Tuesday, April 24, 2007

I Can Quit Any Time I Want

I just don't want to.

Here's some fun pictures to look at for anyone who can't bear to read more about my dogventures today. If nothing else today is fair warning to anyone who feels an urge to invite me over to look at a slide show of their vacation or their baby or their coin collection, the conversation will not be one sided so think carefully before you wade in.

For those of you soldiering on I don't have another 10, maybe not even 5. As I type the dogs are beside me, licking out the insides of each other's mouths. I think my endless need to tell dog stories is an agent against the one bad thing about this week of dogitude. Anxiety dreams. I had them for the first 3 nights of our sleepover. I'd dream that I was walking around the neighborhood and Bobby or Emily would wander by, just out of my reach or I'd be actively looking for them and not able to find them. The third night it escalated to include Teddy and I'm not even taking care of Teddy. Just dogs I love wandering slowly by me with leashes trailing and I can't stop them. Apparently part of my brain realized that Kath & Alex left for Ireland with nothing but an infrequently checked e-mail address for contact. I guess they trust me to make the right decisions. Bastards. The dreams went away so I figured I was all set but then on the train home tonight (speaking of bastards) I fell asleep just enough to have a dream where Emily, on a leash that I was holding, walked in front of a minivan in slow motion and got hit with such force she was lifted off the ground and crumpled to the pavement. Then I woke up.

Consider my frequent dog posts a vaccine.

The Sundance Kid is a semi-permanent fixture at our beloved local pet food store, Who's Your Doggy. She's about 6 years old, very verbal and friendly, her mom helps run the place and she loves to give all the dogs treats when they come in. So we went in yesterday and she followed all the right protocol by asking if it was OK to give them treats. I taught her to hold the treat for Bobby like he was a horse, on the palm of her hand, since he's eager in his eating. She was so polite she didn't even mention the fact that she retracted a limb literally dripping with slobber. Emily wouldn't take the treat she was offered so I told Sundance to give it to Bobby. She held it high over his frantically swinging head and out toward me with a superior, "He should have it after supper." Well, yes ma'am.

We had a dust up with a big (100lb maybe?) German Shepherd in the park this evening. His name is Cole and he and Bobby are friends. Since Emily tends to be OK with GSD's (German Shepherd Dogs) and with boys I tried it out after warning Cole's guy that she was unpredictable. And she bore me out. She joined in the sniffing while the leashes braided but declined to participate in the slightest measure when Cole suddenly decided to give Bobby the supreme smackdown. GSD's are apparently somewhat racist. They will favor other GSD's over any other kind of dog, even going so far as to favor a GSD mix over any non GSD's if no pure bred is available. So it's likely that Cole wanted to know what this upstart mutt was doing with a good German girl. Or maybe it was just testosteroney posturing since there was a girl around. Or maybe it was because Cole and Bobby usually play off leash and everyone was leashed and in close proximity. We may never know. No damage done, though.

I swear to you that earlier tonight I was sitting on the couch and the dogs were wrestling and smashing about and aqueaking toys. I went to the bathroom. I can still see all of their preferred play area from the throne, mind you. No, the dogs took a break. They lay down, panting, and rested until I was done. When I got back to the couch the festivities resumed. It was like a TV time out in hockey.

OK, I'm winding down. I've got a million other stories to tell but they'd bore even me in the retelling.

On another note can you tell me why someone I haven't spoken to in ages is stopping by here about once a week but only viewing one page for 0 seconds? What's the point there? Either read or don't read, I don't get this driveby sort of thing. Are they reading at work, somewhere that I can't identify, and only swinging by from home to see if there are updates? I'm tempted to start telling stories on them to smoke them out. We'll see. Maybe later. Right now I have dogs to obsess over.


  1. Anonymous6:35 AM

    I am kind of loving the dog stories, actually; you should stop apologizing for telling them. You're funny and smart and write exceedingly well. I get the feeling you could tell me about finding a box of stale Oreos in your cupboard and I'd be entertained.

    I LOVED that the owner of Who's Your Doggy wanted to hold the second cookie back until AFTER dinner. That's beautiful.

    Ugh. Anxiety dreams. I hate them because they're PARTICULARLY awful, and usually involve horrifying scenarios which we are powerless to change. The last one I had involved Beanie and some sort of horrible disease (cancer?). I've managed to forget most of it, but I remember very clearly how I felt upon waking. You're a great mom, Kath and Alex gave Bobby to you BECAUSE you're a great mom. You have no need to worry. I know that won't STOP your worrying, but I'm just sayin'...

  2. I'm with Mrschili, don't apologize. It's your life. Your stories. YOUR FREAKIN BLOG! Do whatever the heck you want to. We're not the boss of you or your stories! I enjoy them too. As we speak, I've got four cats fighting for control of a box that once contained the new rubbermaid food containers I bought at walmart on monday. Huh.

  3. If you haven't gotten "tail" deep into the book called Marley and Me... you should.
    You are very gifted Kizz.

    The shower. My dogs follow me when I go to go pee. Wylie Coyote gets one pat on the head and he waits for me to wipe and then leaves. Seriously.
    Doorways are fun too. Recently Wylie has been going first through them, then me and the Raliegh Todd. I have heard its an alpha dog thing.
    I keep reminding Wylie I am leader of the pack.
    Without them.... way lesser life indeed.
    Blog on... blog on... blog on!

  4. So sorry about the anxiety nightmares. But we never would have trusted the Bobster to you if we didn't believe in you 100%. You ARE the mutt master.

    I'm just sorry Emily was sore from all the rough-housing. Hope she's recovered a little by now.