Tag Archives: farts

Spencer Goes To A Birthday Party


spencer goes to a birthday party He’s looking for the cake…

If any of you are doubting the truth of my stories of Spencer, I now have witnesses. I had my annual Holiday/birthday party for the kids. Lots of people, LOTS of kids and LOTS AND LOTS of food. Spencer was in heaven with the whole kid/food combination. I warned everyone who came in about Spencer and his thieving, and Cecelia and her sneak attacks. I told Spencer stories and he layed there basking in the attention…

Children love Spence. He is huge and smelly and awkward and very funny and he farts. He’s like a clown dog. And he tolerates little kids trying to ride him or crawl on him. He loves it. Rub his tummy and he smiles…teeth and all. But all the while, he is keeping one eye on any dropped or unattended food. He casually walks by the garbage can and takes a peek, snatches the plate of cake and walks on into the living room to eat while enjoying the tree and the little kids playing. Now if he could just get someone to bring him his smoking jacket and pipe he would be all set sitting regally on the blue velvet sofa. Ass.

As I am standing in the kitchen talking with a friend, behind me Spencer is unattended in the dining room. And in front of at least 5 other people, Spencer takes a HUGE wedge of cake off a plate that was on the table and inhaled it. My friend tried to warn me. She pointed and yelled “DOG!! FOOD!!” and that was all she could get out before the cake was gone. The other guests were amazed at the gracefulness. He didn’ knock the plate off the table. They were impressed with his technique. That’s when he knew he had them all in the palm of his paw. Now he knew that they would bow down to honor him and treat him with the much lack respect previously afforded to such a funny fat smelly mutt. And he sashayed away with attitude…until he took one step on to the laminate flooring and his entire back end went down. And he kind of crawled/dragged himself to the rug, hoisted himself up, shook it off and turned left into the family room where he slid on his belly all the way to the couch. Impressed all the guests. But also made them feel compassion for this dog who is obviously on his last legs. He’s like a movie star past his prime but thinking he’s still got it.

Now, after the party I was cleaning up and putting away all the food. I took the garbage outside, did the dishes, wiped down the counters and let Spence catch the crumbs. After all, he put on a good show. But I either accidental left the fridge ajar or Spencer has another cool new trick. When I got up the next morning, all of my chicken wing dip was gone, half of a cheesecake, carton of eggnog pierced and spilled all over the floor. All of the saran wrap that I had used to cover the food was gone. And I haven’t seen it yet. And I kinda hope I never do.

So added to the list of Spencer tricks is refrigerator opening. I have to think he could be a very useful mutt. He could be trained to help people (lazy people like myself) Work for his meals. But his compulsion is so grand he wouldn’t be able to get me a snack without eating the entire thing before actually getting it to me.

I sat him down and explained the state of our economy and how it coincides with the diet that the vet wants to put him on. See I have no money to buy dog food and he needs to eat less. Serendipity!!

And for Christmas morning I will give him the gift of my grandmother’s cereal bowl for his new food portions and he will most likely give me back the saran wrap, used twice. We love each other and really think about a thoughtful gift for the Holiday. And if I am truly as loved as I think I am, he will leave it right where I will step in it with my bare feet. It’s love, dysfunctional love, but love none the less.




love in all it's glory

I love people. There are so many characters out there. I went to yoga the other day and in walks a guy, older, with a head band, huge square glasses, wristbands and shiny shorts. He had on a tank top and fanny pack with tube socks to complete his yoga outfit. He rolled out his mat next to mine, snapped off the fanny pack and positioned his very hairy body in a relaxed child’s pose. I love this guy. He is exactly who he is. He is not making excuses or trying to be someone he just isn’t. He is very comfortable with himself or he is from the group home up the street. Either way, he is wonderful in my eyes.

As I looked around the class, I saw some other characters. There was the skinny chick who looks like she just might fall over from hunger. Large, owly eyes and bones protruding from places we generally do not see bones, like her ass. But she had a sweet smile and was as awkward as the day is long. The very large woman next to her was unphased by the skinny chick. She rolled out her mat, gave a smile in my direction when she saw me peeking and asked “It’s hot in here isn’t it?” then laid down to center herself.

I turned my head the other way and there was a yoga nazi with her own mat, her own block and strap and her very important looking yoga outfit. She had the yoga pants that come slightly above the ankle and the spandex bra top. She was all business and was practicing her breathing. Honestly, I was a little scared of her. Behind her was the college student. He, yes, that’s right, HE had the best view in the room. Not of the instructor, but of the yoga nazi’s butt. He’s in college ya know, he’s pretty smart.

Scattered throughout the studio are a handful of older women in various degrees of ability. Some are dressed to the nines with their jewelry and sweat suits and others are in ratty tees and jogging pants. But we are all there for the same reason. To see who lets one rip. NO. To see the guy in the wrist bands. NO. To get in touch with our bodies and feel more relaxed. OK.

Years ago I was very close to becoming a yoga instructor. I was in shape and I was very good. But baby #2 happened and I lost interest in Yoga. I also lost my instructor. He didn’t die or anything, I just got lost finding his new place and took that as a sign that I should just concentrate on the baby. Going back to yoga has been hard. Physically sure, but more so emotionally. My old instructor was a dancer in his previous life so he knew exactly how to get me to do what I needed to. These new instructors don’t know me, they are not dancers they are lovely but they are purely yoga teachers. And I am dealing with the effects of fibromyalgia. I cannot move like I used to. My muscles feel like they are ripping when I do the simplest of stretches. The pain is intense and I do not know how to NOT do what I am asked to do or do it “a little less” And then when I do it full out and it still isn’t what I know it should be I get a little sad.

And then I glance over at the old guy in sweat bands who doesn’t give a flying fig what anyone else sees, he is doing his personal best and feeling good about himself. And I think I could use a little of that. I can use my anonymity to do what I can. No one in this class expects anything of me. They don’t care that I am not making pretty pictures with my body. They all seem to have a higher understanding than I do.  I look at them and I see beauty because they are exactly who they are. No pretense, no excuses.

And no one even laughs when some one farts during downward dog. No one says “you smelt it you dealt it” when one wafts by during warrior pose. These people are the essence of mature. Well, except the college kid. I saw him smirk.

Time to go get my wrist bands and fanny pack. I wonder what I’ll learn today!