Posts Tagged ‘dogs’

A good, good dog.

April 10, 2017

I don’t know how to write about it. Probably because I’m stewing in so much guilt still.

Someone – I think the neighbor kids, while retrieving their dog, but I can’t be sure – left the gate open. When I let Fenway out, not knowing, my sweet, mischievous pup-pup found the open gate, and then escaped. Fenway loves a good adventure.

I tried finding Fenway, driving along the streets, hoping I could tempt her into the car because my goofy dog thinks every car goes to the vet. But I didn’t find her until it was too late. She was hit by a car.

And telling the girls… well…let’s just say we’re never getting a dog again so I never have to go through the particular heartache with them. So many tears! It broke my heart. I can’t even handle my babies with that much grief.

She was a good dog. Yes, you were, Fenway! Who’s a good dog?! She loved hearing that; I can guarantee you her tail is wagging, wherever she is. (And probably there’s a little pee on the carpet.)

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Oh, trust me – it would be justifiable homicide.

March 15, 2017

I was thinking of how many people would be mad at me – my cousins, my friends, my siblings (well, one of them), my girls, myself (…eh)… And so I didn’t open the gate. I grabbed that dog by the collar and I started the trek across the grass, through the mud, flung open the gate (with my hand very firmly on the dog’s collar), and marched him over to the neighbor’s house. For the fifth time in three days.

Everyone on Facebook has heard the complaints already. My neighbor means well. He does. He tries to be a good neighbor, a good father, and an honorable man. The problem is… well, there are a few of them. There’s a language barrier, which makes any interaction with him a struggle. He works two or three jobs to provide for his large, extended family who live with him. He spoils his two sons (ages 7 & 9 maybe?) rotten so that they’re absolute brats when he’s not around (uh, which is any time between 6a and 10p, because two jobs). So, yeah, a few problems. The latest of which is that they have too many dogs and not enough f*@)s to give.

The first dog the family has is not a favorite in our end of the neighborhood. It’s allowed to roam freely and it will charge and nip you (or just plain terrorize you) if my neighbor isn’t out. And the boys? I mentioned how terrible they are; they don’t care to make the beagle/Jack Russel terrier mix stay in their yard while they play. So I was a little leery when I found out about the second dog, a pit bull/rhinoceros mix who is so sweet, but so huge! and likes to jump on you from behind and smother you in puppy kisses.

I found out about the second puppy, Brownie, the last time I had to go yell at the neighbor for leaving the dog(s) out all night and letting them whine under my bedroom window for two hours at 2 a.m. [That’s also when I saw my neighbor hit his son for leaving the gate open and letting the dog get out at night. Which, uh, no thanks.] I really got to know Brownie, though, when neighbor caught me one day when I came home from work. Sidestory! I had just put down the garage and heard someone banging on the garage door just before it finished sliding all the way down. Who does that?! Creepers and serial killers, that’s who! The “knocking” continued, so I went into the house, stepped around a frenzied Fenway, looked out the front window and didn’t see anyone. Because they were already knocking on my front door. The peephole (god bless peepholes) said it was my neighbor, so I went out and we struggled through a conversation (the man speaks three languages, I’m not knocking him; it’s just painful) about replacing the fence on our shared side of the yard. I knew it was something I was going to have to do after I got my taxes back – that fence is beyond rotten. Slats are missing. We’ve patched the holes as best we can to keep the dogs away from each other. And his kids like to throw things through the missing parts because: brats. So I had unlatched the gate and we were walking back there and talking and Brownie was with him, unleashed, just jumping on the two of us and trying to love on everything. And marking his territory everywhere. Pooping in my yard. You know. Neighbor dude mentioned how the puppy was eating everything in his house and wasn’t training up really well, but his boys loved him. I noted how friendly the dog was cried a little on the inside because all we needed was another problem dog.

And problem dog he was. Thank GOD the sweet pup-pup was as loving as he was. If he was mean, I’d probs be dead or mangled by now. Because that dang thing can wiggle through some pretty small holes, which is a doggy miracle, given the size of the thing. He immediately started busting into our yard, trying to get to Fenway. Or see what there was to see. Or just because – who knows. I just know that half the times I looked up into our yard, there would be Brownie. At first I just coaxed him back through the holes left by the missing fence slats. Neighbor and I kept replacing them, or jimmying together some temporary fix that we thought patched the fence good enough to prevent jailbreaks. But there would be that dang dog again. Brownie would come up to me when I went outside to “fix” it – eventually. He might dance up and dart away a few times, wanting to give me some puppy kisses, but knowing I was going to send him away. If I wasn’t so frustrated, I woulda laughed at how obviously torn the puppy was.

I kinda lost my patience after this weekend, though. Five jailbreaks in three days. FIVE. The dog was tearing my screens trying to see in the house, chewing on my patio furniture, and pooping on the patio! (The poop ended up over the fence on top of the neighbor’s a/c unit. I don’t know how. Honestly. ish.) I was all done being a good neighbor.

I started bringing the dog to their front door, thinking that would emphasize to them how often this was happening. Then I put the dog on a leash to give them an idea that they could let their dog out on a leash. In fact, when the boys answered the door, I started making that suggestion. “You guys need to get this under control, or maybe use a leash.” And then, “Tell your dad that he needs to hurry up and fix the fence, or you’ll have to use a leash for the dog every time because this is getting ridiculous.” That was the time the boys slammed the door in my face as soon as they had the puppy. And I might have yelled through the door exactly what I thought of that response when I was being pretty cool about the dang dog. I thought about telling my neighbor about the door being slammed in my face, but since he had hit the boys before for not listening to him, I didn’t want to be a party to whatever fallout would happen if he knew his kids had disrespected me that way. But I did plenty of fuming.

This is when everyone started telling me to start documenting the problem, or maybe call animal control. But I hated to do that. My neighbor genuinely is a good guy. He’s just not there because he’s trying to live the American Dream and you need a lot of paychecks to do that when you’re making what we’re making. He’s a guy who patched my roof once and has offered 2938209348 times since then to help with it again. He always waves and would help with any problem I had. When I went over to complain about his dog, he thought I was talking about the stray dog that had attacked him, and so he took a butcher knife because he thought he was coming out to rescue me. Neighbor is a good guy – just absent and not able to easily communicate when he is there. So I don’t think he’s manipulating the situation or trying to take advantage of me. The neighbors would judge me if I called the cops on one of us (we’re a tight-knit community and we try to handle our problems inside the family first), even though I’m sure they’d understand once I explained. So I don’t think Neighbor was banking on me not breaking the code, either. I think he just doesn’t know how often it’s happening because he’s not there and his bratty boys aren’t telling him.

I was already past the point of caring how mad anyone got because I was done. I had had a long day at work, I didn’t need to chase down and drag the neighbor’s dog back to his house twice. I wanted to unwind and go to bed in peace. But I couldn’t, because the doorbell rang at 9 p.m. I stared at the door, jaw agape, wondering what the heck. I had just started shutting down the house for the night, but the lights where still on so they could see someone was up. That doesn’t obligate me to answer the door, but I had a sneaky suspicion that it was the neighbors. I had heard a noise outside and did a quick scan, but didn’t see Brownie. Then again, it was pitch black. Which also meant I couldn’t see who was at the door without putting on the porch lights. I couldn’t put on porch lights without them knowing I was up. The doorbell had run again and knocking had started while I tried to decide what to do. Finally I decided that if I didn’t answer and it was the neighbors looking for their dog, they’d probably just open my gate and come on in. Which, after I opened the door, saw it was one of the boys, and let him through the house to go get the dog from the yard, I found out is exactly what happened. But no dog. I hoped that the dog had escaped and was running around the neighborhood, never to be found (yes, I’m a bad person going to hell), but after I ushered the neighbors out of my house and my yard, I heard them out in their front and back yards yelling and shrieking and whistling – but mostly shrieking – for more than thirty minutes. Yes, Spring Break week, but who lets their kids be that loud outside after 9p on a weeknight?!

So I’m done. Done, done, done. I haven’t quite figured out what that means, but for sure there’s going to be a firm discussion with my neighbor. And I’m going to hand him one of my extra leashes, because I’m pretty sure he’ll follow through on that plan. But something has to be done. If the fence can’t be fixed right now, then maybe they need a run for their dog. I’ll tell him that the last thing I want to do is create hard feelings by calling animal control to report the dog when it’s gotten loose, but the situation has gotten out of control.

Like I said – justifiable homicide. The problem is, at this point I’m not sure if I’m more upset with the dog, the neighbor, or those two bratty boys!

The Christmas Eve that was both relaxing and productive, and also sort of surreal.

December 25, 2016

Yesterday (on what Kim is calling Calendar Christmas Eve), Kim and I had the house to ourselves while the littles hung out with their dad for Christmas. We got a lot done, and yet aside for one minor incident involving ThePlaceThatShallNotBeNamed, we were able to really relax, too!

We slept in, and then hit the stores first thing because I thought they would be INSANE. Traffic was a little busy, but no one was a jerkface, and the parking lots were surprisingly thinner – at least not as packed as I anticipated. We stopped for tea and coffee (honestly, Starbs was busier than any of the other stores), Ulta (for a last minute gift for Gracie – her tweenaged hair needs adult shampoo right now, and her fairy godmother had Ulta bucks to spend!), and then the store we really needed to stop at – Petsmart (for puppy presents).

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We had to get Fenway a stuffie Flamingo, and the pen, dangit, it just happened to write “From Auntie Rhi”, because FLAMINGO!!!

After we finished our shopping excursion, we fled back home for some tasty lunch and Kim started sorting Legos (for an upcoming surprise; I’d stay tuned!), while I tackled the hot mess that is the kids’ playroom.

How cute does Fenway look, all snuggled up?! This was before her tail swiped Lego piles into chaos; she spent a lot of time in time-out later in the evening. And my clean room makes my heart so HAPPY! I can’t even. The girls cleaned it a lot from where it had been about a week ago. But there were buckets upon buckets overflowing and without covers that I needed to fix, and I ended up sorting through the bookshelves instead of just “neatening” like I told myself when I went in there. I always do more than I intend to. But this way, Santa will be able to leave the girls’ big gift in the playroom, and not worry about the mess being in the pictures! WIN!

After all that excitement, Kim and I capped off the evening with her beating the pants off me in Sorry. Three times in a row! And a few rounds of Rummy that went back and forth. It was definitely her night. And a good way to end the evening – Storm Chasers and board games, just like it used to be.

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So it might not have felt like Christmas Eve yesterday, and today might not feel like Christmas – and, I suspect it won’t until the girls come home late this afternoon – but we made the most of it. Laughter fills in the gaps, every time.

Merry Christmas to all of you, dear readers! And Merry Christmas Eve to me.

Everything’s crossed, right down to my eyeballs.

October 14, 2015

Come a lil closer – I have a secret to share…

We may – possibly – have a solution to our Bam the Destroyer problem. After he bit me three more times in one week while on probation, and then bit the girls for good measure, Jeff and I came to the very difficult and heartbreaking decision to try to re-home the damn dog Bam.

Bam’s acting out, destruction of everything he saw as mine, and peeing in the house just screams how unhappy the poor puppy is. The destruction I could tolerate. Well, to a point, but still. Biting me, the girls, and the girls’ friends? Sorry, not so much. And the fact that it’s escalating cannot be a good sign. Bam isn’t good at sharing Jeff. He isn’t good with all these people around. After talking to several dachshund experts, I’m convinced that Bam needs a quieter, more attentive home.

Even though Jeff reluctantly agreed (and honestly, I don’t know if it was the biting or the fact that Bam started looking at Jeff and peeing on the floor right in front of him that did the poor guy in), I found that he was reluctant to do anything about the problem, other than ask his Ex and his parents if they had any interest in taking the pup. So I started emailing every rescue within a two-hour drive. I had several responses, one who I’m still working with just in cases, and that was how I came to contact our vet, looking for a copy of Bam’s records.

You’ve heard me talk about my awesome vet? The one Fenway loves to visit above all other places – even the park? The assistant there has a dachshund, one she brings to the office with her. When we brought Bam, Bam spent half the week in her lap as she worked. And as I told her why I was asking about Bam’s chart, she hesitantly offered up this magical gift.

She and her husband rescue dachshunds. They have the one I’ve met, and have had up to four at times. They were talking about getting another… and if I wanted, if Bam and her puppy got along, she’d be willing to take Bam.

There were some caveats and hesitations, of course. There’s my worry that Bam doesn’t like any other dogs. But maybe if it was a fellow doxie, he would be okay and put his Napoleon complex away? And when I mentioned the biting, my new best friend was worried because they’re expecting their first grandchild in a few months. I told her how I thought Bam’s stress was stemming from an unwillingness to share Jeff, and that he still slept with Bee every night and was mostly fine. She agreed that the problems sounded fixable – outside of Bam’s current environment. I offered to take Bam back and work on another solution at any time she felt it wasn’t working. And there’s the fact that in four – almost five – years, Bam has never bitten the Xman.

My new bestie is on vacation, beginning today. When she gets back next week, we’re going to set up a puppy introduction, on neutral ground. I have my fingers crossed, my toes crossed – I even have my eyes crossed. Because having two, attentive, doxie-loving people to play with him, and to spend the three days a week when she works with her at work – that’s Bam’s ideal solution. Well, next to getting Jeff all to himself at his old house again.

You guys, seriously, think good thoughts for me. No matter how this turns out, this is going to end up in my permanent record, and for all our sakes, I really need this one to break the right way.

Done. All done. So, so done.

July 24, 2015

I have lived through chewed rugs (several destroyed). Curtains torn out of the wall. Peeing on the floor. Pooping on the floor – somewhat regularly. Constant whining. Jumping onto the table and stealing food. Climbing on countertops. Jumping at food on counters. Dragging the cage around. Busting out of cages. Trying so hard to bust out of cages that teeth are torn out and blood is left all over my (brand new) cork floor. Barking endlessly at anything that moves. Preventing naps. Preventing sleeping in. Disrupting the girls’ sleep. Peeing on the new couch. I’ve put up with a lot. In the past. Way past tense.

Because then there was this week. And I’m not sure what to do now.

This week, last Saturday in fact, Bam the Destroyer, the sucker of souls, He Who Shall Not Be Cast Out In The Streets – but only because I’d probably get in trouble for that – he bit me. We were leaving to go to the museum and were gathering up all of the animals. Fenway had merrily trotted into the front room where we shut her up. (Fenway would honestly stay loose, but if Bam gets out, there could be trouble. So…) And Bam had run his usual maneuver – he backed into the corner behind the desk and tray tables where he could dart in between the wall and couch if we were serious. He’s done it a hundred times and I’ve collected him out of the corner a hundred times. Except Saturday Bam all of a sudden went ferocious, started growling and barking and before I could even process that he had gone all Death Hound on me, he bit me. He bit me hard. Hard enough that I dropped him, screamed (though, that really, was more out of surprise), and then slapped my right hand over the back of my left hand, sure there were puncture wounds at the very least. There were several angry red dimples and two teeth did break the skin. Mostly it was a giant bruise that still hurts. Not that I’m holding it against him or anything. So that was Saturday.

Tuesday morning Jeff had to go back to his house early because he left something there that he needed for work. Bam whined the entire morning because his papa had left early. That was fun. And then once I got Bam into his cage (sans any further injuries), I stepped into the bathroom really quick and stepped in poop. POOP. On my foot.

Wednesday night Bam came flying into the bedroom and into the closet – despite the fact that he hasn’t been allowed in the bedroom ever. Sometimes he forgets (and only ever when Jeff is there), but he always gets yelled at. Another straw balancing on the poor camel’s back.

And then last night. I was getting my pajamas on. I heard a mild crash from the other room, but thought it was just Jeff getting ice from the fridge. The walls are thin, ya know? Except then I saw Jeff pushing back the blankets and going out to investigate. Bam the Destroyer had climbed on the chair to the bar in the kitchen and was trying to navigate to the counter where I had left dinner plates. Because I wanted for one night to not have to clean. But oh no. Not in a house with a soul-sucking weiner dog.  I slammed about the kitchen picking up dishes and throwing out garlicky green bean leftovers. I yelled at the dog as I went and then penned the perpetrator in his kennel. With the lights off. (Heaven forbid.) Bam made it all the way until 11:30 before he started barking – I guess he knew I was pretty upset. Jeff went and let him out because I certainly wasn’t moving.

And that was that. Until this morning when I went out to the kitchen and saw that Bam had peed all over the carpet where the chair used to be. I handed Jeff the paper towels and cleaning stuff when he came out. I didn’t say a word.

Because I’m done. So done.

Send help you guys. Tips. Tricks. Wine. Tranquilizers (for me or the dog). Anything. Because I have a feeling demanding the dog goes to live on a farm somewhere will not be the best next step for this relationship.

Well. Now there’s a view, at least.

April 21, 2015

Yesterday was epically bad at ThePlaceThatShallNotBeDiscussed. All I wanted was an easy night with the girls – I was definitely thinking of pizza and pajamas – and then later Jeff and I could a drink out on the patio and all would be well again. (Or at least it would feel that way, and isn’t that just enough sometimes?)

Except I walked through the door at the end of the day, saw a bunch of texts from the Ex saying After-Care had called him because Bee was sick (I didn’t have any missed calls, which was weird), and could I go get her, and then I looked up from my phone and saw this:

Bam3Bam the Destroyer had somehow gotten ahold of the curtains, ripped them down, ripped the curtain rod out of the wall (including some nice divots in the drywall where the anchors used to be), and then ate my curtains.

I had to just turn around and go get Bee-girl, who really wasn’t feeling well, and then Gracie helped me clean up the Mess That Bam Made. Jeff felt horrible, but once I got over the shock, really all I thought was that Kim was going to be tickled that those curtains she hated are gone. I didn’t hate them the way she did, but mostly because they still matched and they were perfectly fine. I wasn’t paying for new curtains when those ones worked just fine.

So I guess we’re putting up new curtains this weekend, or whenever I find suitable ones. In the meantime, I do have a lovely new view out the kitchen windows.

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Keep your fingers – and your paws – crossed!

April 15, 2015

We have nicknames at our house for our two pups: The FenBeast and Bam the Destroyer. Fenway likes to pay far too much attention to tiny little wiener dog and occasionally terrifies Bam, who then gets all defensive and starts fights. Thus, the Fenbeast! And Bam…well, look:

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That’s what happened to my doormat the one time Bam didn’t escape her crate. Instead, he kept launching himself at the side of his cage until it had shimmied across the kitchen floor and up against the doormat…which Bam somehow caught hold of and pulled almost entirely into his crate. Where he then chewed it to smithereens, despite the damage it did to his teeth and gums.

The other two times I left Bam alone, either I didn’t close the crate properly, or else Bam should be called Houdini, because there he was, live and in person, waiting to greet me at the garage door when I came in. I was lucky the damage was limited to poop on the carpet, because this could have happened:

Bam2Jeff had left Bam out one night at his house (before we forced the dogs into being reluctant compadres), feeling guilty about leaving Bam crated so often. And then came home to find a hole dug straight down to the concrete near the garage door. Not to mention the other times Bam has chewed up an entire toilet paper roll, or Fenway’s nose. Clearly, Bam the Destroyer has earned his nickname.

Which brings us to the part about keeping our fingers crossed: we’re puppy-sitting. Jeff is off at a work conference for three days, so the Bamster’s hanging out with us. He gets to sleep with the girlies at night (thank you, Bee-girl!) and hang out – hopefully – during the day.

I brought Bam outside twice this morning, fed him, watered him, and moved the doormat out of the way. (I hope.) I had Gracie double-check my latchwork on the cage, and left a bone in there for Bam to chew on. I even left Fenway’s kettleball-of-rope right outside Bam’s crate with one end dangling in, in hopes of inducing Bam to destroy the rope instead of anything else. But I closed the door to Fenway’s room – and all the other rooms – just in cases.

Fingers crossed, you guys. I really hope I have a house left when I get home!

Peace for all dogkind might be on the horizon.

April 8, 2015

It was a big night at Casa de Katie. I was asked to puppy-sit while my guy went to meet some buddies for drinks and I was a little hesitant – I had a freelance deadline that I was racing to meet and merging our pup-pups hasn’t quite gone as smoothly as we had hoped.

For those who need a “Previously, on As The Puppies’ World Turns…”, the first time we introduced the dogs, Fen tried to eat Jeff’s weiner-dog, Bam. Not maliciously! Fen is just bouncy! And wiggly! And very interested in playing with squeaky weiner-dogs! And Bam…doesn’t like other dogs. Sigh. Somehow, Fen nipped Bam and drew the tiniest bit of blood. (And then the next week Fen tripped over the tension wire to the badminton net and gave herself a wicked rope burn…in the same place she had nipped Bam. Karma’s a bitch.) This past Sunday night, we tried again. This time, I had a muzzle for Fen. If we weren’t as worried about the dogs descending into a street fight, maybe it would be easier. Except: the muzzle was slightly too big. Fen can open her mouth enough to eat (awkwardly), drink, and very nearly eat small Bam-type doggies. Or, at least, so it looked. So! I kept one hand on Fen’s collar the entire time and the doggies got a little more acquainted. It didn’t go swimmingly, but there was no bloodshed.

So you can see why I was a little wary of how last night was going to go. I couldn’t spend my night refereeing Those Who Refuse To Get Along, but I didn’t want to listen to them whine in their crates all night, either. (Yes, we bought Bam his own crate for my house. We’re optimistic like that.)

My nerves were all ready to jump off the cliff, straight into the arms of anxiety. Jeff showed up, gave me Bam, raced off to meet his buddies, and… the dogs were fine.

THE DOGS WERE FINE, YOU GUYS!!

Okay, yes, there was fifteen seconds of drama when Bam had had enough of Fen’s constant (but calm) sniffing and went all attack dog. But I stepped in, separated the two, yelled at them, and whacked them both on the nose. Then I gave them a stern talking-to. And that was that. They might have played a game called I’ll-constantly-walk-around-the-house-and-you-follow-me-at-the-same-sedate-pace-constantly-sniffing-me, but there was no running. Fen got a little hyper when the girls came home, but she settled right down again. By the time Jeff came back, all was calm and blissful.

I’m not saying removing Fenway’s muzzle is on the immediate agenda, but I won’t say I’m rushing out to buy a snugger, more proper fit, either. Because I can see it, you guys – peace is on the horizon. This might work.

…Which means the kids are going to get into some kerfuffle this weekend, aren’t they?

One furry step forward.

March 24, 2015

Yes, I do realize that just by writing this, by committing it to paper, I am placing a giant jinx on my own shoulders. I realize when I get home, there will be chaos and destruction. This is very clear to me. And yet, with everything going on, all the ER reports and stomachaches and missed meals, I felt like I needed to report something that was going right at Casa de Katie. And so…

I have to brag about Fenway.

She’s taken something of a giant step forward these past few weeks. We’ll pretend it was born out of the kindness of my heart (which, kind of…), and not out of guilt or necessity. See, I’ve started leaving her out of her crate during the day. And nothing terribly catastrophic has happened. I KNOW!

We’ve been working up to this during the past year. I started leaving her home, but out of her crate, when I went for my longer runs (I won’t take her if it’s longer than three miles). Or maybe if I was running to one store and coming right back to the house. I might find a granola bar wrapper or a tissue from the trash lying on the ground. Or that she had trapped herself in the bathroom (dolty dog). But nothing too bad. Still – I was scared silly by what would happen if I tried it for longer periods.

My concern wasn’t purely selfish. It wasn’t just that I feared for the state of my carpets or that Fen would empty the trash and create huge messes. She doesn’t chew on toys or furniture. She does enjoy tissues when she feels the need to show you her displeasure. And food wrappers are fair game in her eye. But she also gets rather anxious when she’s left out. If she thinks she’s alone, she’ll stare out the door where you disappeared and whine.

But we worked on it. And seeing as how there were days I’d be gone at work all day; come home, go for a run, shower and go out; come home, let Fen out, change and go to sleep – that’s an awfully long time to ask Fen to stay in her crate. Even with an hour outside in the morning and an hour outside in the evening, that pretty much equates to solitary confinement.

So I started leaving her out of her crate when I was at work. You’d think I’d have started with something at night, when I was home in case an intervention was needed. But I loves me my sleep. So. Daytime it was! Also, this way I didn’t have to listen to any pathetic whining. Fen could get over it in her own good time. All I have to do is remember to close all of the doors in the house so she’ll only have the living room to roam, and voila! Three weeks, and only one accident! And that was by the back door on the hardwood, so at least it was easily cleaned.

It’s not much, but at Casa de Katie, we’ll take any kind of good news we can take right now. Who would have thought it’d be Fenway who delivered it? It almost makes up for the snow days. Almost.

That’s it – no more snow days.

March 5, 2015

Today started out so well! We knew the girls’ school was closed so we all got to sleep in. I didn’t even mind hearing the girls be all squealy out in the kitchen this morning because they were just! so! excited! to see a few inches (which seems like a few feet to them) of snow. I mean, look!

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It all looks so pretty! Who wouldn’t want to enjoy a snow day like that! And then I made bacon and french toast for brunch and the girls were so excited they were handclapping and stomping and my head was all BLAH! MAKE IT STOP! but they were in a good mood and my work decided to close for the entire day instead of a noon open and it was good. Everything was good.

Until.

I started my 30-Day Shred workout and not two minutes later the back door opened and Bee walked in.

“What do you want?” I asked, expecting a request for dry mittens.

“Fenway has poop all over her neck,” she said.

Poop. POOOOOOP.

“If I give you towels, can you get it off? Like, use snow if you need some water?”

That seemed to work. I thought it was just, like, a minor incident. The girls seemed confident.

A few minutes later, Gracie escorted a very wet Fen into her cage, and the girls changed clothes, and then finished my workout with me. [Sidenote: they are now required to work out with me every day. They were so encouraging! “You look skinnier already, Mom!” “Keep going!” “WOW! How can you do that, Mama?!” It was so motivating! And also awesome that they love working out and stretching!]

After awhile, I figured Fenway had dried off enough to be out and about. Except when I went in there, she smelled. She smelled bad. Like she got skunked kind of bad. And her neck? Caked. Still. And so this happened:

BathofShame20150305We’re calling it: Bath Of Shame. I only washed her neck with way more shampoo than was probably necessary. And then dried her off with all the towels and chased her around the bathroom with the hair dryer so she’d be relatively dry. And she still smells, you guys. I tried dryer sheets. And then room freshener. Because no. No no no no no.

And so that’s it. No more snow days. The last one, Fenway ran away. This time, she rolled in poop. I do not have enough wine to find out what will happen if we have another snow day. I know we have nothing on New England, where there’s 32390348530498 inches of snow on the ground. But enough. Really. Please god.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go take my 4th shower of the day. Because. Because.