My New Reality

It's not MY fault I don't have a toy....

Wake Up: 5am to Leo screaming in his crate. Fall out of bed because I am being attacked by Cecelia, who was sleeping at my feet and is cranky if she is awoken. Ever.

5:02am: Trip down the stairs, kicking in the adrenaline rush, Leo still screaming in crate. Try to organize my thoughts….do I put on my coat and boots first…do I get Leo first….where did I leave his leash….why am I always broke….what day is it….who’s life is this….LEO!

5:02 and a half am: I open Leo’s crate door and he bolts out only to run right back into me only to crash his little body into the gate only to run around the coffee table. Me? I am standing there crying.

5:03am: Still crying, I try to attach his leash.

5:15am: Success I have attached his leash. We head for the door. At this point, I have to figure out if I have my boots and coat on or if I need to put them on. If I have to put them on I cry some more because Leo is not yet allowed to roam free in the house. Especially as he has to pee and poop. I strangle myself trying to get my coat on and wipe my nose on my sleeve. I don’t care.

5:16am: Leo poops while walking in a circle. I wonder if that is some sort of instinctual thing…like standing inside of his poop circle will keep him safe from the spirits…? I wait a few more minutes to see if he will pee also, knowing darn well that he peed in his crate, under his bed. Yes, UNDER his bed.

5:17am: Back in the house, I fall over trying to get off my boots. I wouldn’t necessarily take off my boots at this point, but after cleaning up the gobs of dog poop that I unknowingly tracked through the house a few weeks back on more than one occasion, I decide to make the extra effort.

5:18am: I hook Leo’s leash to the gate, fill his bowls with food and water. Spencer is rhythmically barking and Emma is whining. I start crying again. I go get Spencer and Emma. I have to lift Spencer to his feet from his laying down position as he can no longer get up on is own. Once up, he is pretty shaky and falls often. Mostly into the dog poop outside.

5:20am: Spencer, Emma and I walk by Leo. Leo decides we are very mean and starts screaming at us for leaving him alone in the house.

5:21am – 5:32am: Spencer alternately pees, poops and falls down. Emma pees, poops while walking (good trick Emma…no way to pick that up!). I alternately cry, swear and pick Spencer up. We come in.

5:33am: Leo immediately shuts up when we walk through the door and tries to pretend he wasn’t screaming like a B movie star. Spencer heads right for Leo’s food, and falls. Damn it.

5:34am: I pick up Spencer and herd Emma into the kitchen where I feed both of them while Leo is in the other room, watching us and crying quietly so that Spencer won’t make fun of him.

5:35am: I take Leo out for his second walk. He pees a little just to make me feel better.

5:36am: I put Leo into his room, where he immediately starts screaming again because I have to go fetch Em and Spence and put them back in their room. On the way, I give Spencer his old man medications which include a thyroid, an antibiotic and benefiber…he’s fixed so he doesn’t need Viagra….Leo still screaming, somehow louder than before.

5:37am: I go back to Leo, clean up his crate, toss his bed into the other room for washing when the sun comes up, and force him to lay on the couch with me where he proceeds to try to chew the blanket, me and the couch. I get up once again and get him a toy cursing myself for not thinking ahead and making a mental note to always keep a toy of his on the couch there by avoiding the inconvenience of getting up after I had lain down. My next thought is ‘what was the thought I just had?’

6:00am: Leo snuggles down and stops wiggling and chewing and starts snoring.

6:01am: I stop crying and try to dooze off again just for 45 minutes before I have to get up to get the kids ready for school.

6:02am: Spencer decides he needs to poop and have some water. I decide he doesn’t. Ignore.

6:03am: Spencer wins (sometimes…othertimes I think I win, but then Spencer poops on the carpet and that is at least 20 minutes of cleaning…he has had a really hard time training me…I am a very slow learner)

6:04am: Leo screaming. Spencer let out. Leo screaming. Spencer comes in. Leo screaming. Spencer takes an extraordinarily long time getting a drink. Leo screaming. Spencer pauses to contemplate me and my tears, goes back to drinking.

6:15am: Spencer is back in his room. Leo is again on the couch trying to chew the blanket, me and the couch. I get up to get his toy and make a mental note to always keep one of his toys on the couch. I promptly forget my mental note.

6:30am: Leo is snoring. I am laying with him, wide awake, remembering the good old days of no pets, trying to remember all the good things about having these dogs.

6:31am: Cecelia decides she wants to come in and attaches her entire body to the window that is right near my head. Spead eagle. At the same time, Eddie starts yelling at me because I let Cece out and not him so he stands on the other side of the gate and yells until Leo wakes up and jumps down to go throw his body against the gate which makes a lovely crashing noise.

6:32am: I hate my life.

6:33am: I lay down, waiting for the alarm which will signal the start of my day, in total denial that my day started at 5am with dog poop and pee. Leo is trying to chew the furniture and I am rationalizing that with the fact that I don’t like my furniture. I do, but at 6:33am, I don’t really care.

6:45am: Alarm. Leo screaming. Kids up.

Jealous right?

They are cute when they want to be....

 

Spencer Gets His Own Pad

It is exhausting trying to get away with chewing furniture....

As of today, Leo has been with us for exactly one month. He is growing and healthy and all puppy. But Emma and Spencer have moved. They had no time or tolerance for puppyhood. Luckily, I have a rental space that I let them have. They are very happy in their new place. It has carpeting which means they can stand up on their own!It took them a few days to understand that they could stand up without assistance. Spencer especially didn’t want to give up the “tend to me woman” attitude and we had to actually ignore him until he got his own smelly ass up off the ground. After living with hardwoods and no throw rugs for the past few months and not being able to stand up unless we helped them, they feel like young dogs again and stand up and walk around just for fun!

There is a tv in their space and one or more of us are in their with them daily. Their door stays open to the family room where Leo lives so they can still keep an eye on him. But they are no longer being bitten and yapped at by the baby. It’s funny, I am not sure if it is just now that I have something to compare to or if it’s because they see Leo and his bad behaviors, but both Em and Spence are perfect angels. No accidents in an entire month, no pulling on the leash, no knocking down the barricades between the rooms. They seem to finally have grasped being a “good dog”. Or maybe Leo is just such a puppy that Em and Spence seem grown up in comparison. Had I known getting a puppy would make the older two straighten up and fly right I might have considered this years ago….no I wouldn’t have…that would have been nuts!!!

So here is how our daily routine has changed. Leo wakes up about 6am and starts whining. Sometimes I get up and let him out or sometimes I get one of the kids up to let him out. As soon as Spencer senses us downstairs he starts his old man “arrfff” to make sure we remember to come get him. So, Leo is bouncing around his crate screaming like we are rock stars and as soon as we open the door he bolts towards the next gate where he stands wiggling and screaming while we try to wrestle his leash on him. Spencer is still “arrff”ing in his apartment. He won’t be outdone by  Leo the ball of nuclear energy. Spencer may not have the ability to be a doggie tornado any longer but he can still annoy the hell out of me with his rhythmic, off key, breathy “arrff!”. Out goes Leo. In comes Leo. Leo gets fed. While Leo is being fed, which ever one of us is on dog duty goes to get the big dogs. Out come Em and Spencer. Emma always pauses at the doorway, either because she doesn’t want to be attacked by Leo or because she is still shaky on the laminate flooring. So, Spencer with the bladder of steal, waits patiently at the door while Emma hems and haws and then finally makes her way thru the living room to the front door. Emma has the bladder of a flea. Not that I think fleas have bladders…but you know what I mean. So I always sweat when she is procrastinating in the doorway because she has been known to just let loose right there.

Out go Emma and Spencer. They are perfect. They do their thing and they go right back in the house. They get fed…while Leo takes up his screaming because he is done eating and wants to be where the action is. Insted, Leo gets to go right back outside where he sniffs and digs and whines and jumps. Maybe he does his thing, maybe he doesn’t. And in we come. Leo goes back into his crate where he screams some more while I take the kids to school. Emma and Spencer are done eating and go back to their apartment talking to each other the entire way about how dumb puppies are.

When I get home, Leo is usually asleep in his crate, with his pee pee pad chewed up. I sneak in quietly, trying not to wake him, go to Spencer’s place, get them, Leo wakes up and starts screaming, and I walk Em and Spence who again, are perfect and do their thing and head back in the house, to their comfortable, clean space that is puppy free. I go get Leo who repeats his Insane Puppy Overreacts routine from the morning and we go out. He sniffs and pulls and digs and whines and maybe he does his thing and maybe he doesn’t. He gets distracted ya know. Sometimes the neighbor’s dogs are out so there is some general butt sniffing and pouncing. This is progress because when Leo first met them, he would cry and hide behind my legs. And in we come. At this point Leo and I do some training. He is going to have manners. And then we spend about 2 hours with me clapping, stamping, yelling, snapping, and making all sorts of weird noises to stop Leo from chewing my furniture. This is in-between the walks that happen on average every 20 minutes.

About noon, Leo takes a nap. In his crate. So I go walk Em and Spencer again who do their thing. It’s as if they want to prove to me they ARE good dogs and so I can get rid of that crazy screaming thing in the crate. Leo wakes up, reprising his Insane Puppy role, goes out, comes in.

I leave for work and the babysitter and kids take over.

I come home from work and bribe one of the kids to do doggie duty.

Go to bed, repeat in 6 hours.

It’s the little things. Like yesterday when Leo’s ears were being blown straight up by the wind. Or when my youngest is in Spencer’s space and is snuggling with Emma and I know Emma is happier than she has ever been. Or listening to my oldest repeat to me what we are supposed to do and not do with training Leo. Or watching the middle child wipe Spencer’s butt….ok, that isn’t heart warming but it cracks me up!!!!

Spencer thinks it's his bachelor pad...Emma thinks it's home...

Spencer’s Gift from Santa

Puppy Christmas Surprise!!!

Santa brought us a brand new puppy! Storks bring babies and Santa brings puppies!!! Emma thinks it was Satan who brought the puppy. We all went to bed Christmas Eve in anticipation of a fun christmas morning. No one had asked Santa for a puppy, no one had talked about puppies. We had our hands full with Spencer and his inability to stand on his own, his garbage eating, his farts and his in-house “accidents”. We had  fallen into a routine that revolved around Spencer and Emma (his satellite). Taking care of elderly dogs is challenging and Spencer being a challenged dog on a good day, his remaining years are involving  much more attention than all of his years combined. But they are OUR dogs and we love them. And as much as I hate them sometimes, they are lives that were entrusted to me to care for and that is what I will do until the end. Lesson for the kids and learning experience for me.

Anyway, about 6am christmas morning we heard this wicked cry/scream coming from the livingroom. The kids jumped out of bed, with tears in their eyes because  they were sure it was Emma in the throes of death. They simultaneously wanted to run downstairs and help her and go back to bed and not deal with her death on Christmas morning. I, being the mom, slowly creep down the stairs, unsure as to what could be making this animatistic howling and low and behold….there’s a puppy!!!! In a crate!!!! I yell for the kids that Emma is fine but they have to come right away!!!

Three sets of slippered feet pad down the stairs and stop, in shock, unsure as to what they are seeing or what this is going to mean to their life. I open the crate and out tumbles Leo! Leo is a full-blooded beagle, 8 weeks old and a totally typical puppy. He licked everyone, jumped on everything and he tried to play with Emma and Spencer. Bad idea.

Emma was a nervous old lady. She didn’t like the way Leo was licking and nipping at the kids, she didn’t like the way he was trying to eat all the wrapping paper, she didn’t like that he was sniffing around for a place to pee. She didn’t like Leo. At all. Leo was totally oblivious to her disdain. She had a tail! A big bushy tail! That must be a toy!! And so Leo found his favorite play thing…Emma’s tail.

Spencer was also unimpressed. Spencer knows he is the top dog. After all, he has a crew who lifts him up and helps him walk, wipes his butt after every poop and gets all the love when he does his “sad doggy eyes”. Spencer is secure in his spot as top dog. So when Leo climbed all over Spencer’s large laying down body, Spencer was tolerant.

The rest of christmas day was all about Leo. Other presents were forgotten on the floor…until Leo found them and then they were put up on the couch. Lucky for us we are having one of the mildest winters on record because we were taking Leo out every hour, which we soon learned should be every half hour which was actually every 15 minutes.

All of the sudden, Spencer and Emma’s puppyhood was coming back to me like an acid flashback. The pee and poop everywhere, the constant crying and whining, the chewing of EVERYTHING. That is when I started to hyperventilate. I forgot that I love my animals, I forgot about the love that a puppy can bring, I forgot that I have 3 kids who will help to raise this puppy. All I could remember in that moment was a house destroyed and puppies that I could not love because they were costing me a fortune in flooring.

On top of everyone and their brother telling me that beagles are the worst dogs in the world. Ofcourse, no one has experienced Spencer in all his glory, his coon hounds disease, his food stealing and home escapes, his “accidents”. But everyone is so sure that beagles are the AntiChrist. I have researched beagles for 6 years. I love the beagle breed. Every single negative in a beagle is every single negative that Spencer owns and wears with pride. His nose to the ground, oblivious to his name when he is on a scent. Running away, eating poop, getting fat, jumping up, being an all around turd.

My oldest also got a very fancy camera for christmas. What goes better together than puppies and cameras?

Puppy Christmas Suprise!!!

 

 

 

Emma Makes A Phone Call

Helrow? Helrow? It's Emma...I just peed...

It is 6:15am on a saturday and I am awake. Not because I want to be, not because I need to be. Because I have dogs. Oh sure, some of you with good dogs won’t understand how my dogs have me trained…and not very well trained I might add.  I really don’t understand their methods either. It involves pee, poop and sad puppy eyes.

Anyway, yesterday I cleaned the entire downstairs. Pretty stupid of me actually as I have dogs and kids. Why bother, cleaning is pointless and discouraging. I used to hold off on the Big Clean until I had a day when I was rid of both kids and dogs. But those days are over. Spencer no longer needs to go to the groomers as his fur never grew back after the last shave down 2 years ago and out of 3 kids, one of them is always home and generally always has a friend with them. My home is not my own. Yet, despite all the chaos, I cleaned. I mopped every square inch. Scrubbed on my hands and knees. It was nasty because of the dogs and their peeing and pooping which I make the kids clean up. Kids cleaning up dog pee and poop isn’t going to be as through as say, a professional dog pee/poop cleaner upper (that would be MY mom). So, there was residue. But now, it is gone as I mopped the bejeezus out of those floors.

As I mopped, I gave Emma and Spencer the Evil Eye. For what they had done and for what I knew they could do again. I didn’t bother with my lecture. They’ve heard it all before. By the time I was done, I could barely stand to walk upstairs. I yelled to one of the kids to take the dogs out and followed that statement up with “because if the pee or poop on my clean floors you WILL be grounded!” That just makes them roll their eyes. As if they have any control over when or where the dogs choose to pee. Part of me is kidding but part of me really wishes that the kids would magically know when the dogs have to go and take them. I used to wish for fame or fortune…now I wish for a morning free from dog pee. Yeah, being a grown up is way different than I imagined…

So, at approximately 6am, Emma starts tap dancing. This always wakes me up. She has a few routines. She has a rhythmic number which is generally her Laying Down Dance. She has her fast, more modern Trying Not To Step On Spencer As He Steals the Dog Bed. And then ofcourse there is the slow, methodical Trying To Be Kind Of Quiet So I Can Pee In The House. This morning, however, there was the slow methodical coupled with a huge crash. This means I have to get up to investigate. I throw on my robe of resentment, slip on my slippers of anger and charge downstairs as the banging is continuing and I don’t want the noise to wake the kids and their sleepover buddies.

I have no idea what I am looking at. I see an outline of Emma in the corner, half sitting but not moving. There springs a tiny hope in my heart that she hasn’t peed…she just got lost and can’t find her way out of the corner. I go over to her and smell pee. I also hear “hello? Hello? Do you need help? Hello?” Other people might be concerned that their dog started talking. Me? I’m thinking “yeah, I need help… I need some serious help…” I can’t figure out where the voice is coming from. I try 3 times, unsuccessfully to get Emma to stand up but she can’t. Again I hear this voice “Are you hurt? Shall I call 911? Hello?”

Underneath Emma is the old phone. It looks like a rotary dial phone from the 50′s but it is actually push button. The hand piece is now in two pieces and the cord is wrapped tightly around Emma’s entire body. I pick up what is left of the hand piece and say “Hello, I’m sorry, my dog peed and fell and somehow wrapped herself up in the phone chord, I don’t know how she managed to dial a number. I am so sorry for waking you!” The woman sounded incredulous. I think maybe she didn’t believe me and thought there was something sinister going on. Yeah, sinister was about to go on…

I finally got off the phone with Emma’s new best friend. Remember I was actually kneeling in pee, talking into the hand set that was in the area of Emma’s belly. Her smelly belly. At 6am on a saturday. I can’t get her unwrapped from the phone. It finally dawns on me to unplug the phone from the wall. I do that and untangle her and she is free at last…free to run to the other side of the room, you know, the side that is still clean, and poop. Just a few turds as she heads for the door. I let her out, why I don’t really know, as she has now peed and pooped…what does she need to go outside for? And I set about cleaning up the pee, the poop and myself. Spencer, to his credit, stayed right where he had fallen and just watched me with that dumb grin. I go to let Emma in and she is nowhere to be found. She’s gone. I call quietly for her in a very nice voice hoping to trick her. No Emma. Oh and I should mention it snowed yesterday, and I am in my skivvies as the pj bottoms were soaked in pee. Her pee not mine. I can’t pee randomly on the floor, it’s in my contract.

I go all the way to the back door and call for her. No Emma. Now I start to think if she walked out of the house and got hit by a truck….no, I would be very sad. And her new best friend on the phone would be devastated. I leave the backdoor open just incase and go back to the front door and there she IS! Yea! She now smells like wet dog with pee…there has to be a way to sell this smell. Maybe in a candle, an eau de toilet? snort…that’s funny…shut up, it’s 6am on a saturday and I am covered in dog pee and I am not crying.

I wonder if I can train the lady on the phone to come over and walk Emma every time she calls…

Once in a Lifetime Friend

Our Jim

My friend Jim was a swell guy. I know he thought of himself as grumpy or prickly but I didn’t see that. He was funny and loving and very wise. And patient. It’s funny  how we view ourselves compared to how the rest of society views us. Sometimes the negative things others tell us we are sticks and we go about life believing we really are those negative things even if we don’t present those traits to the world.

I’ll never forget the first time I met Jim. My dad pulled up as I was coming out of the house. There in the passenger seat was Jim, looking like I was going to slap him. Dad introduced us and I shook his hand, smiling. He tentatively smiled back as if he couldn’t believe I was being pleasant and nice to him. I was a bit baffled by his reaction to meeting me, but Dad looked really happy and that was all that mattered.

Jim  became a part of my dad’s life and as I got to know him, I began to understand why he assumed that I wouldn’t like him or accept him. That had been his life experience up to that point. His family wasn’t supportive of his lifestyle and he had come to expect intolerance and hate and anger. When I brought the kids over it was as if they had always been a part of his life. They loved him immediately. Again, they didn’t see of feel any grumpiness from him….I wonder who convinced him he was  a grumpy guy…

Not too long after Jim became a part of my father’s life, my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. That put their relationship into fast forward. Jim moved in with dad to help care for him and to spend as much time together as possible. Dad’s diagnoses was pretty bad. Almost 50 years of smoking had finally caught up with him.

As sad as the circumstances were that landed Jim at dad’s it was actually heaven-sent. Jim was the perfect complement to my dad and like I said the kids and I loved him. We became family. Looking back, I can’t imagine not loving anyone who my father loved. But Jim and I had an extra special bond. I could feel it but I didn’t really get what it was.

Come to find out Jim was well versed in the 12 step program. Finally!!! My dad found himself a program person!!! I knew I loved Jim!! We had a language we could share and that language became invaluable in the coming year as we took care of my father as he died. We laughed and we cried and we totally understood each other. It gave dad great comfort that Jim and I were as tight as any family of choice is.

We held each other up when the man we loved died. He died with us there, knowing that we would be there for each other in this time of grief. In the years that followed, Jim was my rock. He was one of my closest friends. He was the one I called when the crisis crashed and when the insanity became too intense. Not only did he fix things around my house, like lights and lawn mowers and windows, but he also did a fabulous job decorating my livingroom.

Jim was my family. He came trick or treating with us. He was here on Christmas morning to watch the kids open presents from Santa, he got along better with my mother than my father did…

And then, one spring day, he dropped by just to say hello and talk about what we needed to do to my house to get it ready for summer. He had lunch with the youngest kid and myself. He winterized the snow blower and played a round of Uno with us and as he was leaving he hugged me tight and told me he loved me.

Later that night I got a call from the state police that he was no longer with us. He had left me a note.

I was sad, very mad and I went through the ‘why me’. But all of that passed. I respected Jim, I respected his choice. I respected that he felt that he could no longer continue in this life. The anger didn’t dissipate right away though. It took a very long time. Whenever I had to take down a storm window, or winterize the lawn mower or choose a paint color for the family room, I cursed Jim. And he knows it. I loved him unconditionally but man, I was pissed that he checked out and left me all alone to fight my battles.

Today, I am no longer angry. I know he is in a better place (although I know he didn’t believe he’d go anywhere special or that there was anywhere special to go) and I talk to him regularly. Both him and dad. I hear his very rational advice, I hear him calling me out on being a nutjob, I hear his laugh…I feel his honesty and I feel his love. He is gone but I am so grateful to have had him in my life in such an important way.

We squeezed so much life into such a short period of time. There will never be another man like him in my life. I am very lucky that we were able to share the world. He was my ally and advocate and I was his biggest fan.

And whenever I dust, I remember his very sage advice : NEVER clean hardwood floors with Pledge.

Cecelia Experiments with Color

So pretty....

Cecelia, by her own doing, has had a rough life. She is mean and miserable pretty much all of the time. But we love her. That is her character. She’s bad ass. She chewed off her own tail once…she is not a cat you want to mess with.

Today, I was painting in my daughter’s room. I had pink, blue, yellow and green latex paint happening. Eddie tried to come visit and I shooed him away. I have done the “cat walks thru the paint tray” and “dog’s tail knocks over the paint can” and have learned my lesson the hard way. Eddie gave me a look of pure hurt that I would shoo him when all he wanted was to come visit, but he left quietly. I wasn’t worried about Cece as she doesn’t care to visit anyway. It took me 8 hours to paint 6 boxes and 5 steps. I am a horrible painter. I am sloppy and impatience. Awareness, acceptance, action. Today I was trying extra hard to be good.

As I was finishing up on my 3rd coat, I decided to have the 8 year old start cleaning up. I told her to take the three small cans of paint down to the basement very carefully. And away she goes. I am miserable because I am in pain from my head to my toes and I have been huffing paint fumes all day and it was taking me forever to get this done because I wanted to be professional. She was gone for a few minutes when all of the sudden I hear her pounding up the stairs and she runs in the room and says “MOM! I accidentally spilled the yellow paint and…..” “And what????” ” And…..” she stands there on the verge of tears and I was on the verge of the top of my head blowing off…”And WHAT????” “And it spilled all over Cecelia!!” And she bursts into tears. Are you kidding me with this? The meanest cat in the entire world, who just happens to be in on the upswing of a mania and is actually wanting to be around us, is now covered in yellow paint.

I just stood there for a second deciding if I actually needed to take action or if I could just pretend someone else was the mom. Then I thought of the few things of value that I still liked in my house. The things the dogs have not ruined with their ”accidents” and I kicked into high gear. I said “ok, stop crying…lets go assess the damage and find the damn cat.” I walk out the back door and the entire deck and stairs are covered in yellow paint, dripping onto my stones and flowers and flower pots, very modernesqe. Yellow was the fullest paint can. The rest were almost empty, yellow was near the top. Oh good.

I sent the kid to scope out Cece. I see yellow paw prints leading into the neighbor’s yard and it occurs to me that if Cece decided to do some sight seeing the neighborhood will be covered in yellow kitty paw prints and I might get in trouble for it. Damn cat…did I say that already? The kid gets a lock on the cat and I follow up while instructing the kid to get the giant old blanket. There is no way I can get near Cece. At this point I see Cecelia is more than half covered in paint. All over her back and side down all four legs. She looks like she is a contestant on You Can’t Do That On TV.

Now things get dicey. I am trying to talk to Cece, stall her, while the kid gets the blanket. The kid can’t find the blanket. WHAT????? Cece is casually trying to make her escape, leaving her marks all over my stone wall, I am sweating, praying that paint in this large a quantity isn’t toxic. I love my mean ass cat. And she’s off. I grab the blanket from the kid and follow Cece into the neighbor’s back yard. Did I mention I am unshowered, hair pulled back, nastiest tee shirt and boxers carrying a gigantic comforter chasing after a sunshine yellow cat talking to her as if she is an escaped convict. “You won’t get away with this Cecelia. If you just let me help you…it’s for your own good…” She escapes into the woods. I give up. I know when I am beat, I know my cat. She will come home eventually. As long as she doesn’t die from paint poisoning.

I shut all the doors and sit and cry because I am worried that my rotten, awful, unkind cat is going to die alone in the woods. I called the vet and they instructed me to call poison control. I do and poison control says that latex paint is harmless. The advise me to wash her off with some Dawn dishwashing soap. That is when I started laughing. They say you always remember exactly where you were the moment you lose your  mind. Now not only will I remember, but so will the poison control lady. I was crying and laughing and explaining how Cecelia is meaner than spit and there is no way I will ever survive trying to bathe her and I don’t have Dawn I have Palmalive cause Madge and soft hands and it’s a pretty color yellow and my back is killing me and the neighbors are going to be mad and my hot water heater died and the roof leaked and…..hello? She hung up. I don’t think that’s legal. Poison control can’t hang up on you in the middle of a break down. That’s downright Un-American.

I call the vet and tell them I will most likely be there at 7:30am with Cecelia to be sedated (her, not me…unless they are willing, I mean, I wouldn’t turn it down at this point) and washed. They don’t sound thrilled at the idea of Painted Cecelia. I don’t blame them. I hang up and grab the kid and as we are walking out the door to get dinner, Cece bolts in and heads for the livingroom. I tell the kid to grab the blanket and we set about trying to catch the yellow cat who is now running around my velvet furniture. I throw the king sized blanket over her and stuff her in the cat carrier. Poor kitty was trapped and crying. I, on the other hand, was laughing hysterically again. What was I going to do with a painted cat in a carrier? The kid is almost crying again because she feels so bad for poor Cecelia. Ofcourse, it is 6:15 and the vet closes at 6. So, I release Cece outside and tell her that we will talk in the morning.

I feel rather defeated and guilty that in my cat’s time of need I can do nothing except leave her to her own devices. Because she is so incredibly terrifyingly mean. So, I’ll say a prayer that I will be able to wrangle her into the carrier tomorrow and that the vet will not call social services on me for cat abuse. It was an accident, and not everyone can pull off yellow…Cece can…cause she says she can and no one argues with Cece.

 

UPDATE: Cecelia almost eluded capture but at exactly 2pm she snuck in the house thinking we had forgotten that she was still covered in paint. After being outside in the rain all night she looked like some sort of club kid from 1993. The chase was on…through the diningroom, kitchen, livingroom and upstairs into the kid’s bedroom where after 20 minutes of sweat and swearing and pure terror (on my part) Cecelia was finally captured and contained and deported to the vets where she was knocked out and shaved. They also gave her a full physical for the first time in her 9 years on this earth. She looks rough but she is stoned out of her face which is kind of nice because I actually was able to pet her for a second. I love my naked cat.

"don't look at me....I'm a monster!!!!"

Spencer Learns Sign Language

HUH??? WHAT???? Speak up why don'tcha????

Well, it finally happened. Spencer has gone deaf. I was convinced he was simply ignoring me but it turns out he can’t hear me screaming at him to get out of the garbage. I don’t suppose he went deaf on purpose to piss me off, although it does sound like something he would do. Like getting Coon Hound’s Disease and having accidents right where I would step in them. That’s the kind of relationship we have had over the years.

We went to the vet the other day for a check up and shots. I took Spence, Em and Eddie as Eddie really believes he is a dog. Spencer went first because he is the man of the house. Or because I know he was going to start retaliating for having a thermometer up his butt by farting and it was a very small exam room. Poor Spencer was acting like a scared little kid. He tried to crawl into my lap and hide behind my daughter’s legs. He even tried to get in the cat carrier with Eddie! He didn’t get angry at the vet but he was so scared! He buried his head in my lap when it was time for his shots.

He has all the signs and symptoms of old age. The arthritis, the milky eyes, the balding issues and now the deafness. If the government would get its act together I would apply for medicare for him and see about some hearing aids and a walker. I guess the war is more important than my elderly dog.

I do have to laugh at myself when he is getting into things he shouldn’t be and I am still yelling at the top of my lungs…he’s not forien…he’s deaf!!! I have been working with him on some sign language and he seems to really be catching on. When he could hear he would always ignore my “Look” or my “Tone” and continue on with whatever he was doing. Now, I watch him getting into the garbage and I see him looking around furtively to see if I am watching what he is doing. And when he sees me, he keeps going on the garbage while keeping his eye on me. As soon as I start advancing towards him he starts backing up with garbage in his mouth as he is kicking more garbage into the livingroom hoping beyond hope that I didn’t notice his fancy foot work. I lift my hand and make a swating gesture and he leaves the scene.

When it’s time to go out, I show him the leash and he tries to get up. I have to help him up 9 times out of 10. When it’s time to go inside I point to the door. When it’s time to eat I wave him towards the food bowls. Honestly, we are communicating better now than we ever did before.

It’s sad when I think of how agile he used to be. He was always jumping on people and chasing Cecelia and humping Emma or just humping the air…and now, he can’t hear. But his quality of life is still pretty good. He gets massages from the 8 year old and he gets his butt wiped by the 12 year old and he gets lifted in and out of the car by me and the 16 year old. He still pretends to play with Lucy the pit bull mutt who lives next door and every  once in a while he will look up and see Emma barking out the door and join her. He’s old but he’s still good lookin! He’s deaf but he is still communicating! He can’t hear me yelling my face off for him to GIT but he still attempts his naughty stunts.

He is resigned to the fact that he can no longer hear. He can no longer sing along with the fire sirens. He can no longer scare the pants off the old lady with the toy poodle with his fierce bark. But he has mastered the pathetic dog face and is, as I write, getting love from complete strangers walking down the sidewalk cause he escaped through the screen door……WHAT!!!!!! Gotta GO!!!!! SPENCER!!!!!!!!

Spencer goes to a BBQ

his “Westminster” pose…doesn’t LOOK like he’d be licking random grease traps does he?

It’s summer. Spencer is 13 years old. He has cloudy eyes and selective hearing. He has ruined every single one of my antique oriental rugs and now he’s working on ruining the hardwoods. He needs a full time nurse to help him wipe when he poops. And he cannot walk on the hardwoods because they are actually laminate and he just belly flops and can’t get up. Yeah, that’s my dog…He’s fallen and he can’t get up. Real funny except in the middle of the night when he falls in his own pee AND poop and then can’t get up. Cold showers at 3am but not for the same reason as they used to be.

I have made many concessions for this mutt. I have rolled up the rugs. I have spent a small fortune on baby gates. I have invested in dog beds…that’s right, beds. Because he’s a picky sleeper. I have barricaded the stairs so he cannot go upstairs because he throws himself down the stairs and I know he will break a hip one of these days. Basically, he is now confined to one room. The fancy livingroom (which isn’t so fancy anymore minus the rugs and plus the pee and poop).

Last fall I had new storm doors installed. I had my heart set on the full length screen door but I knew that would be a major temptation for Spence. He has never seen a screen door that he didn’t plow through. Still, I talked myself into the full length, stupid expensive, screen door. In the winter, it was a full length glass door that Spencer left nose prints all over. I changed it out, put the screen in, bought yet another heavy duty baby gate to go in front of it and figured I was brilliant…or at least smarter than Spencer.

I was wrong. Oh so wrong. First of all, to get out of my front door, you had to open the door, then the baby gate, then the screen door,go through, while holding the screen door open but closing the baby gate and/or the door all the time yelling at Spencer to “GIT” because he is deaf and trying to escape. It’s a process. One which I am sure the neighbors enjoy watching. Anyway, I have to be vigilant as Spencer loves to roam and the street is busy and the neighbors don’t care for him pooping in their yard and going thru their garbage. I don’t blame them. I don’t like it either.

But Spencer has gotten old. So old that his fur never grew back from his last trip to the groomers last year. He is now a short haired dog with some long hairs here and there. Kinda like an old man with the nose/ear hair growth…He was really acting as if he wasn’t all that interested in escaping or even doing his routine where he does a dive roll through the screen door. The baby gate was pretty secure. I became complacent. I thought he was too old for his antics of yesteryear. Can I be any wronger?

Emma: I’m sorry. Me: for what? Emma: for having a dumb brother.

The other day we were out and about and I had left the front door open with the baby gate closed and the screen door locked. I got a text from my neighbor who lives 5 house down that Spencer had just come up for a visit and he walked him home and shut the door. WHAT???? How is that possible????? I got home and there is Emma laying in the backyard waiting patiently for someone to let her in. No one knew she had also escaped because she is smart and simply went to the backyard to wait for us to come home. She  looked like she knew she was in trouble but she is kind of the asskisser of the pack and was already acting all contrite and remorseful. And what did she do with her time alone outside in the big wide world? Nothing. She waited for us in the backyard. Spencer on the other hand just HAD to go visiting. Lucky for him he decided to visit the guys who like him, or at least tolerate him.

So, exasperated, I close the front door. I am beaten, I give up. Spencer wins. I can’t have nice things. No antique rugs, no full length screen doors.Wait a second… wait one gosh darn second… I am the human here… I am the grown up… I am THE MOM!!! I say open the front door and live life!! That damn dog is not allowed to rule this house!!! And for a few days, I think he understands that I am in charge and what I say goes and I say he is NOT allowed to go THROUGH the screen door ever again! Yeah, he gets it. And just incase he doesn’t I shut the front door every time we leave the house.

All is well…until today. I open the door, I give my warning (which even I am sick of hearing) about not leaving the house, to which Spencer just rolls his rheumy eyes, and I go upstairs. I get a text from my neighbor UP the street that she just sent Spencer home and he is at the front door. WHAT???? I know deja vu right? I run down stairs yelling at the kids that Spencer is outside and I open the baby gate and the screen door, (which now is really just a frame of a door with some screen kind of hanging from the corner), fully expecting to find the arrogant mutt waiting. He’s not there! I send the 8 year old down the street, the 12 year old up the street and I go to the back yard. He couldn’t have gotten far. It had literally been possibly 15 seconds from my neighbor’s text to me arriving outside. No Spencer. No Spencer anywhere. After 15 minutes I start to get worried. He is kind of blind and sometimes deaf and the roads are busy. I know all he wants is food or better yet garbage or nirvana would be something big and dead to roll in…half and hour, still no Spencer. The 12 year old thinks she has picked up his trail as she found a steaming pile of poop right in the middle of the sidewalk around the corner and down about a half a block. At this point, I am driving around, alerting all the responsible dog owners who are out walking their well behaved dogs on leashes. Imagining the worst, that he has been hit by a car and is being taken by ambulance to the ER and that he is uninsured, I drive slower and yell louder. I don’t know why I am yelling because he only hears what he wants to but that is what dog owners in the movies do when their dog is lost.

About 45 minutes and at least 10 trips around the neighborhood, I pull in to the driveway and see that Emma and my 8 year old are sitting on the sidewalk and my 12 year old is walking toward my neighbor who has Spencer by the collar. Relief. I wanted to hug him and kick him all at the same time (Spencer that is, not my neighbor). My neighbor had been driving around looking also and he decided to go home and check his yard again when he saw Spencer’s butt in his next door neighbor’s yard. As he rounded the corner he caught Spence in the grease pan of their grill licking away as if it were his job. My neighbor introduced Spencer to the new neighbor, making sure that the new neighbor understood that Spencer was harmless albeit annoying and then he hauled my dumb dog home.

Spencer was in the mood for some barbeque. It is summer after all. Turd.

P.S. for all of you who may think that I don’t feed Spencer enough please refer to http://ellie072.wordpress.com/2010/03/09/spencer-the-addict/ which will give you an idea of what Spencer is, which is not underfed!

A Rant About Rape

Wouldn't it be easy if all rapists wore the uniform? But they don't.

Let me share something with you…not all  rapists are drug addict alcoholics who had a momentary lapse in judgement. Rape has NOTHING to do with the victim. Nothing to do with the victim. You understand that right? A rapist rapes because of an internal flaw that they have always had within themselves. Rape also has nothing to do with sex. NOTHING to do with sex. Got that? It is a violent crime the same as attempted murder.

There is a case that has made headlines recently about the french guy who is a multi billionaire and was going to make a run for the french presidency. Apparently he is also a rapist. Now, everyone is asking “how could he DO something like that? He’s so rich and powerful and obviously smart…” and they are dumbfounded. Here’s another little nugget of knowledge: rapists are sometimes rich, sometimes educated, sometimes pillars of the community, sometimes married with kids. Rapists are NOT always homeless weirdos who are ugly and isolated and dress in ski masks. More often than not a rapist is someone the victim knows. And more often than not a rapist gets away with their crime many many many times before they are caught. When they are  caught it is never their first time. That means there are a long trail of victims who have been to scarred or scared to come forward.

And I really wish that these news media and talk show hosts would stop tying to excuse these behaviors of the rich and famous rapists with “well, they must have an ‘addiction’ “. Rape is not an addiction. It is about power and violence against another human being. Being an alcoholic does not make one a criminal. Being a drug addict doesn’t mean they are a rapist. Having a mental illness does not mean committing violent acts against society is a given.

I know many alcoholics and drug addicts and mentally ill people and none of them would ever think of rape as something they are capable of. Being criminally insane is a separate issue from any addiction. Sex addiction does NOT equal rape. Now, can someone who has a sex addiction commit rape? Sure. So can a heroine addict or a person who is bipolar or schizophrenic. But those issues are not an excuse.

A person who abuses their partner or children is simply that, an abusive person, and there is no other excuse for it.They can be labeled as abusive, because not all addicted people abuse their spouse or kids.  Anything they are labeled, above and beyond that, is separate. Not saying that drugs or alcohol or any other drug of choice (such as pornography, gambling, sex, food, etc) can’t be a trigger for the abusive person, but they are not an excuse. You can take a drink away from an alcoholic and still have an alcoholic. You can take stress away from an abuser and still have an abuser.

A person who rapes is a rapist. They are NOT an alcoholic who made a bad decision under the influence. They are NOT a sex addict who was trying to get a fix. They are NOT anything more than a criminal. They might have issues, but issues are not excuses. The explanation for a rapist committing a rape is they are a rapist. The explanation for an abuser committing abuses is they are abusive.

So, it really shouldn’t be that shocking to us when someone who is smart, good looking, affluent, funny, nice to be around, seemingly normal, commits such a heinous act. Not all rapists are hiding in a back alley waiting for a poor unsuspecting prostitute to walk by. It’s ok if you didn’t know this. Now you do. Go do some research. And say a prayer for the people who do come forward and report rapists no matter what their class standing or career path. Those victims are survivors and deserve all of our respect and support.

An Annoying Day In The Life…

They dont have no stinkin club.

It started off ok. Over slept but that isn’t a big deal. Took the dog to the dog wash. That was ok too, except when he tried to casually back off the waist high table and he almost accidentally hung himself. He didn’t poop in the car so I count that outing as a success. Came home and worked on laundry. This is an annoying project because my 18 month old dryer died so, we wash all the clothes and then haul them down to the laundromat to dry them. You know how freakin heavy wet clothes are? WAY heavier than dry clothes. It’s a good work out I suppose. And FYI: NEVER invest in a Whirlpool Cabrio…horrible company, horrible product, bad investment. Stick with Maytag.

I get the kids together and ready to go. We are planning on going to My Favorite Chinese Restaurant. It’s a beautiful day and off we go. My Favorite Chinese Restaurant is 45 minutes away from my house but in the same town as my best friend which is where my oldest is going to spend the night, so, it makes sense ya see. What doesn’t make sense is that when we get there, I check before we go in to make sure I have my bank card and I don’t have it. I always check before I go in to make sure I have my card because I am paranoid that I will eat, get the bill and not be able to pay. I also have a “thing” about maggots but that’s neither here nor there.

Lo and behold,  I left my bank card in my sweatshirt that I was wearing to bathe the dog! That would be on my bathroom floor 45 minutes away!! What’s worse is I only have one check left in my checkbook!!! Wow, talk about walking a tightrope!!!! What to do…what to do…I have two options as I see it: One, go to My Favorite Grocery Store and write the check for cash or Two: go to Grocery Store I Hate and eat at their hot food bar and write my check to them. I sit there debating. I know it doesn’t sound like it should be a debate, but this is me we are talking about, livin on the edge. Grocery Store I Hate has a “club” and I don’t belong to their “club” so I am not positive they will let me actually cash a check…but, I don’t believe in exclusivity or elitism so I go for Grocery Store I Hate, not really believing that they will not except my check. I don’t even understand this Pluralistic attitude, I guess that makes me a Socialist in some people’s near sightedness, but whatever. I’m not even sure I used those terms correctly so that is probably one of the reasons Grocery Store I Hate doesn’t want me in their stupid club.

The kids and I gather up our food on our tray, we get drinks and plastic wear and napkins and plop it all down in front of the cashier. The cashier who assures me they will cash my last check. I double and triple check before I write on the check making sure that extra sweet cashier guys gets that it is my very last check and I have NO other way to pay for this and we are hungry. 20 minutes later, the manager is explaining to me that I have to be part of their “club” to cash a check. I just smile and nod. I knew this would happen. I HATE the Grocery Store That I Hate for this very reason. Their damn exclusive club crap.  Oh yes, I was a part of their club at one point…apparently my rubber checks weren’t good enough for them and so I was kicked out and banned. But that was 15 years ago. For me, a different lifetime. Not to mention that in the year 2011 it is impossible to bounce a check. So, I know this rejection is personal.

We leave the food and walk out of Grocery Store I Hate with no money and no check and me explaining loudly exactly WHY I hate Grocery Store I Hate to the kids. And the list goes beyond their dumb ass “club” to include the lay out of the parking lot, the volume of traffic, and the blind love the general population has for Grocery Store I Hate’s stock of fresh foods and contributions to the community. If only they knew. And there is a direct connection to the Baldwin but we don’t have to go there right now.

Using my skillz, I immediately start thinking of gas stations that have pizza because I do have the gas card. Contrary to popular belief, I do NOT enjoy gas station food. But,  a mom’s gotta do what a mom’s gotta do. And to be honest, I like feeling resourceful and not having to resort to phone calls and explanations. Again, some near sighted people may see that as a character defect, but whatever. 

I have 45 minutes, at this point, before I have to be at my meeting. I know the gas station that has a pizza/sandwich shop and it is 15 minutes from where we are. So, I Go Go GO!!!! We get there and ofcourse the pizza/sandwich part is closed (most likely due to health code violations). I tell the kids to find something in the isle that is reasonable for a dinner food.

We check out and my oldest has a Cup of Noodles. She is psyched because they have hot water there for coffee and using her resourceful brain she sees that she can use that for her noodles. Check out. Get in the car. I am thinking that my kid may have used her smarts in figuring out how to have a hot meal, but loses points on trying to eat boiling hot soup in a moving vehicle. And as I am thinking this she says “they didn’t have any forks…hopefully we have one in the glovebox…nope…but we do have a coffee stirrer and a straw! So I will just eat this boiling hot cup of soup with this stirrer and straw like they are chopsticks!!” and she smiles at her ingenuity! I smile too because I was sick of being miserable at that point. As we hit the first pot hole and swing around the first curve she says “oh yeah, I don’t know how to use chopsticks…” which sends me into hysterical giggles as she is going “whoooooaaaa MOM!!! Can you try to avoid the potholes???”

I see the ridiculousness of the situation but I am also so proud of my roll with it kids and their ability to not whine or complain. They are really great kids. And we laughed so hard at our “dinner”.

So, I would like to thank you Grocery Store I Hate for validating my 15 year resentment of you and forcing me to find another way to feed my family on the run which led to a half an hour of family time giggles, bonding and revelations such as Cup of Noodles noodles can be sucked up through a straw and cheese nips can be a satisfying meal not just a snack. Life lessons that would not otherwise be learned. There ya go!