In the late summer of 2014

In the late summer of 2014 I stood in my kitchen making sauce. A cool, yet gentle breeze ruffled my curtains, the husband was watching college football while eating pretzels that were so good he told me to buy them again, Boy #3 planned to cut the grass after playing video games and the dog, she sat regally on the front steps watching over the neighborhood. Not one Jehovah Witness or encyclopedia salesman would get to our front door on her watch, not one. In fact I stopped a moment to watch her watching the cars go by. The leaves had just started to fall from the trees, letting us know that autumn was on it's way. I would have to sweep the steps because the dog seemed to have a little pile of them between her paws. Isn't she cute, I said to myself, she's playing in the leaves.
At that specific time when all was well I squinted at the dog, took a few steps closer to the front door. The birds stopped singing, the wind became still and the blood rushed from my face. This is when pandemonium invaded my almost perfect day.
"Oh no. No. Oh my, holy, Boy #3. Shit, Oh, Oh. Boy #3, Boy #3!"
I waved my hands in the air like a girl. The husband asked with is mouth full of pretzels,
"Is it a spider babe?"
"No. Oh my God. It's a bunny, it's a bunny. Boy #3 do something. It's a bunny. The dog killed a bunny. Oh shit. Boy #3!"
"Seriously?"
"Yes I'm serious. What the hell? It's a dead bunny!"
The husband made no attempt to remove himself from football. But the kind gentle hearted Boy #3 that wants to be a veterinarian sprang into action. That's why in my state of hysteria I called him because I knew who would move and who wouldn't. After 29 years with the husband I knew he would laugh at me and tell me,
"That's what dogs do. They hunt and kill. She probably brought it up the steps for you. Rabbit tastes just like chicken. When I was a kid on my aunt and uncles farm...."
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, don't start talking about the farm right now because I am so earning this nervous breakdown I'm having right now, I having it, right now. Oh damn the windows are open, the neighbors are hearing my 19th nervous breakdown."
While I freaked out man, I kept looking at the dead bunny and Boy #3 trying to bring the dog in, who wanted to bring her kill with her. I thought to myself, well at least I didn't kill this one. See this post here for an explanation of that thought popping into my head.
With the dog in the house, I calmed down long enough to give her her treat for going outside to pee and kill. And then I went back to, as Boy #3 is now referring to it, my little melt down.
"What? How? Wha....."
"Mom." Boy #3 rested his hands on my shoulders and said,
"I'm going to need some bags."
Blank stare. I just stared at him. He suppressed a smile,
"Plastic bags mom, plastic bags."
"Yes, plastic bags. I will get you plastic bags. Several plastic bags."
And then I looked at the front steps,
"Oh my God, it's still there."
"That's why I need plastic bags."
I ran to the drawer of plastic WalMart bags and started to frantically throw them towards the boy,
"You should double bag, NO, quadruple them. What's after quadruple? Sixtuple them."
The husband interupted,
"Now you're making up words, you're going to hurt yourself."
"Shut up, shut up, shut up."
I flung more bags towards my dear, sweet, youngest child and told him,
"Don't touch it. I have to say that because it's in the being a mom rules, but do what you must to get rid of the poor thing. Here's another bag."
After the removal and disposal, oh eff, garbage day was yesterday. It has to stay in a sixtupled bag for a week. After the removal and disposal I poured Pine-Sol straight from the bottle on to the spot, there was......gah, there was some blood there. I dumped buckets and buckets of hot water on the steps and scrubbed with a broom, more hot buckets.
In the late summer of 2014 I stood in my kitchen making sauce. Instead of driving the neighbors crazy with the delicious smell of my spaghetti sauce, the pungent smell of Pine Sol streamed into my front windows. Not one person would be jealous of my cooking today, not one.

Bears don't fit under cars

The past summer our area news stations were reporting bear sightings. I've lived here my whole life and have never, ever seen a bear except at the zoo. I was slightly concerned over this news. I didn't want to be on the television show 'When Animals Attack' and I plan to keep all of my limbs as long as possible. That being said when I heard a growl last night.........it freaked me out man. 
I'm lucky if I get to bed by midnight and one of the last things I do before climbing in bed is let the dog out. I am careful to check for other dogs being walked down the street, the deer and any other wildlife before I attach her to her lead and open the front door.
Here is where 'it isn't my fault' comes into play.
The husband complains that I don't leave her out long enough and when I go to bed and he stays up the dog bothers him to go back out. So last night, against my better judgement, I put her out and went to wash my face. Men, where do I start? Once they are in their recliners with the remote in their hand and their feet propped up they have a very limited reaction time. A dog barking past midnight doesn't phase them. So when the dog started barking I came down the hallway drying my face with a towel, headed for the front door and on my way said,
"See."
"Huh?"
"The dog is going to wake the neighbors."
Fifty percent of the time she goes out she gets herself wrapped around the light post or stuck on the corners of the front steps. I have to take my slippers off and put on boots to get her loose. Then she runs in and hides one of my slippers. But last night mayhem ensued.
I got to the door. Painting you a picture here. One of our cars is usually parked next to the front steps. The dog is stuck on the steps but has enough slack to get her head halfway under the car. She's barking and the hairs on her back are sticking straight up. I hissed her name to get her to shut up and she did. But then I heard a growl coming from under the car. I whimpered. The corner she was stuck on was closest to the car. Jesus, Mary and Joseph I'm going to die or at least loose a hand and get rabies. I'm holding the dog by the collar and trying to maneuver the lead off the corner that was right by the beast under the car while mumbling incoherently to the husband. Something came out like,
"There's a... it's... something is under the car... it's growling... the dog... something is growling... help... the dog is stuck... help... it's growling... under the car... help."
I was 100% sure it wasn't a bear but it was pissed. The husband and I freed the dog and brought her in, she was hopped up on the scent of the beast and ran from the front window to the front door, over and over again. She was protecting her turf. While she continued, the husband laughed at me for being such a girl. I blamed him for the dog being out that late unsupervised and for my wet slippers. I didn't have time to change into boots when I saw her head under the car.
This morning he was still making fun of me and I'm sure Brent already knows about this story but I wanted him to hear my side. And to the rest of my readers my side is enough as I am sure you all agree it's the husbands fault.

She's a smart dog

A couple weeks ago the condominium people behind my house placed two Pet Waste Stations in their little condo sanctuary. The dog and I walk back there most mornings and I took note every time we past them. I told the dog,
"You know I have to blog about these eventually, right?"
There are instructions with pictures as to how to dispose of dog poop. I've seen these Pet Waste Stations before so it isn't just the condo people that are assumed stupid, it's the whole world.
This morning we past the first one and I decided I couldn't pass by the next, I had to take a picture and it was going to be today. Taking pictures of Pet Waste Stations and all the other strange things I see in the world don't phase me anymore. If someone looks at me weird I just tell them
"I'm a blogger."
They look at me with uncertainty and then look away. So I got my phone ready, because it takes me a while to find the right buttons to take a picture, especially when I only have one hand free.

With the phone in camera mode I started to center the Pet Waste Station in the view finder when I noticed the dog. I could not believe what I was seeing and could not believe that I got a picture of it. She was taking the Pet Waste Station seriously. So the picture is a little out of focus because I was laughing, to myself I didn't let her see.
I now have first hand experience with Pet Waste Stations and I can tell you that it's great to have some where to quickly dispose of a bag of poop. I do have one complaint. The bags that are provided are similar to those in the produce section at the grocery store and we all know how hard it is to open them. I'm still going to bring my own bag on our walks.
 

A head clearing, light hearted stroll

First of all somebody tell this dog that our early morning walks are suppose to be head clearing, light hearted strolls. Yesterday she took off after another bunny, whereby yanking my arm almost out of it's socket yet again. This time I wasn't able to hold on and the dog became perplexed. Maybe it was the words coming out of my mouth so early in the morning or she really loves me and would rather stay with me then kill. It's hard to say but she didn't make me chase her through the neighborhood and for that I'm grateful. I do fear though, the next bunny we encounter may be when she finally rips off my arm.
And I thought my neighbors and I had an unspoken early morning, dog walking schedule, apparently not. The 9:30 walker was right in front of my house at my scheduled time of 7:30 and all hell broke loose. The dog has her favorites in the development, like her boyfriend next door. He escapes regularly to visit her and pee on our bushes. I think it's a sign of affection when he hikes his leg up and leaves her something to remember him by.
But he was part of the mayhem outside my door this morning. An unscheduled dog walker with one of my dogs arch rivals, in front of my house and an escapee trying to impress her by boldly jumping up the steps to wiz on my flower pots. She didn't know what to do, caught between emotions and all. On one paw she had to bark to defend her territory, she couldn't show weakness but I could tell she really wanted to take a whiff of those flower pots.
This is all happening and I'm barely awake. We waited on the steps for the unscheduled one to pass by and the barking from both sides ended. Then we herded Romeo back to his yard, secured him inside his fence and continued what we started, a head clearing, light hearted stroll.

When Deer Attack

They don't do that do they? Just the other day my mom asked me if I see any deer out on mine and the dogs morning walks.
"No mom, never see any in the morning. They walk the streets at night but stay in the woods during the day."
And when I say they walk the streets at night, I mean it. If I'm out on a bike ride at dusk Deer Crossing takes on a whole new meaning. Several times I've had to slam on my brakes because deer have decided to run across the road. And they don't look both ways.
You can imagine my surprise when out on our walk this morning I saw a deer. I cursed, really bad words because I know the dog doesn't like the deer. I've been paying attention more during our walks ever since the bunny chasing incident. But I do have my daydreaming to think about, it's an important part of my morning.
Every time I've turned a corner this summer a new threat arises. The kookamonga list is growing and I'm constantly on guard. So again I'll ask, if a dog gets close to a deer and starts barking does the deer run in fear or attack? If I survive a deer attack imagine the blog post I'll get from that.

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The dog's trying to kill me

"The dog's trying to kill me."
These are the first words the husband hears when he wakes up this morning. From me in the shower as he enters the bathroom. Because something as serious as this can be said before coffee. Not much can be said before someone rolls out of bed and hasn't even approached the coffee maker but the dog is trying to kill me. I saw no problem in breaking protocol. He responded,
"Okay."
He knows that I know that he knows I'm going to tell him what happened no matter what he said so he kept it simple. I knew the dog was outside of the bathroom door listening but didn't care. I began to tell him about my morning.
Forty-five minutes before my alarm was set to rouse me from my slumber the dog jumped up on the bed. This woke up me and my bladder. I laid there thinking that maybe I could just fall back to sleep. The dog found a comfortable spot, half of my pillow, and waited for the alarm while I drifted off. Unfortunately someone dared walk past our house, ears perked, low growl, the dog took off to the living room using my stomach as her jumping point. I've never been punched in the stomach before but I kind of have the gist of what it might feel like now. I then had to get up to pee.
I didn't fall back to sleep but I was pissed so I made the dog wait until my radio went off. This is her cue to start the "we're going on a walk" dance. Our walks are a time for me to put my day together, think out loud with the dog as my sounding board. She doesn't listen to me because she has to sniff everything. But at least it looks like I'm talking to someone, not just wandering the neighborhood talking to myself. We have a few different routes we take in the morning and this morning we went off the beaten path, because that's the way we roll, and walked around the tennis court, by the pool and the woods.
I had my walking flip flops on because its June and I won't put a sock on until sometime in September maybe. We rounded the corner and she saw it before I did. A bunny. They must be an easy prey because to really likes to chase them with vengeance. She caught one a few weeks ago and now has the taste for bunny blood coursing through her veins. I, on the other hand, have no desire to chase bunnies.
What started out as a lack of communication ended up with my arm yanked so hard from the leash that my feet flew out from under me. I landed on my left side and was dragged about a foot on the moist, from the early morning dew, grass. I don't know how I managed to keep hold of the leash as the dog continued to yank trying to get into the woods to hunt her some wabbits.
After the initial shock, I regained my senses and stood up. That was a good sign, being able to stand. I got the dog under control and away from the woods. Also a good sign, I could walk. I ruled out the emergency room on our way home. Everything on my left side hurts but I don't think I have a torn rotator cuff or will need Tommy John surgery.
At some point during the retelling of my morning the husband had snuck out of the bathroom and I was in the shower talking to myself. When I walked out he asked,
"So are you okay?"
"No. Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"Sure."
"Okay, just let me go Spray and Wash the grass stains on my jeans and hoodie and I'll be right back."
As the day goes by the left side of me becomes sore and stiff. You just don't fall down like that and bounce back after a certain age. So far the dog and I have been getting along, we are just staying out of each others way. But I am avoiding going near the steps.

Oh yes I did!

Bundling up for a early morning walk in, what was it? Maybe 20 degrees? It is a chore to make sure I'm going to be warm and I don't forget anything. All the while the dog is jumping around like a kangaroo because she knows she's going on a walk.
I went into my office to grab my hoodie and what did I see outside my window? Another dog walker out in the cold. I'm not crazy after all. That is until I saw this dog walker, a woman, bagging up her dogs poop, as well she should, especially when it's my yard. Only my dog is allowed to poop there.
I threw my hoodie on and as my head came out the hoodie hole I saw the unbelievable. The woman bagged the poop and threw in on my lawn. Who does that? Why bother bagging it when you're going to leave it? Bagging it is the worse part. Swinging it around while you walk isn't pleasant but it's odor is contained by then.
I jumped into action,
"Not cool, not cool."
"What?" the husband said as I ran past him and down the stairs to the front door.
I opened the door, the woman and her dog were almost 2 houses away when I yelled,
"Are you going to leave that bag there?"
She jumped a little, turned around and said,
"Oh, I pick it up on my way back."
The hell you say, not buying it, the dog and I readied ourselves for the hunt.
The boys have told me back in the summer when they were cutting the grass that they had found bags of poop in our yard before. I just found the offender and she wasn't getting away with it anymore. HA!
Out the door I let the dog take a whiff and away we went hot on the trail of the poop bagging bitch. I have way too much time on my hands and perhaps I am a little crazy but we found them. They were on the other side of the street, I made my way to the corner partially hidden by some bushes and called the husband,
"She's on her way."
"Babe............"
"Fine I got this." And I made myself seen.
She crossed the street and picked up her plastic bag. Booyah! I scared her. Oh yes I did!

This is where the early morning chaos ensued

This morning was wet, damp and unseasonably warmer than one would think. A day that gave you the impression that it hadn't made up it's mind on what season it wanted to represent. So whatever one decided to wear while walking the dog would probably be wrong.
I really don't get much time to think of what jacket to put on in the morning for our walk because the dog is impatient, she will actually bark at me if I stay in the bathroom too long. We are out the door within 10 minutes after I roll out of bed.
We took a left at the end of the driveway, deciding on the condo route this morning. It's quiet back there and I can bounce ideas off the dog without too many people thinking I've lost it. I have lost it but I like to keep that to myself.
Everybody must have got up early today because I'm pretty sure I said good morning to about sixty-seven people......... okay 5 people. I have not run into the crabby woman lately, but I ran into another older woman who was dressed up and seemed to be waiting for a ride. This is where the early morning chaos ensued.
As we turned the corner and saw the woman waiting for a ride, I let out a cheerful,
"Good Morning."
Up ahead there was a woman in her pajamas, wrapped in a bright red robe and attached to her on a very long leash a big Dalmatian. So while my attention was on the woman waiting for a ride, I was also making a mental note of the big Dalmatian and the red robe lady, so was the dog.
The woman waiting for a ride nodded towards me and the dog and replied,
"Good Morning, that looks like a new dog in the neighborhood."
"Oh no." I said as I was walking by, "We just like to walk back here because it's so quiet."
That right there is funny when you think of it because it was anything but quiet. As I turned my head back to the road the Dalmatian began to lumber towards us dragging the red robe woman behind him. I grabbed my dog by the collar because she doesn't put up with any shhhh...... crap and she protects me. The dogs were face to face growling and barking. And the red robe woman was still trying to catch up with the Dalmatian. Being the smart ass that I am I said,
"Clearly you don't have control of your dog."
"No I don't." She replied. Doh!
Further up the road a man had his truck half in his driveway and half in the street, hindering the progress of the woman waiting for a rides.......... ride. She impatiently laid on her horn because I guess she thought we couldn't see her car barreling towards us. I ran across the street still grasping the dog by the collar, I was quite certain she wasn't going to stop. The horn was a 'get the hell out of my way I'm not stopping for nobody' warning. They must have been going shopping.
It all happened so fast, the chaos. I found myself thinking of pepper spray the rest of our walk. Wondering what the laws of carrying pepper spray entailed. This is the first time the dog and I have encountered a run away dog on a leash, but we've run into our share of unleashed big dogs. Can I squirt them in the face with pepper spray?

Damn my ancestors for choosing this God forsaken frozen tundra we call Northeast, Ohio

Did you know that there are people down south that are walking on the beach without shoes or socks in their bathing suits? Hmmmm? It's not fair. Damn my ancestors for choosing this God forsaken frozen tundra we call Northeast, Ohio. It's about 53 degrees out there and raining.
Yes, I'm home from the sunshine state, Florida. It was 88 degrees when we left. My tan is peeling off and I have socks and slippers on, the husband is wrapped in a blanket on the couch, we have yet to adjust to the real world. Oh and the car ride, that's a long drive. We are walking around like a couple 80 year olds. Dear God, my back.
I'm not sure when I will begin cooking again, I've grown accustom to people bringing me food, taking away my dishes and giving them money for it. I know that won't work here, "they" have to be hungry, we only left them with a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread. Tough love, they fended for themselves. My only stipulation was to take care of the dog. We left her a new bag of dog food, two boxes of biscuits and $10.00 with a sticky note on it saying, "DOG FOOD MONEY".
Since she was alive, well feed and showed no visible signs of distress when we got home "they" received real souvenirs instead of hotel soap. We also bought a bushel of oranges which we let them eat too. One was sick when we left and the other sick when we got home. So we have that to look forward to. Great to be home, really.

Next post, who the hell knows

There were a string of unfortunate circumstances that lead to the dog not getting her morning walk four days in a row. Which led to her unruly walk this morning. She doesn't understand "people problems" nor does she care to, it's all about her you know.
So I was ever so gently coaxed out of bed by the princess a half hour earlier than I would have liked. Actually I would have liked to get out of bed long enough to blow my nose, take a Tylenol Severe Sinus Pressure Caplet and drift of into an antihistamine induced sleep for the rest of the morning. But that was not to be. I did tell the dog while pointing to the window about the rain but she was relentless.
I got dressed, grabbed my phone, umbrella and the dreaded poop bag. It wasn't going to be a long walk but was sure to be eventful. Juggling a dog with pent up in the house to long issues and an umbrella was going to be a rude awakening, add a bag of poop and that's when the party begins.
I suppose it's her little way of trying to drag me out of my world of worry. You can't help but laugh at yourself as you walk down the street in the rain with the dog dragging you to an unknown destination, trying not to injure yourself with your umbrella as you take care of what she obviously has been saving up for me.
Next post, who the hell knows.

She's a known squirrel killer

The problem is the dog isn't a big fan of frolicking creatures that nature brings us to brighten our days. With the temperature cooling to the degree of "let's open the windows" Fahrenheit, we let the breeze and the crickets lull us to sleep. And in the morning we hear the birds chirping bringing us out of our slumber. It really is a sunshine and lollipops kind of atmosphere and adds a peaceful calm to the household.
But when a couple of geese decide to park themselves across the street from the house and squawk at irregular intervals, mayhem ensues. Since the dog is a known squirrel killer, she has an overwhelming sense of power when it comes to her turf. Her turf is basically the street we live on, if anyone dares walk their dog past our house she will let them know in no uncertain terms that they are intruding. She also has a white hot hate for skateboarders.

Wild animals really piss her off. They wander the neighborhood without boundries, she's jealous. So my morning and early afternoon consisted of squawks and barks, barks and squawks. The geese wouldn't leave until they were good and ready and now the dog is spent, sleeping it off on my bed, barely able to keep her eyes open. The know squirrel killer missed her mid-morning nap.

When things go missing

"Why is the dog's tongue blueish/green?"
This snapped Boy #3 to attention and he crawled into the dogs little house. All you could see were his butt and his feet.

Can we just go off topic for a minute? Of course we can, it's my blog.
The fact that Boy #3 dove into the doghouse cannot be ignored. Both of his older brothers were in the vicinity and they could have easily gave him a swift kick in the butt and locked him in. Like they've done before. I really don't know how Boy #3 survived his childhood. Anyway my baby exhibited bravery far beyond the call of duty. I just needed to point that out.

He emerged from the doghouse with a chewed pen, only half of it.
"Ah, that explains the discoloration. See if you can find the other half. Please let it be in there."
Once again he emerged, "Dad, here's you spare keys. I found the rest of the pen."
"I guess it's time to get rid of that old comforter in there, she has it ripped to shreds, too many hiding places."
The dogs sanctuary, her little place to go unwind after a long hard day of neighborhood watching, is where our old comforters go to die a slow painful death. She's a comforter killer, sometimes she gets them before their time is up. She has a thing for the stuffing, she guts them.
When things go missing her house is the first place we look, it use to be Boy #2's room. His room is the second place we look for all things lost. He's a non-returner, a keeper of all, he loses things. The husband has him putting up a deposit on the tools he borrows and I didn't feel the least bit guilty sending him out in the cold late at night to buy me tape so I could finish my Christmas wrapping. He's got to have about 27 rolls of tape in his room somewhere.

I guess you can say we had a productive Sunday. The dog only ingested ink, not plastic, she has a new pillow in her house, the husband has his spare keys and Boy #3 didn't get locked in the doghouse. I don't ask for much.

WILSON!!!!!!!!!

If you've been paying attention you know that the dog has an unhealthy obsession with her mini basketball. An unhealthy obsession that we've encouraged, we named it Wilson. She will now run to find it when we say, "Where's Wilson?" It's 7 degrees outside, we're bored. "Hey?" I asked, "Should we be worried if we find a bloody paw print on that thing and it looks like a face?"

Wilson disappeared, I'm going to say Thursday. The entire family would take turns looking under things. Checking her usual hiding places and discussing at dinner, where the hell is Wilson? The dog didn't look upset but we kept the conversation quiet and referred to Wilson as "it" as we tried to figure out our next move. Can we trick her and buy a new one? Let's face it, we were more upset than the dog. Our new source of amusement went missing. WILSON!!!!!
Boy #3 and I, the stubborn ones, started to look again, Saturday I think. "The last place I saw it was in my room, on the bed." Because not only do I share a bed with a Restless Leg Syndrome/Sleep Apnea husband, but also a dog with her squeak toy.
Boy #3 started hitting the bed thinking it was under the covers somewhere, the dog watched with interest. "We're looking for Wilson, baby, we'll find him." She cocked her head to the side and walked off down the hall.
"You upset her mom."
"Look under the bed, she's fine."
Then, swear to God and all that's holy, the dog jumps up on the bed with Wilson in her mouth and gently lays him between her paws.
Boy #3 was talking to me but I wasn't listening. I just stood there with my mouth open, I was trying to speak but couldn't.
Then syllables started to come out of my mouth, "Wha, di, ha, ti?" I was trying to get Boy #3's attention. He popped up from under the bed and looked at me.
"What?"
I pointed to Wilson.
Boy #3 was stunned, rocked to his core. "Where did that come from?"
"She just brought it in here, I swear."
"We looked everywhere for that."
"She came from the living room."
"Dad's in there."
We sprang to the doorway, momentarily getting stuck in the door jamb like a 3 Stooges movie and ran down the hall.
"The dog found Wilson, did you see where.................."
"Huh?"
We stopped in our tracks, the husband was thumbing through a Victoria Secret Valentine's Day Flyer, he saw nothing, I'm sure of it.
"There's only one explanation mom, you know it and I know it."
I rubbed my temples and eyes, pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut really tight.
"She's found a doorway to the second dimension."
"Yeah, I know, she's a very smart dog."

Wonder dog is allergic to bees

Over a year ago I wrote a post titled Buckeye's First Kill. A short little post about my delusional children thinking my dog was a cold blooded killer. With only circumstantial evidence, I pronounced her Not Guilty. I can do that because I'm the mom and I run the whole show around here.

Last month when the squirrel incident occurred, I started to wonder if I should have examined the mouse evidence a little closer. Clearly she killed the squirrel, I was the primary witness.

Over the three years that we've had her I've seen her chase moths, flies and bees. Right after the squirrel kill she was sitting in between the husband and I on our recliner couch. The whole damn couch reclines you could fit five people on it, the most comfortable couch we've ever had, we never leave it and the dog is right there with us snuggled up in front of the fireplace and TV. So we are all three sitting there, but the dog is alert and her ears are up. We are expecting the barking to start next and then a run to the window, but instead she snaps a fly out of mid air.

"Did you see that?"

"Did she get it?"

At that moment she spit it out, sniffed it, toyed with it and ate it.

We were too dumb struck to stop her.

"She's wonder dog."

"Did you see that?"

Clearly she's been practicing her attack skills when we are at work. I never really thought she ever caught the flies and bees, but obviously she now has the taste for blood.

On the rare occasion that the husband takes a day off of work he schedules car stuff, home improvement stuff and on this week, the week after the squirrel incident he scheduled dog stuff. An appointment for her check up and manicure. I came home for lunch before they left, she was outside playing or having a snack because I saw her chasing something that was flying. Please don't drag in a dead animal until after I have my lunch baby.

"Did you feed her? Because she's eating bugs."

"Huh?"

"Do you want a sandwich? Your dog is chasing bugs."

"She's fine."

We ate and I got ready to go back to work.

"I'll bring the dog in."

I looked towards the door and she was sitting on the steps shaking, "The hell?"

"What?"

I brought her in and gave her a biscuit, it dropped out of her mouth. Okay somethings wrong. She a biscuit whore, sometimes I think she just asks to go out to get a biscuit. And when I say ask, I mean stare at me, a real in depth stare, right into my very soul she stares. It's a 'I have to pee stare.' And then sometimes I don't think she even goes down the steps.

But anyway, she drops the biscuit and I see foam in her mouth.

"Babe, look at her?"

"I guess we're going to the vet a little earlier than expected, go back to work, she'll be fine, I'll call you."

"But............."

"I got this."

Back at work I fretted. He'll forget to call me. I should have called in sick. He can't even remember the years the boys were born and I entrusted the dog into his care. Damn.

Then my cell phone rang, "Wonder dog is allergic to bees."

"Huh?"

"The doctor thinks there is a bee sting on her tongue, gave her a shot of Benadryl and steroids. Pick up some Benadryl on your way home."

See, he's clueless, a mom always has Benadryl in the medicine chest. Of course the stuff at home was generic, so I was going to stop for the real stuff, keep the generic for the kids.

So the mouse and squirrel hunter, venus fly trap is allergic to bees. How the hell am I suppose to know if she gets stung? Do I have to carry an epi stick with me now?

I think she's full of remorse

Just look at that face. Is that the face of a killer? I think not. Buckeye just hasn't been the same since The Incident. I had her outside with me for the afternoon while I did, effing yard work. I really hate raking leaves, they're not done falling and I'll be out there again, it's an endless chore, done year after year. But the rest of the neighbors were doing it so I thought I'd better put forth the effort. Trust me, I didn't over do it, but my back still hurts. I need a nap and vodka.


I thought it would be a good idea to put on Buckeye's peace and love bandanna while we were out. It's kind of her hippy one, with peace signs and hearts. Just in case any other squirrels were out there watching her. They have to know one of their own is gone but I'm certain they don't suspect her. It all happened so fast and most of the violence was behind the bushes, in the front yard. All the squirrels hang out in our back yard. I wanted her to look harmless, I'm looking out for her reputation. I don't want her to have a bad rep in the neighborhood. And I have to say she played her part well. Sniffed around, dug a few holes and lounged around like the queen of the neighborhood. I think we can safely say the "Incident" is behind us.

I don't think she meant to kill it

Almost everyday my stomach starts to grumble around noon. That's when I start to watch the clock, my lunch is at 1:00. I planned it that way, when I get back at 2:00 the rest of the day goes by fast. It's a good plan. Most days I go home because fast food everyday doesn't appeal to me and I let the dog out. Today I also wanted to check on a sick Boy #2 and bring him some Ginger Ale because he puked all night. Please God don't let me catch the stomach flu, please, please, please.
Now that it's cold out again my flip flops have been exchanged for my cool boots. I had my CFM boots on today. Please don't ask, figure out what each letter stands for, I try to maintain a PG-13 blog.
So not being use to high heels I just need the dog to go out, pee and come right back in.
I'm so sorry Relax Max for mentioning pee in yet another post.
She should pee right away because it's raining and she's a sissy, hates the rain and will only go out in it if she really has to go bad.
"Keep an eye on her." I tell Boy #2. "Let me know if she goes, I have to get lunch."
30 seconds later, "Mom, it looks like she has something."
"What do you mean has something?"
"She's behind the bushes and I heard a weird noise."
Now I have to go out in the rain, this will screw up my hair.
"Oh my God, oh my God, she has a squirrel. What do I do? Oh my God."
Do you get the gist of me panicking?
First I see the unmistakable big squirrel tail, then the dog comes out of the bushes with the entire squirrel. And I'm out there with my high heels trying to grab the dog without getting touched by the flailing squirrel. The squirrel was panicking too, for good reason, it was in the jaws of my killer dog that's afraid of rain.
"Buckeye, let go, let go, oh my God. Come here, come, Buckeye!" The panicking continued. There was a lot of swearing. Where the hell is Boy #2? Where is he?
The dog released the squirrel and I grab her collar, dragged her in the house and Boy #2 was sitting on the steps. "Check her for any scratches."
I looked outside and the squirrel lay there twitching. More swearing. "Damn, look at it."
"She killed it.....almost."
"This is a crisis now."
"You should have seen how funny you looked on the steps trying to get her."
"I hope you throw up again."

I called the husband to fill him in on the crisis, he didn't seem to grasp the trauma I just went through.
"You know, you're going to have to come home from work and take this squirrel to the vet and they're going to have to fly in tiny instruments from El Paso and it will be a costly and difficult procedure. Once he's discharged you'll have to make sure he gets his medicine six times a day and keep his tail elevated."

You have to be a member of the Seinfeld cult to get that last line. I tried to find a YouTube clip but couldn't. Here's the script.

I don't know dear

When the husband told me our brother-in-law feed his black lab a bowl of chili, I said, "What was he thinking?"
"I don't know dear."
"I can't even imagine the smell, don't even want to think about it."

When the husband left about a dozen beef jerky sticks out on the table next to the couch last night, I said, "What were you thinking?"
"I don't know dear."
"Has she deposited any of it yet?"
"I don't know dear."

I found out the answer to that question on our walk tonight. I try to plan dog walks right after I know she's taken a crap. But a dog full of beef jerky is unreliable, that's a fact you have to face. I went on the walk anyway. Had my plastic bag in my pocket after careful inspection for holes on the bottom. None. I laugh at people that walk their dogs, leash in one hand and bag of poop swinging in the other. Yet still off I went on a long walk to my parents house. Not even half way there, "Oh, you gotta be kidding me, damn it, gambled and lost big time." And I continued to mutter. "Now I have to pick up your poop, you know food in a plastic wrapper is people food, you didn't have to eat that. Oh my God, do you smell that? Don't you moved, let me get this bag, sit."

We continued on our walk, leash in one hand and the other swinging a bag of dog poop. Why do I still smell it? I tied it up in a tight knot. Oh, I see, there's a small hole in the top part of the bag and the poop smell with a hint of beef jerky is escaping through that very small hole. Wonderful. There has to be some place I can get rid of this. My eyes darted around the neighborhood, too risky, too many people out. Son of a bitch.
We made it to mom and dads for our visit and mom got the dog a bowl of water and me, two more plastic bags. One for on the way home and one to double bag the poop. Mom did not offer to let me dispose of the double bagged and knotted poop, so I walked home with it. She was mortified I came over with the bag in the first place, there was no way she was going to take possession of it even if it was put in the garage and trash day is tomorrow. Go figure.

Got home and told the husband that his dog pooped out his beef jerky and I carried it home. "You know she ate it and you still took her, what were you thinking?"
"I don't know dear."

Muddy Paw Mania

I had to see this coming right?

New couches + gobs and gobs of melted snow = muddy paw mania

The dog has had a bath 5 days in a row and number six is about to happen as soon as she's done barking at the neighbors. The water's already filling up in the tub and Boy #3 is on stand-by. He carries her in with her muddy paws sticking straight out. Did I mention she hates water?
This a picture of her trying to look cute and innocent but we know she could stay out of the mud if she'd just focus. It's really not necessary to take off barking at every person, dog walker, skate-boarder, bike-rider, jogger and Jehovah Witness that .......... well maybe them, that walks by the house.
So Buckeye gets to stay outside longer than usual to terrorize the neighborhood but with a huge price to pay, dragged into the tub night after night. This is a dog that when she hears the tub water running, she hides. She refuses to put all four paws down in the water at the same time, one must always be out of the water.

I must break from my post to go catch the dog.

Buckeye tried to make a run for the hills, she pulled her lead out of the mushy, muddy ground.
"She's loose!"
"Huh?"
"She pulled her lead out and is headed for the street!"
"The dog?" Who else does he think we're keeping on a lead?
By this time I had my boots on the wrong feet and was out the door. I knew the easiest way to get her was to open the car door and ask her if she wanted to go on a car ride, but hmmmmm..... the mud. I opted for the step on the lead trick while the husband lured her in with biscuits, she's a biscuit whore.

All is well for now, she's in her little house pouting. She'll come out when she's hungry or dear God has to go out again.

I became a Turd Grabber

I felt sorry for the dog. After a couple rainy days she looked bored. So I assembled the necessary items for a walk, cell phone, keys (because everyone has abandoned me tonight) and a plastic bag in case of the dreaded poop. The plastic bag unfortunately proved to be useful because the boys, who are no longer in my will and legally I only have to feed one of them until April, forgot to mention they never let her out today.
I became a turd grabber this evening. Our normal walking route are the roads less traveled by cars, so we can walk down the middle of the road and Buckeye doesn't stop every two feet to smell other dogs pee. But this road, by the pool was over populated as the swim meet dispersed. I swore like a drunken sailor under my breath. The dog was so excited to see the swimmers, she pooped. Being as excited as she was, she pooped while walking. I've had to maybe grab turds 3 times since we've had her. So with a hyperactive dog attached to my left hand and a plastic bag on my right, I attempted the impossible, in front of a stream of families walking and driving home from the swim meet. Probably, I'll never eat again.

The Fine Line Between Road Construction and Mass Hysteria

Close one more road and I'm popping this SUV into 4-wheel drive and driving on them anyway. Hell, I'll start driving through my neighbors back yards. Getting from point A to point B is becoming increasingly difficult in my neighborhood. I deal with this detour everyday and will do so for the rest of the summer, because some "Powers That Be" decided we need a circle intersection instead of your basic plus sign kind. 50 feet away from that sign is more construction but they just work on it intermittently, when they feel like it, whenever they feel like stopping traffic altogether, whenever they think, "Hey, today would be a great day for a cluster f$&@." (erv, I'm not sending this post to mom and dad's email machine.)
Here's a thought - finish one road before you start another one. And how about calling before you dig, you know before you hit that gas line. I could see my house, but had to double back through the detour, through 3 different cities and around the back way into my development because some retard hit the gas line. I turned around and muttered to myself for about 2 miles before I realized I had a child (the good one) and a dog in that house that I could see from the hit gas line incident. I should have probably asked the nice officer that sent me packing if they were in any danger. Nah, I just call him and alarm him with useless information.
"Hello?"
"Are you still sleeping? It's 2:00 pm are you just getting up?"
"I was playing video games all night."
"Oh, no way. That's not how this summer is going to go."
"Mom......"
"I'm going to start leaving you a list of chores."
"Chores? What, are we living on a farm?"
"You are not going to sleep and play video games all summer."
Silence
"Did you fall back to sleep or has the house blown up?"
"Huh?"
"There's a gas leak up at the corner, make sure my dog doesn't blow up."
"I love you too mom."