Longer than a Blink, Yet Faster than We Think

Andrew and I wander the yard holding plastic bags. He points out dog poop when he sees it, which is not as often as I do. I scoop it into a bag and carry it until we find more. When a bag is full, I tie it, and Andrew proudly deposits it by the garage door. Our task is made more difficult by the brown oak leaves all over the ground. This is Andrew's first time recognizing the change of seasons, and he says "Uh-oh" every time a leaf falls.

I hope we won't discover any poop the hard way today.

His help is a bit nerve-wracking, but I try to embrace it, realizing that it's good for him, and that someday getting him to help won't be this easy. I think back to when little Margaret thought it was fun to scrub toilets, and Jack made our bed with hospital corners each morning. These days, I slip out of the sheets, damp from night sweats, and leave the bed unmade to air out. Margaret hasn't cleaned a toilet in a decade. I leave the extra bags in the garage and wonder if I've prepared her at all for adulthood. Those preschool days seem like yesterday.

We enter the house,and I expect the aroma from the crock pot to delight me. Instead, the house smells terrible. Another dinner fail? Certainly not worth cutting celery at 7 am, I think.

From the adjoining room I hear "Uh-oh" and enter quickly enough to see Andrew pointing at dog diarrhea sprayed and pooled on our carved wool rug, trailing off onto the cover of Andrew's favorite book. He knows we've been on poop patrol, but this is no job for a baby. I scoop him by the waist to deposit him in his little chair and say, "Stay," as I would to one of the dogs. Just as I'm trying to figure out which dog is afflicted, Shadow starts vomiting. Another "Uh oh" and pointing from Andrew. I tell him I'm not quite sure how to approach this mess, but if he stays in his chair, he can watch Little Einsteins while I figure it out.

What I see is neither a solid nor a liquid. I dive in, and do the best that I can, grateful for rubber gloves.

The fact is not lost on me that in a fit of optimism and/or stupidity I'd ordered a WHITE SHAG rug for my office just the night before. Something about a quiet house at 11pm made me think that the world of HGTV or Pinterest could me mine. Even as I pressed ORDER, I knew it was likely a mistake, but I did it anyway. Did I  hope that making my beloved office cozier and more chic would jump start my writing again? That bare feet on a soft rug would somehow garner me the time and creativity to put words to paper? I hadn't been in that room for weeks, except to set up a laundry drying rack in the corner. Now I realize I'll have to close the door at all times, to keep the dogs, their hair, and their funk out, and I wonder if I'll spend time in there at all, the beautiful room that birthed Rare Bird.

I know Tim will be annoyed when he hears about the diarrhea and vomit. He'll toss the dogs outside, as if they will be able to equate evening exile with early afternoon grossness. With a sweep of his arms, he'll say maybe we shouldn't have rugs in the house at all. That rugs are disgusting. I'll agree, and hope that that exact moment is not when the delivery truck pulls up with my new shag.

I've never been one to get too riled up about messes, or when things break. My mom used to say, "Everything has a life," and I've interpreted that as nothing lasts forever, and that it's okay. It applies to the material as well as the those things we cannot touch. Who knows if the new rug will outlast the our dear dogs, or vice versa? I do know these days of traipsing around the yard with Andrew will not last forever. Stopping to look at ants, pointing at airplanes, waiting for the mail man and school bus to arrive are distinctly toddler occupations. In the not too distant future, I'll have more time to write, to sit in my office, to think. When I look ahead, it may seem far off, but I know that the warp-speed of life I've experienced up until now will not change.

After all, I wouldn't have believed another fall had come so soon, if today I had not felt the leaves crunch under my feet.

Charlie Update

So how has our adjustment to becoming a 2 dog family been?

Great! Charlie just reached six months old, and we have been having a blast.

At first it was weird, because we didn't know his personality very well. It reminded me of when I brought my babies home from the hospital and it took me a while to to figure out what made them tick. I just spent day after day snuggling Charlie on my lap in the kitchen, hoping the close contact would help him feel at home.

And I wasn't sure how to read his adorably grumpy face. I mean look at this picture with two of his siblings.

Ha Ha! 100% grumpy; 100% adorable!

Potty training went smoothly (a big thank you to those of you who told me to quit using the pee pads!), and he is learning his boundaries in the house and yard. He stays in a crate in the kitchen if I have to go out for a few hours, and because of his great love of food, it is EASY to get him to go in it.

He sleeps either in Margaret's bed at night or on a dog bed with Shadow in our bedroom. I think Shadow helped Charlie adjust in every way, so there was never a night of lonesome crying-- just a big fur snugglefest.

Bathroom privacy is non-existent now, and I'm getting used to stepping over the two of them spooning on the bathmat each time I get out of the shower.  Charlie is very playful, and initiates a lot of tug-of-war with Shadow when she will oblige. He also sits on her head and tugs on her neck, inviting her to play. If she won't play, he just chases his own tail.

They also like to run after tennis balls and bask in the sunshine.

Yesterday, Charlie got neutered, so we are tasked with keeping him fairly inactive for the next ten days. That's not going to be easy, but at least he's not one to ever turn down an opportunity to take it easy and sit on a lap.

I'm so glad there was room in our hearts (and on our laps!) for another dog.

Pushover, Thy Name is Anna

When the kids were little, we told them that if they asked one of us for something, didn't get the answer they wanted, and then tried to go to the other parent, the answer would always be NO. Tim and I didn't always agree, but we agreed to back each other up. This helped keep the good cop/bad cop dynamic out of our relationship with the kids. And we were consistent with a NO BADGERING rule, too. Badgering = Not a chance.

Then we got Shadow.

From early on, it has been clear Shadow loves Tim best. He is her Alpha. We tested this theory a few times by each taking a piece of dog food, and scattering to hide in four different areas of the house. We would make little noises and see whom she would find first. Always, always Tim. Her fave.

Tim is firm with Shadow, and she adores and respects him. Me? Not so much. Shadow does not give me the time of day unless she wants something. I'm like the indulgent grandma who has taken things too far. And what does Shadow want? Food. Always food. If Tim and I are both home when she wants to eat, suddenly I become Miss Popular.  She comes to find me because she knows I will break down and feed her earlier than Mr.Scheduled. In an instant, I become the most fabulous, adored pet Mom in the entire world.

Things have gotten out of hand since I started working from home a few months ago. Shadow starts jonesing for her evening meal around noon. Noon! I try to lay low and keep my motions to a minimum, because any trip to the bathroom or the fridge seems to awaken her desire for dinner.

In the past, I would get home from work and school pickup around 3:30. That seemed at least in the dinner-zone, so I would indulge her. After all, she'd been shut up in the house all day, and I felt sorry for her.

But now we are home together all day, and I know what to expect. First she gets off her dog bed, which is next to my desk. Then she stands next to me, looking so cute with her big amber eyes. Then she starts to talk, "Mwwoorrarooar. "Which I guess means 'food.'

I talk back.

I am firm: "No!" "Go sit down!" I reason with her: "If I feed you now, it's going to be a looooooong time before breakfast tomorrow! You'll regret it."  But if  I don't hop up immediately to feed her, she starts to bark, and bark, and bark.

And I break down.

I know it's kind of embarrassing that I don't let children badger me into things, but more often than not, I give in to Shadow. I tried earplugs. Bark. Bark. Bark. I tried putting her outside. Bark. Bark. Bark. Bark. Bark. I tried conducting my life from a table at Panera to avoid the whole issue.

The earliest I've given in was at 1 pm, okay maybe 12:55 during a conference call, when one of the other participants suggested I perhaps should go take care of my dog. Bark. Bark. Bark.

I know I'm teaching Shadow that I'm a pushover. "That Lady in the slippers gives me food when I bark! Yay! Let me not slacken in my barking! My barking works! Best barker ever!"

I'm hoping with Tim home more over Christmas break, we can get Shadow back on her old routine.

If not, I could always do what my sister, who is the dog-Mom of Shadow's sister does, hide in the car checking Facebook until she reaches a respectable feeding time.

That Stinks: How to Lose Friends and Un-influence People

So, I'm still in computer Hades right now. Most of these problems stem, I believe, from the big storm last week. I'm a firm believer in turning computers off to "let them rest" before trying them again, mostly because I have no other computer skills up my sleeve, so there's been a lot of that going on. And some cursing. I also managed to spam (and possibly lose) many of my friends by sending them a blank email when I was trying to let them know about a fabulous jewelry party/charity fundraiser I'm having in Jack's memory. More on that later (p.s. you're all invited!)

The other thing going on is my dealing with an incredibly stinky dog. I scrubbed the little drip pan under the fridge (did you know you have one?), freshened up my garbage disposal, and emptied all of the trash cans in the house before I convinced myself that the horrible odor in the house was either me, or the canine who follows me around so closely she might, as well be up my...you know. When I took a whiff of her back, it smelled like decaying animals. Nice.

We took a pleasant (not really) bath together and I used all manner of products to get her de-smellified. Yes, I was IN the tub with her because it was the only way to get her in. That, plus some Meaty Morsels.

I spent extra time at work today hoping the smell would continue to abate while I was gone. Unfortunately, as soon as I got home, the dog ran to the side yard and started rolling in...you guessed it...animal carcass. Just can't BEAR to take another bath with her, so for now I've spritzed her with dog shampoo spray and I'm trying to keep my distance, which is impossible.

We have a lot more to catch up on, my friends, but for now could I just ask for your prayers? The past few days have been hard emotionally, for reasons that have nothing to do with technology or smelly pets.

Thanks and Love!

One Life Down, 8 to Go

Last week I let Shadow out of the house so she and I could pick up the kids from school. She took off after a big orange cat that had been sitting in our driveway. They tore past me and soon the cat was whizzing up a really tall tree. Shadow circled back, and with a running dash, made it about 6 feet up before falling to the ground.

What was easy to climb up, was a challenge to get down, so the cat remained perched in a V in the tree while I picked up the kids from school. I’m not good at gauging distances, but a neighborhood poll had that cat being between 25 and 40 feet off the ground. An hour passed, then two. There were NO lower branches, so a trip down would mean coming straight down the trunk or falling head over heels. The cat was freaked. A neighbor called Animal Control whose party line was: “Let it come down on its own. We don’t see many cat skeletons in trees, so it’s bound to come down eventually.” They didn’t mention if they had seen cat skeletons at the base of any trees.

Three hours passed. The cat’s view down was our yard, where Shadow the Raging Beast lived, and, on the other side of the fence, a busy road at rush hour. I’m sure the cars zooming by didn’t make him or her feel more inclined to risk coming down. I toyed with the idea of calling the fire department but didn’t know if their willingness to rescue cats from trees was just a myth from children’s stories.

Eventually Molly and I took my uneaten dinner, conveniently a plate of tilapia, and placed it under the tree. The cat meowed like crazy as the scent wafted up. We videotaped the cat’s every move. This made me a little nervous. I was torn between wanting to make $10,000 on America’s Funniest Videos and fearing that Molly would be traumatized if the cat went splat. Nothing happened.

After hour 4, I could take it no longer. We called the fire department. I learned a lot about ladder length. They dispatched a truck. Before they got here, a neighbor girl burst into the house yelling, “The cat is down! The cat is down!” The tilapia must have proved tempting, because the cat had stood up, teetered off the branch, and started to fall. It grabbed the tree and shimmied down rear first before running under the shed. Whew! A quick call to cancel the fire truck and our lives returned to normal.

Both kids were a little disappointed that we didn’t get to see an exciting rescue, but we were all glad the cat was safe. We still don’t know whose cat it was, but he/she hasn’t been seen hanging out in our basement window wells since.

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Don't Bite the Hand That Feeds You

Shadow the dog has diarrhea. Dear husband had to get up 2 times a night for the past 2 nights to let her out. She doesn’t bark, just paces the bedroom frantically, filling it with noxious odors until none of us can take it any longer. We’re not exactly sure what has caused it, but we have our suspicions.

Our neighbor has been leaving food out “for the animals.” Now I have nothing against feeding the birds. Watching our favorite flock of downy woodpeckers, chickadees and tufted titmice outside the kitchen windows is one of the highlights of winter for our family. But I think Frank has something other than birds in mind when he dumps leftover meat, pans of pasta and the like on the ground outside his house. We’ve tried to keep Shadow away from the dumping area, but our houses are so close together, it’s almost like living communally. Whenever she goes out, she makes a beeline over there to see what delicacies await. Burgers? Rice Pilaf?

I asked Frank’s wife about this behavior, and she explained where it’s coming from. He is 75, a child of the depression. He grew up fatherless after age 2. In the country. In Kentucky. His mother supported 5 kids on a teacher’s salary, and they learned to waste nothing. Now that I read this, I realize what a jerk I sound like for even writing about this sweet soul. Who would rank on an elderly neighbor trying to feed the animals?

I guess my question is, what kind of animals are we attempting to save here? We’re not in the country; we’re in the heart of suburbia. The deer are vegetarians and they have my entire garden of hosta to eat. The birds have feeders, and the squirrels get plenty chubby eating what they steal from the birds. Are we feeling sorry for the rats? The raccoons? A wayward fox or two? Ugh.

The other day, Shadow came back with half a pizza in her mouth, which may have prompted this bout of diarrhea. I don’t have the heart to say anything else to our neighbors. In fact, as I write this, I think I’ve realized the best solution is to try harder to keep a tighter rein on the dog.

After all, what do I have to gripe about? The way these neighbors pick up our mail and newspapers for us when we are out of town, no pre-arrangement necessary? The way they laughed it off when Shadow pooped in their yard and took an uninvited dip in their swimming pool? The way they treat our kids like grandchildren, buying presents for birthdays and Christmas that reflect the kids’ interests perfectly? The way their warmth next door has helped our kids learn to hug, talk to, and interact with adults other than mom and dad? Perhaps I’d like to grumble about the homemade cakes for our anniversary each year? The more I think about it, I guess you learn about a whole lot more than just feeding animals in rural, depression-era Kentucky. Maybe there are some life lessons for me there too.