Doggone it

We had a bad thunderstorm last weekend, so my dog spent the night in the garage. We also opened the side gate because it sits too low to the ground for water to move quickly under it, which makes the water back up and seep under the side door of the garage.

I let Pepper out of the garage the next morning. A little while later I went out back to fill her food and water bowls, but when she didn't come running like she always does, I said "Oh, shit." I walked around the corner of the house and, sure enough, the gate was standing wide open.

My dog was gone.

I paused a moment to reflect on how I felt about this. And, honestly? I hate to admit it, but it didn't bother me much. Not much at all.

And then I threw some jeans on, grabbed the leash and a picture of Pepper, parked Britt on my hip and headed out to look for her. The neighbors across the street were having a garage sale, so I started there. Yes, they had seen her; she was in my next-door neighbor's backyard, so I went and fetched her and took her home.

So I still have a dog. Dammit.

Seriously, y'all, I have tried. I've tried and tried and I'm still trying, but I just don't feel the love with this dog. I pet her and scratch her and talk to her every time I go outside, and I brush her just about every day, but I'm just not bonding with her. This is not the dog I wanted.

I first started wanting a dog when Kitty was still alive and before Britt was born. My kids had left home and my arms were empty and Kitty wasn't much of a cuddler. So I spent hours and hours looking at pictures of dogs at local shelters, but they were always too big. I wanted a little dog, an armful of love, like the miniature dachshund I grew up with.

Mikey nixed the dachshund idea. Also chihuahuas, anything with bulging eyes or a pug face and any dog from a shelter. He told me to decide on my top three picks and he'd see what he could do. So I did. I studied on it and finally told him that I wanted a silky terrier, a Westie, or a cairn terrier.

We tried for a silky, but they're pretty rare around here and every time we tried to get one they were already sold out. That Christmas, we were over at his parents' house for the family gift exchange when his brother came through the door with a tiny Bichon puppy. I said, "Oh, is that for me?" and everybody laughed. No, it was for my brother-in-law's kids. Later, I cried. Mikey said, "Oh, did you want a puppy?"

He finally told me that if I really wanted a dog, then I should just go get me one, but I could tell he wasn't on board with it and adopting a pet is such a huge commitment that I couldn't bring myself to do it without his support.

And then Britt came and my arms were no longer empty, so the whole issue went on the back burner until this winter, when Britt became mobile and we thought it would be nice for her to have another living being to interact with. Plus, I still really wanted a dog. A little dog.

So I started looking at the shelters again but, still, the dogs there were always bigger than what I wanted, plus they didn't want to adopt dogs out to families with very small children. So I looked at breed rescue sites. Same thing. No families with toddlers allowed.

So I studied the breeds available in the classifieds and circled likely candidates. And showed them to Mikey. And nothing happened, except that he started talking to his customers about dogs and then coming home with reasons why I couldn't have this one or that one. Finally, he told me that I couldn't have any kind of terrier at all because somebody told him they were "nippy" and if a dog ever bit Britt he'd probably hurt it.

By this point, I wanted to scream and claw my face. Instead, I found a website that rated breeds according to their compatability with children, cross-referenced it against what was available in the classifieds, and that's how we got our keeshond. I told myself this was a compromise dog but now I realize that this was a desperation dog. It was a dog and I could have it.

But it isn't the dog I wanted.

She is a beautiful dog and it's true that she has never snapped or growled at Britt, but sometimes she gets too excited and knocks her down or scratches her. She has completely destroyed my beautiful garden and she chews on every damn thing she can get her teeth on, including me. I can't hardly pet her without her latching onto my hand or my arm, and she has nipped the tender inner part of my thigh while trying to chew on my pants and also my boob when she tried to chew on my shirt. And she bit a button off a brand-new pair of capri pants, and ate it.

I read and printed lots of stuff about how to train her but, you know what? Training a dog takes lots of time and diligence, and all my time and diligence is devoted to Britt right now. She is a smart dog and I think she would be a great pet for someone who knew how to handle her, but that someone is not me.

Mikey, of course, has had almost nothing to do with her; he never goes in the backyard. He did today, though, and when he came in he told me that the condition of our yard and patio made him feel very depressed. He's ready to put her up for sale.

I think I am, too.

Busted II

I e-mailed Britt's guardian ad-litem the other day, asking if she could find out what was going on and get back with me.

She said it was indeed "our" Sarah who got busted, and that old guy she was living with in Blanchard last year was the one who bailed her out of jail. That's all she told me, though, which was annoying. I want details, dammit!

UPDATE 4:40pm: I just checked the messages on my phone, like I do once a month or so, and found out that Sarah called on June 13 wanting to see Britt.

The guardian ad-litem said it's up to me whether or not we let Sarah visit Britt, which I'm hesitant to do under the circumstances. Since she's a drug trafficker and all, you know.

On the other hand, I could get her over here and pump her for info.

Hmmm...

When Britt's pigtails fall out

she looks like a papillon:

Busted

Bridgie called to tell me she'd found something interesting on the OSCN website: Sarah was arrested last month for trafficking in illegal drugs. I pulled it up myself and looked at it; the birthdate is correct, so I'm sure it's her. Click on the link and you'll know as much about it as I do.

I called Bob; he thought it was pretty funny.

Mikey's been worried that Sarah would finally manage to clean herself up and try to regain custody of Brittany. I didn't have that much faith in her, but it's still a relief to know that she won't be taking Britt away any time soon.

I wonder if I could go downtown and get a copy of the arrest report? I am the legal guardian of her child, so I think I have a right to know what's going on. I'd hate to make the trip for nothing, though. Do you think they'd give me a copy?

A quick update

Britt's been having sleeping issues this past week or so. I finally got her to sleep at midnight-something tonight, which seriously cuts into my free time. Since I don't have a lot of free time on a good day, I haven't been blogging much lately.

I guess y'all heard that Roy's in the hospital with kidney failure. Cathy's been stuck up there without a car, so I went and took her out to lunch today. She's doing fine and Roy seems to be doing better.

I do have some exciting news to report -- Britt's hair is finally long enough to put in pigtails. Behold the cuteness:

Sleeping Beauty II

This time I caught her before she rolled off the bed:

School's out

and so one of my favorite new-to-me blogs is slowing down for the summer, dang it. And I was just about to add it to my blogroll, too.

It's the oddly fascinating Vegan Lunch Box, wherein a mom posts a daily photo, description and rating of the lunches she packs for her son each school day:



I'm not a vegan, but I would totally eat this stuff. Well, I would -- as long as somebody else did the shopping and the cooking for me.

Damn

I thought my meno was pausing.

I guess not.

Damn.

Greg's Wedding

Made the trip home to Tahlequah this weekend to see my youngest nephew get hitched. Here he is, enjoying his last few moments of freedom:



Amber was a lovely bride:



The kiss:



And it's a done deal:



We went over to Debbie's afterward, where Britt got to swim in the pool. She even got to ride in a kayak with Kelly Beth and Emily, with Eddie catapulting it from one end of the pool and Bob catching at the other:



And she went hot-tubbing with her Daddy; by this point her super-absorbent diaper was bigger than Bob's head:



Don't ask me what's up with Bob's facial hair. Could be he's Amish now, I dunno.

Missy is a lesbian

I forgot to tell Bridgie today when she finally came to get her dog that Missy has been humping my dog. Also, my leg.

Oh, yeah, Bridge -- remember when you came over for dinner Thursday and I couldn't find my little stainless steel saucepan? And I looked in all the cabinets, and I looked in the dishwasher two or three times and I even looked in the refrigerator and the freezer? And then I sat on the floor and looked through the pots & pans cabinet again? And it was nowhere to be found?

I hunted for it a few more times over the weekend, thinking it might magically reappear somewhere.

It did.

I finally unloaded the dishwasher on Tuesday and there it was.

Last night

I was in the garage smoking when Mikey popped his head out and told me he was going to mail the mail. Then he left.

A few minutes later, I was ready to go back in the house and -- guess what?

Yep. The door was locked.

I was locked in the garage with the baby monitor and an extremely tedious book and Brittany was asleep in her room -- alone.

I don't like being locked out of my house. I tend to freak out, just a little.

So Mikey came home and found me sitting here in front of the computer.

You locked me out.

What?

You locked me out.

How'd I do that?

Well, I guess you turned that little thingy on the knob when you shut the door.

How'd you get in?

I got in.

How?

I got in. You need to fix the door jamb.

Oh, great.

Oh, great? Oh, great? Like I'm the one who caused the problem?

I couldn't stay mad for long, though. He brought me a Blue Bell Texas Size Double Fudge Bar. Only 240 calories and 11 grams of fat. Diet, schmiet -- it's heaven on a stick.

Pre-season training

Britt's added two new words to her vocabulary: "pee-peep" and "poo-poop." Potty-training time is coming (sooner rather than later, I hope), and now she can tell me what's in her diaper. Maybe before long she can tell me before it's in her diaper.

She's also been supervising my bathroom breaks; she's fascinated by the whole procedure and insists on doling out toilet paper for me, although I have to keep a hand on the roll or else she'll take off running down the hall stringing paper through the house.

One day last week she was playing in her room so I thought I could slip in, go "peep" and get back to what I was doing without any fuss. I should've either left the door open or shut it all the way, but I didn't. I had pushed it almost closed, so when she came barreling through the door at top speed, outraged that I'd left her out of the loop, the door slammed open against the wall.

It wasn't until I was leaving the bathroom and felt resistance when I tried to pull the door closed behind me that I realized she had knocked the doorknob plumb through the wall.

(There used to be a doorstop there. Where'd it go?)

So now there's a doorknob-sized hole in my bathroom wall, and sometimes I feel like it's watching me.

Testing, testing...

I opened an account on YouTube so I could post video clips of Britt on here, but the cutest ones I have exceed their megabyte limit.

(**sigh**)

Anyway, I need to do a test post so here's a short clip of Britt dancing to some Zeppelin:



It's a lot darker and the action is jerkier than when I watch it in playback mode on my camera. I dunno what to do about that.

I'm dogsitting

Missy & Pepper
Originally uploaded by Sandra D..

Bridgie's geriatric pooch while she's off to Manhattan this weekend.

Manhattan, Kansas, that is.

When she brought Missy over yesterday, we took her out in the backyard to meet Pepper, who promptly went nuts.

Before we got Pepper I studied up on keeshonds and read that they are watch dogs but not guard dogs. I didn't quite understand what that meant, but it's clear to me now. It means they'll bark their fool heads off to sound the alert while scrambling away from whatever the potential danger is.

Anyway, now that they've had time to thoroughly sniff each other, they're getting along just fine.

Cathy's crash

I guess everybody in the family's heard about the accident by now. Sherri wrote about it here, and posted pictures of the car here.

I feel just sick about it, but I'm thankful she wasn't seriously hurt.

A big fat surprise

I went shopping with Mom and Debbie Saturday for dresses to wear to Greg's wedding. It should have been fun, and it was -- until I got into the dressing room.

I knew I'd put on some weight because my size 10 low-riders are pretty tight, so I started with an armload of size 12 dresses.

Uhhh, no. Nope, nope, nope and nope.

Crestfallen, I ditched the 12s and rounded up some size 14s.

What the hell? You've got to be kidding me! Why won't this fucker zip?

My head was beginning to pound by this point, but I soldiered on and tried a few size 16s. They zipped, but I looked like a battleship. I didn't buy anything. I'm not used to seeing myself that way.

Actually, I'm not used to wearing fitted clothing at all, spending most of my days in pajama pants. I can usually count on one hand the number of times I get dressed in actual clothes within a month's time. I finally broke down a couple of months ago and bought some bigger tops to cover my muffin top, but the full measure of my weight gain wasn't clear to me until I tried to find a cute little dress to wear to my nephew's wedding.

It's painfully obvious now that I won't be finding a cute little dress to wear. I'll have to find a large figure-concealing dress to wear. Like a muu-muu.

Remember the blue dress I wore as Sherri's matron-of-honor (happy anniversary, Sherri and Chris!) a year ago this weekend?



It was a size 6. I've gone from a 6 to a 16 in one year. No, wait...I'm looking through the archives... On July 16 I was 129 pounds, so I've gone from a 6 to a 16 in just ten months!

I haven't felt so traumatized since my cat died.

Dare I say it?

Britt hasn't had a binky for three days.

Not that I decided to wean her from it; it's just that we just can't find one anywhere around here, and I won't buy any more.

Shhhhh! Don't tell anybody -- she's doing fine so far and I don't want to jinx it.

Guess what I got for Mother's Day?

Go on, guess.

You'll never guess.

Did I get cards? Flowers? Phone calls? Hug and kisses from my beloved offspring?

Um, no. As a matter of fact, I didn't.

I did get a shake-it-up no-battery-required flashlight from Mom, but it didn't work so she took it back.

Other than that, not a sausage.

Mikey did give up spending the day with his own mother to drive the six-hour round trip to Tahlequah and back so I could see my mom and attend Greg & Amber's bridal shower. But we didn't leave here until almost 10:00 am and got back home at 7:30 pm, so there was plenty of time for my kids to call. Or come over. But they didn't. And there were no messages from either one on my answering machine.

(**sniff**)

Thanks a lot, kids. It's nice to know how loved and appreciated I am.

(**sob**)

Happy Mother's Day

to all the moms in our family, especially this one:

Twenty months

Can you believe Britt's almost two years old already? Me, neither.

She loooooves books. We read lots of books together every day and, when we're not reading, she stacks them up and carries them from room to room. Her new thing is to sit on the floor and throw all her books up onto the couch, one at a time. Then she'll climb up on the couch and throw them down on the floor one at a time. And then she'll do it all over again. And again. And again. They're getting a bit worn, as you can imagine.

Sometimes she'll go off to her room and get real quiet and, when I go check on her, she'll be sitting on the floor with books piled around her, paging through them and moving them from one stack to another.

She also loves mud. I got off easy all winter because of the drought, but now that it's raining gullywashers every other day she winds up a muddy mess every time we go outside. It's ruined several outfits, too, in spite of all the Shout-ing and Spray 'N Wash-ing I do. Even her bluejeans are stained orange from that damned red clay soil.

The garden gate isn't the only thing she's learned how to open. I thought I was going crazy, or my dishwasher was, because I'd start unloading it and realize that the dishes were still dirty. And sometimes there would still be soap in the soap thingy. And when I'd shut the door to re-run them it would start running mid-cycle, so I'd be trying to remember if I'd opened the door for some reason and didn't shut it all the way. This went on for about two weeks before I saw Britt walk up while it was running and squeeze the handle until it quit. It took me four tries to get that load done.

It is imperative that she monitor all my showers by running back and forth along the tub, throwing out the shower curtain behind her so that water goes everywhere, especially all over her. It's either that or shut the bathroom door and listen to her howl with rage on the other side.

"Watsat" is her favorite new word, accompanied by pointing at anything and everything. It goes something like this:

Watsat?

That's the dog's food.

Watsat?

That's the dog's water.

Watsat?

Dog food.

Watsat?

Water.

Watsat?

Dog food.

Watsat?

Water.

Watsat?

How 'bout ice cream, Sis? You want some ice cream?