This is a general housekeeping post about things I’ve not shared that you might find entertain or interesting or I just feel like blathering on about –
Joe Boxer – who we mostly call Joseph now because it is so not befitting his face which makes us laugh. There is something wrong with us – Joseph is Sixty-four pounds!!!! This is BIG NEWS because about forty days ago, he weighed forty-eight pounds. The dude is huge now compared. HUGE! We’ve also discovered that a Thunder Shirt calms his toddler wiggles down and generally makes the household a less chaotic mess on days when running about outside isn’t an option. He's still traumatized by weather and thinks when we take him out for a pee; we're kicking him to the curb. Really HATE the woman who did this to him! Anyway, despite having some sort of infection that has landed him back on the fart-inducing pills, he’s set for ball removal on St. Paddy’s day. Husband thinks that he won’t walk as funny with those balls gone. I think Joseph is meant to look funny, balls or no balls. Pepper is recovering from her wombectomy. I’d say, "recovering nicely" but I think we’ve failed miserably in the “keep her from running, jumping etc.” The Saturday after the surgery, we had her stashed in the bedroom with her stupid blue inflatable Cone of Shame on. When we drove up, we could see she was on our bed and we watched her jump down and runt to the window to bark her hello to us. It’s just gotten worse since then. She’s like a sixteen-pound dictator. Fail. I mean, who was dumb enough to let us have three dogs. We keep breaking them. I see a visit to the Vet in her future and a vicious tongue lashing in ours. I've told them they should just go ahead and name a room after us; we've been in there so much lately. Tigger the Dog is less mean girl these days. She has either come to terms that this is our life now or she’s biding her time till Joseph eats one of Husband’s guitars or precious microphones and goes away. She is fascinated by Pepper her and now Pepper is now the growling mean girl when TTD gets too close. But there’s been no blood drawn in weeks so counting it as a WIN! Feeding time has gone from utter bedlam to the somewhat controlled chaos of elementary school lunchtime. Still not enjoyable, totally messy and filled with shouting but no one ends up in tears and snotters now. And by no one, I mean me. I’ve amended the tattoo that I got in January and didn’t regret but didn’t love. More on that later - just not hiding my wrist and explaining the whole thing to everyone who noticed the mess anymore. And Husband is no longer telling me to “Stop looking at it. It hasn’t changed!” Speaking of Husband, he is still Husband. I got home at 9pm to a sink full of dishes and the dishes I’d washed at 5am still “drying” on the mat. BUT I had the chips he'd bought me to eat and he’d been as sweet as pie to the “almost 4 years old” kid I’d brought by the house to meet the dogs. He let her play his pretty drum set and even did an impromptu jam session with her, she played the sponge bob guitar and he played the Congo drums. AND he said nothing about my dinner of chips and green tea and cake. I’ll keep him. Like how I snuck that one about the tattoo in but still haven’t shared pictures? Yeah, I’m not usually vague like that but I’m having computer issues. Mainly that I can't find the pictures of what I wanted and what I got so you can see why I'm happier with what I have now. I shouldn’t have a computer because I can’t operate them and Husband's “its so easy.” means I’ll screw it up and hide files and pictures in some secret location I can never find again... Finally, yesterday on a trip to the Zoo, I got to second base with a bird! That is his tongue IN my ear. He even nibbled not so gently on the skin tag on my neck. AND THEN today I got a text from the mom of the twins. They were "playing ej" which means carrying a big bag of random things to make a project with. So dang proud! Really, where can I go from here but down?
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WARNING: a little Husband bashing here. I suppose I need to preface it by saying I love him, I can’t imagine my life without him, he is my everything. He’s wicked smart and funny and weird and whacky and I love him. BUT by 8am this morning, after I’d already spent two hours doing things he could have done yesterday when I was at work, he was not my favorite person. I mean, I’d filled TWO Target bags with dog poop picked up from just the front yard. And this was after cleaning the kitchen, washing yesterday’s dishes, emptying the dishwasher, washing AND drying the towels, feeding and watering the dogs and taking one garbage and two recycle bins up the hill to the curb. whinebitchmoan... Last week, at a party, someone was telling Husband how talented he was. “You can play the guitar and the piano and the tambourine, is there anything you can’t play?” And I, plastic wine cup waving in my hand for dramatic effect, I pursed my lips and loudly said, “I know what he can’t play, the dishwasher.” BOOM!!! He’s irritating and picky and life with him involves driving around looking for “Husband approved” parking spots and eating before going to parties or having him turn into a hangry rat on the way home. It’s making excuses about his weird OCD habits and listening to him blather on about microphones and speakers and cars and the stupid little details that I could care less about. And yet he says things, funny rude things that will have me in stiches. I mean, I am constantly getting one upped by his snark. The other day when I was nagging him and something vital that I can’t remember, he turned to his friend and said, “I’m sorry, ej’s on a 15mile nag-a-thon.” And when I told him it was a good thing he was funny, he said, “If I weren’t funny, I’d just be good looking.” And then, the other day he said this to the dogs, “You’re like a needy girlfriend. One who is so cute when you first meet but says “I love you” too quickly and then follows you around and annoys you and you can’t get rid of her.” Though he might nag me about what I put in my face and challenge my thought pattern constantly and really irritate the freckles off my face, he’ll do something so sweet like send me this text on his way home. This morning, despite my full on ratty behavior toward him via text, I found a bag of chips and a package of Oreos on the counter. He loves me. Dork.
A bag of chips followed by a cookie or two for breakfast really does wonders for the grumbling “Husband is an ass” conversation I was having while picking up pounds of dog poop at 7am. I guess I’ll keep him. There are times, usually at 3am, that I wonder how in the hell my life led me to this place. Last night, it happened a bit earlier, at 1:30am, as Pepper was moaning in pain and we were trying to get her to eat something so we could dose her with a pill. Meanwhile in the room next door, Joe Boxer was bark-howling his displeasure at being crated and separated from his Pepper at the top of his very substantial lungs. When the “Holy hell” moment hit me, I was half asleep, sitting on the floor - the dirty dog fur covered floor - fingers covered in peanut butter and drool trying to convince the whimpering now womb-less pup that if she ate just a bit of her food, we could drug her up and make the pain go away. And every whimper from Pepper was echoed with a guttural howl from Joe Boxer and every howl was followed by a frustrated Scottish shout of “Shut up!” from Husband.
It was a long, LONG night. But, despite there being no sun and the weather just generally being a shit grey bad mood, today is better. Why? Because I went to Costco and they have Dark Chocolate Covered Mangos again! Yup. Happiness comes in covered in dark chocolate. Just that little bit of sugary joy brightened the doggy soap opera that is my life right now. So that’s what I’m taking with me into the weekend: a bag Dark Chocolate Covered Mangos and a womb-less dog we have to keep from jumping, running etc. for ten days. I so should have bought more bags... This is the damage from one week of Joe Boxer - assisted at times by Ms. Pepper and Tigger the Dog. One freakin' week. Squirrel and Lamb died a horrible death just yesterday. Oy. And, with the exception of the rope and ball toy, the no longer whole wishbone thing and the rope rose on the bottom row, every single one of them were with us and totally ignored by Tigger the Dog and Morgan the Dog for years and years before meeting their deadly, very moist end this week. And, to make it worse, the dogs now are working in teams to destroy everything we have. If only they would use their powers for good... Though the silver lining to this is that TTD is no longer eating her own poop. She's too busy gnawing on whatever toy Joe Boxer or Pepper wants to bother.
Anyone want a dog? Or two? Or three? Who am I kidding? I just told you - showed you all the damage they can do in a very short amount of time. No one is going to want to take that on. UGH. Anyone want to adopt a middle-aged woman with emotional issues to their dog-free home? I'm quiet and don't take up much space and I only chew on my food and my regrets... Well, it’s officially fourteen days since Pepper and Joe were found huddled outside our friend’s front door and twelve days since they came to live with us and annoy the heck out of Tigger the Dog. It has not been a smooth transition but then smooth is boring. Or at least that’s what we’re telling ourselves.
We’ve set up a routine that everyone is mostly on board with; breakfast at 7:30am, treats after each bathroom visit, dinner at 6:30pm, lots and lots of cuddles and ball throwing throughout the day. The only variation to that routine was Friday, when I fed them at 7am and left the house for work and Pepper and Joe sniffed out the hidden Valentine’s Day candy, ate it all and earned a trip to the vet complete with lovely medication that forced vomiting. Having these two in the house is like suddenly having a moving toddler, you have no idea what is a problem until they find it and show you. Every time we go anywhere in the house, it’s like a parade and we’re the Grand Marshall. And, since we got Pepper and Joe collars, there’s a jingle jangle to accompany the pitter-patter of their feet as they follow me upstairs and downstairs and to the office and to the kitchen and to the bathroom. Like, a serious parade. Tigger the Dog and Pepper have at least one scuffle a day while Joe watches them totally confused. Both dogs have had visits with the twelve-year-old neighbor girl who is dying to adopt them. We’ve gone on several very long walks – which is like Joe’s Vietnam with cars attacking from all sides - and made it home each time with all dogs intact and several bags of smelly poop. Speaking of poop, there is A LOT of poop. Like everything that is going in is coming out times two. And when they don’t poop, they pass gas. A LOT of freakin’ gas. And it is a noxious gas that covers the room in a thick green haze of taste-able odor. We’ve taken to lighting candles in the hopes of burning some of the odor. We’re lighting A LOT of candles. If you hear about a house blowing up in Nashville from a suspected gas explosion, um, that might be ours. But for all the pooping and gassing and scuffling, there are times where we are in stiches from the silly antics of the Terrible Three. Yesterday morning, a herd of eight deer made their morning commute down the hill in front of the house. Tigger announced their presence first. A sharp bark followed by a Chewbacca type gurgle from the front window. Joe unfurled his legs from his cramped position and ambled his way from the back room toward the front window. Pepper, from her corner of the hallway right near the bedroom door where she was waiting for Husband to wake up, perked her ears up and trotted down the hall toward Tigger whose gurgle was now a full on bark fest. Joe climbed up onto Tigger's bed, both of them seated at attention facing the herd of eight wandering slowly across the road and down the hill to the side of the house. I stood behind them, watching and Pepper, unable to see and too wary of Tigger to step onto the bed, stood on her hind legs next to me, ears at full perk, her front left paw on my thigh peering over the dogs. The moment she spotted the deer, all hell broke loose. Deer outweighed the threat of Tigger and her Mean Girl antics so Pepper jumped up on the bed too and they all went to town barking their unhappiness at the violation of their yard space. If this were a concert, this would have been the crescendo at the end with the every instrument banging away. Pepper leading with her high-pitched yip, Tigger filling the noise in the middle and Joe rounding out the bottom with his surprise baritone. For the next ten minutes, the three of them ran around the house, from window to window, sharing their ire about the intruders in the yard. They were so loud that the deer could hear them through the double pane glass and would freeze every few moment to be sure they weren’t about to be attacked, prolonging the barking concert. A highly entertaining moment, despite it being 8am on a Sunday morning - mostly because Mean Girl Tigger the Dog and Pepper were united in a common goal. So that’s our life of late. Three dogs and poop and gas and poop and ball throwing and gas and poop… We’re exhausted - and very much in danger of falling deeper in love… Crap! |
AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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