, too....).
• I hate the pedometer. With a passion. Because I can't get to that 10,000 step per day mark, even when I work out for an hour on the treadmill. And walk to work. And walk a lot at work. No wonder our nation is obese, if I can't get the recommended amount of exercise when I go out of my way to try. I'm never using that stupid pedometer again.
• There's something really cute about a kid getting out of bed because they just realized that they forgot to do some homework. It's even cuter when they keep thanking the parent who helps them. And cuter still when the child demonstrates her mad index and glossary-using skillz.
• Have I mentioned my kids' afterschool activities? Alex is taking guitar (second year for him) and hip hop dance. Susie is taking piano (third year) and cello (first year).

I love my life so much, even when I bitch about it.

Just to let you know

I'm around, but not really on the internet this week. Still working on that post from last week...it'll probably take another week to be finished.

Really, nothing to report except my poor little dog Gravy had a very difficult time, um, "going" today, and let's just say that the reason required a bath. So he's now very clean and lovely, but I'm definitely going to have nightmares tonight.

It's a dog's life

Finally. Someone in my family manages to score a first place win. You may recall that my family (and by "my family" I mean "me") has been plagued by second-place (i.e., first loser) finishes lately.

Saturday ended the trend.

Because my dog, my sweet little Gravy, won his division in the neighborhood dog show.



We won't discuss how the judges are friends of mine. Nor will we discuss how they suggested I enter him in the "medium" category instead of "small" because there was no competition in that category. Because those things might be facts. That we're not talking about.

We will, however, discuss that, while he won his category (medium) (did I mention that he weighs about 16 pounds and is 9 inches tall?) (or that he's a pomeranian/papillion mix) (which probably means he's small, not medium) (oh, and he's deaf and half his face is paralyzed, too), he did not win "best in show".

Because a chicken won that. Literally.

And we live in Downtown Memphis.

'Nuff said.

About last night

Since we already know that it's a busy week, not only for me, but for my family, last night was a much-anticipated oasis of "nothing to do." And, unlike my twenty-three-year-old self, I felt no need at all to find something to do.

I arrived home from work to be greeted by my kids. "Mom, when you were pregnant with Alex, you were huge!" (Duh. I was there. YOU carry a 10 pound baby on a size 4 body and tell me there's a way to not be huge. But I digress.) They were watching old home videos: Kids: The Early Years. I got completely sucked in for at least half an hour, as my poor dogs crossed their legs and stared at me. Y'all, my kids were so cute when they were small. And sweet. All the videos of those years were filmed by one of my parents (it was their camera), and one of the scenes I really enjoyed watching was an almost-three-year-old Susie stroking my dad's cheek, then hugging his neck, then pressing her cheek to his. Repeatedly. She's always been a physically affectionate child, but I don't remember seeing that moment before. Then she looks him in the eye and tells him, "I love you, Grandpa." So I was all melty before 5:30 p.m.

I finally tore myself away from the televised trip down memory lane, changed into comfy clothes, and walked the dogs (with Susie). We looked at the gathering clouds and made our rain predictions (our new "thing" we do....she's pretty good for a fourth grader). Her prediction: yes, it will rain, and it will start about the time dinner is ready. Once the dogs were walked, she wanted to check for ripe strawberries in the vegetable garden (none). We noticed that last year's lettuce had seeded itself and we had enough baby lettuce for a salad. She selected some pineapple basil and regular basil and oregano to add to it. And then she helped make dinner.

Those quiet, routine things are the ones I hope stay with her when she grows up. Working side-by-side in the kitchen, talking about everything and nothing, laughing, singing. She sang some of the songs she'll be performing tonight in the school music program. I sang some parts of the Gilbert & Sullivan concert. We made vegetable pot pie and macaroni and cheese for the next day's dinner. Basic, nourishing stuff. Nothing difficult or fancy, but made by us, not from a box. That's the kind of life I've tried to give my family.

The last time my parents came to visit, my mom and I were making a similar meal together. We had leftover chicken from the night before, so we made a chicken pot pie and a vegetable pot pie. And even though we had enjoyed a busy, fun weekend together, that hour or so we spent in the kitchen, listening to NPR and hearing about that stupid Don Imus story (and then discussing it, sharing a laugh at the thought of what would have happened if my daughter had been on that team....something about my boot being so far up his a$$ that it would come out his mouth...), that was the part of the weekend that stands out as the best part. That was the memory I'll keep for years.

Maybe last night won't endure in Susie's memory. Maybe it will blend in with other, similar nights. But maybe the thundershower will punctuate that night as special. Because, as before, she predicted the rain almost to the minute. That's my girl.

My other children

Last night I was with some friends, all of whom do not have children (yet), and the night before that I was with some other friends, one of whose children are grown and out of the house. The conversation moved to pets, and the change of lifestyle and status the pets enjoy after kids.

Before kids, we had pets. I had a passel of cats and a beloved dog. None of these pets are alive now, but they remain quite fixed in my memory. So here's a story of each of my first babies. None of them ever moved to the new house, so all these memories are from our first house.

Rocky: was our childhood dog. Didn't last long - we moved cross country and didn't take him with us. He was cute and small but lived outside so wasn't cuddly and sweet. So he doesn't really count.

Scooter: my first cat, purchased from a pet store in 1989, before my sophomore year of college. Why did I pick her? Because she came right up to me and bit my finger. She set the bar VERY high, and no other cat has come even remotely close to her awesomeness. Smart, gorgeous, and had attitude for miles. If she were human, she wouldn't be my friend, because she was way the hell too cool for that. But she was very sweet to me (and later, to my kids) when I was sick.

From Pets

In fact, every time I got sick (or later, one of my kids got sick) she would lay on my chest and cuddle. And for the first two-thirds of her life, that was all the cuddling you'd get from her. She mellowed and became more affectionate with age, but she also lost some of her bladder control and, as a result, spent more time outside. Sadly, the dogs next door were unruly and undisciplined and wild and big and thought cats were tasty. They got her and did some damage. Fortunately the neighbors knew they were culpable and took her to the animal emergency center, paid for her treatment, and brought her home. She was 15 when that happened. She never was quite the same, and she very quietly passed away early in the morning on Pearl Harbor Day 2004. I miss her very much but am so relieved that she died quietly and on her own. My husband called me to tell me she had died, and waited until I came home before he buried her in the back yard.

Warhol:

From Pets

My second cat. He was big, dumb, and possessive. I likened him to the feline version of a luggy guy who occasionally would beat up his girlfriend because she looked at someone else. He was also gorgeous and very verbal and had the prettiest eyes and was so muscly. And he loved me with a love so great and deep and intense that when our baby boy came home from the hospital, he totally lost his $hit and tried to hurt the baby and I kicked him out and he got hit by a car a few months later and I wasn't sad a bit about it because? If you try to hurt my kid you are dead to me.

Frida:

From Pets

Oh my gosh she was darling. The cutest fuzziest kitten. Who adored Warhol and me and Rich and everyone else. We called her "lap slut" because it didn't matter who you were, if you came to my house and sat down, she was going to sit on your lap. Love, love, love. She was the best cat and never broke anything or marked anything. And she started sneaking out of the house through the basement vent and early one morning (Bastille Day) my neighbor called me because she was in her driveway and broken. I guess she had been hit by a car and her back was broken. She was conscious still and we gave her some emetrol with tuna fish and I cuddled her until we could take her to the vet and he put her to sleep and I cried all day. My husband buried her in the back yard. She was 11.

Quentin.

From Pets

Oh my darling darling Quentin. My first "real" dog. I adopted him from the Humane Society on first sight. I wanted a dog who would be gentle with my cats, and I also had visions of saving a dog from death row. Turns out the Humane Society was a "no kill" shelter, but this one was, in fact, likely to be put to sleep. Because he was blind. Not old and blind. Puppy and blind. Well, I don't know if it was his scruffy good looks (golden retriever and chow mix) or his adorable vacant stare (blind) or his really sweet personality, but I was smitten. Oh yes. But he wasn't ready for adoption yet (needed to be neutered), so I visited him every weekend. And then he went to the vet for his surgery and they realized he had DISTEMPER. But they had saved a couple of dogs from distemper before, so they treated him. And I visited him, like, every day. Because I was so in love. And he was okay and got fixed and came home with me and happily ever after, except occasional seizures (from the distemper). I threw a party for him and even made a "cake" out of canned dog food (gross). And the next year we had a party on the anniversary of his adoption day (which was an awesome party).

He walked and walked and walked with me, with me and my neighbor, with me and my husband. He was there when I was in labor the first time, walking the neighborhood at 10 p.m. when we were trying to figure out if it was time to go to the hostpital. And when we brought her home from the hospital, he sniffed her gently, but thoroughly, then gave her a lick on the head, and that was that.

Susie learned to crawl chasing him around. She pulled up on him, grabbing handfuls of golden fuzzy fur to balance herself. And somehow, in her first year, she figured out that he was different (blind) and that she could totally play tricks on him. He was so patient with my toddlers. So sweet. And then, when he was about 10, he started getting lost in the house. More and more. And he got cranky. And we knew that we couldn't move him to a two-story house with no fenced backyard and he was old and tired and we put him to sleep the day we moved out of the old house, when he was about 12. And many tears were shed and I still wonder if I did the wrong thing.

Our current "crew" of pets are all about the same age, but also have different stories.

Buffy, the cat, arrived the Christmas after Frida died. She was a replacement cat. I wanted a blonde tabby. That's what she is. Not a lot in the personality department, but she is very snuggly and she adores Susie and mostly sleeps with her. She's also astonishingly fat and frequently knocks down the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs when she's trying to go upstairs.

From New Year's Day

Biscuit, the dog, was Susie's sixth birthday present. She's a golden retriever mix, and she's very naughty. Still much puppy remains in her. She will run away at every opportunity, which has caused us numerous embarrassing moments (or hours) of trying to apprehend her. She also barks and lunges at strangers, which is sometimes great and sometimes embarrassing. She's awesome with children and sometimes tries to be a lap dog. I love her.

Gravy, the other dog, was The Boy's sixth birthday present, but we waited until we were in the new house before we picked him up.

From New Year's Day

He's older, about seven, and deaf. And small. Papillion and pomeranian mix. He's adorable but a bit clingy (probably because of the deafness) and he has some other issues too. Whose dog is he really, though? Mine. His day doesn't start until I am there. The kids have reported that he does not move from his sleeping spot the entire time I'm gone to work. And if I go upstairs he stands at the bottom of the stairs and makes this horrible wailing sound which I doubt he'd make if he could hear it, because, ouch! He totally crowds me in the bed and I love him anyway.

So those are the pets. I'm not counting the various kittens we've fostered because they don't count as pets. They were temps.