Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Can't do it. Or, won't do it. Whether it's literally or figuratively, I do not let sleeping dogs lie.

This is my dog, the Gabster, having tucked herself in bed for a little snooze. Well, I insist on petting her because she looks so darn cute. Then I pet her and talk to her. Then I take her picture and the flash annoys her.

When faced with an issue or life situation, I go to one of two extremes. I bury my head in the sand for a while or I ponder and discuss it to death. (Hmmm... Wonder where I got that little quirk?) Even when things are resolved, I want to bring it up again. Even when everyone involved has voiced his or her thoughts, I can't seem to let it lie. I've been accused of beating a dead horse. Is that the same as not letting sleeping dogs lie? All these animal metaphors get confusing to me.

I'm not even sure this is something I want to change about myself. Going over and over things helps me to understand and clarify. But I will try to leave Gabby alone when she's quietly enjoying her nap time.

Trying to Be Tough

Yes, this is how we amuse ourselves. We force three helpless animals to pose together for their Christmas photo. Gabby, my black lab, thinks life is a big game and she would've participated for hours. Harriett can't decide if she trusts Gabby or not but she seeks her out more and more. They never growl or bark at each other.

Ashley the biter thinks that she is Queen of the manor. She runs under furniture or tries to commit suicide by jumping off the bed if she sees Gabby headed her way. She can bark herself hoarse. It must be a little demeaning to demand respect as top dog when you're wearing a diaper.

Please note that Gabby is the dog in this household who does not have a wardrobe.

Warm and Toasty

"I like winter because I can stay indoors without feeling guilty." Teressa Skelton

I have no idea who Teressa Skelton is (or was) but I ran across this quote and it summed up my day yesterday. After finishing my elf duties, I headed home in the snow. It was slow going and lots of reckless drivers were sliding around. I was very relieved to walk into the warm house.

Warmth comes in many forms beyond the toasty air from the heater. It's a smile that greets you and a welcoming embrace. It's a look of relief and you realize someone has been concerned about the road conditions. It's snuggling in and knowing you are safe and warm.

I threw beef stew ingredients in the crock pot. Voila! Dinner will be ready in a few hours. Then we put on Christmas music and I watched my mother and sister make candy. I could pretend I participated but truthfully it's their ritual and my joy was watching their teamwork. Then a neighbor and friend came over and we sat in front of the fire and watched two movies.

After dinner, I snuggled with my dog. All in all, it was a day filled with warmth, love and friendship. We should all be so lucky.

She Went That Way!

Once again, life has come full circle. I am living with my parents in the neighborhood I grew up in. It is a temporary arrangement so I'm soaking up every second of it. Many of my childhood neighbors still live here. Most of the children that I ran around with still come over to visit their parents so I get to see them too.

I've always had good neighbors and the house I shared with the husband was no exception. It was just a different kind of neighborly. In that house, I could walk on the patio and no one could see me. Here, I am regularly greeted by one of the next-door neighbors across the fence.

The other day I forgot to put Gabby's invisible fence collar on her and I also left the gate open. As she darted, the friend across the street opened her front door and yelled, "She went that way!"

Someone backed out of her driveway and hit a neighbor's car parked on the street. How do I know this? I saw neighbors gathering out front so I grabbed my glass of wine and ventured over to find out what was going on. That's how we do it here.

The lady across the street has watched me grow up and I have been attending the same church with her for many years. She has noticed my car so the other day during the meet and greet portion of the service, she gave me a hug and said, "Welcome back neighbor."

I'm comforted here. Not just by the obvious love and support from my oldies but from neighbors and friends who look out for each other and have been doing it for decades.

Dogs on Meds

Apparently, it's a new trend to put your pet on daily tranquilizers. Maybe they jump or bark too much. Maybe they suffer from "separation anxiety."

Maybe we're all getting lazy.

Some people have legitimate needs for mood-altering substances. In college, we called this, "Friday night." Some children may have autism, ADD or ADHD. But what if we tried some alternatives before drugging them for life?

My maniac dog could probably do well with some drugs. Meanwhile, we've got a generation of children who can't face a test, a job interview or a nervous situation without a pharmacy.

Maniac

I rarely gripe about my dad. He's my hero. Plus, he accepts me while my mom is still trying to control me. She's always right but it's annoying at this age to admit I still need her advice and counsel. It's even more scary that I seem to need it more as I age.

The other day my dog jumped on my dad. Repeatedly. She is not a small dog. It hurts. I have been on the receiving end.

Here comes the big, sassy mouth part. When he said, "You need to get that dog under control before she hurts someone," I said, "So your dog that bites everyone in her path is ok?"

Later, I was reflecting. First of all, I should not have said that to him. It was disrespectful. I am working on my mouth but I have not conquered my need to have a comeback. Will I ever learn?

We went in the back yard and I threw the tennis ball until I wore her out.

My friend Patsy used to say (about her husband,) "He may be an a******, but he's mine." I feel that way about everyone I love. The husband can truly annoy people, including me. He's still mine. My friends can hurt me but they're still my friends. My aunts, uncles and cousins put up with my quirkiness.

The maniac dog is mine. I may never control her. Sort of like the way that the husband may not control me, my parents may not control their biting dog, my friends might have to accept the person I am instead of the person I want to be.

Ten Commandments of Dogs

I like this quote:

"The gift I am sending you is a dog, and is in fact the most precious and valuable possession of mankind." Theodorus Gaza

The other day, I had a visit with my dad while we were sitting in a doctor's office. He was lamenting their little, aging and aggressive dog's tendency to bite everyone in her path. He said (and I am not kidding,) "It makes me feel like I'm not a good parent."

As his only child, I thought about reminding him that he was and is a pretty phenomenal parent for me. But we were in dog mode; if I started talking about people stuff, he would not have paid attention.

My dad is the dog lover, although I must give my mother credit. For someone who was afraid of dogs, she let me get one early in my childhood and she has indulged my dad with his need to care for them. The joke is on her because she is now the one that announces to me, "They can't sleep without us." To borrow a phrase from Oprah, my parents do not consider these beings as pets -- they are little people with fur.

A friend sent me the Ten Commandments of Dogs:

1. My life is likely to last 10-15 years. Any separation from you is likely to be painful.
2. Give me time to understand what you want of me.
3. Place your trust in me. It is crucial for my well-being.
4. Don't be angry with me for long and don't lock me up as punishment. You have your work, your friends, your entertainment, but I have only you.
5. Talk to me. Even if I don't understand your words, I do understand your voice when speaking to me.
6. Be aware that however you treat me, I will never forget it.
7. Before you hit me, before you strike me, remember that I could hurt you, and yet, I choose not to bite you.
8. Before you scold me for being lazy or uncooperative, ask yourself if something might be bothering me. Perhaps I'm not getting the right food, I have been in the sun too long, or my heart might be getting old or weak.
9. Please take care of me when I grow old. You too, will grow old.
10. On the ultimate difficult journey, go with me please. Never say you can't bear to watch. Don't make me face this alone. Everything is easier for me if you are there, because I love you so.

Their dog still bites me. My mother avoids my dog because she is big and jumps. Somehow in the mix, we all own dogs and love them so.

Over Ice

Hot and cold. That could describe my preference with foods, my moods and several other areas of my life.

Although the maniac dog lives indoors, I put fresh water outside every day for our time on the patio. I like ice in drinks so I always put ice in her water. (For the record, the husband advises me to stop channeling my personality onto her.) The other day, Houseboy freshened her water and of course I asked, "Did you put ice in it?"

I'm also convinced she's a big country music fan.

Seven Years

In one of my favorite books, "Nineteen Minutes," by Jodi Picoult, she opens with a few sentences about what can happen in nineteen minutes. Some are frivolous and some are profound.

Today is the seventh anniversary of the most devastating terrorist attack on American soil. I'm applying the same logic. In seven years, I've been through the mundane and the scary and the heartbreaking. So have you. Such is life.

Seven years ago:

I had a different dog. Also a maniac.
I had the same husband, the same parents and the same friends.
The baby was 13-years old and had no clue of the magnitude of that day.
I did not turn off the television for one solid week.
The oldies lived in Mississippi and they were those in-laws I visited once or twice a year.

During the past seven years:

I've lost several friends to cancer, car accidents and plain ol' old age.
I've cheered the baby through high school and caught a glimpse of the incredible man he is becoming.
I've held hands with someone having a biopsy and I've had my hand held.
I've witnessed marriages and divorces and welcomed new babies into my circle of love.
I've reconnected with some old friends.
I've screwed up. A lot. Repeatedly.
I've watched attorneys become judges and other people grow businesses.
I welcomed the oldies into our home and learned about love, loyalty and stubbornness.

I've become older, grayer and hopefully smarter. I think my heart has grown. And I will stop today to acknowledge the people who did not get the chance to grow older, grow grayer and welcome new babies.

One Syllable

I consider myself pretty well-versed.

Then, those southern roots sprout. If the dog jumps on me, I yell, "Yee ow ooh." The husband reminds me that this word (yow!) only has one syllable.

If I'm frustrated, I often say, "Day am it." I mean "Damn it."

"Ouch" becomes "Yee ow itch."

"Down" becomes "Dow uhn." And "Sit" becomes "See it!"

The maniac dog responds better when I turn on the southern charm.

A Doggie Day

Today is the maniac's birthday party. I lucked into a beautiful day so all the doggies can romp outside.

I've had several people question my sanity for doing this. Others get it right away. It's not really about the dogs.

It's about a girlfriend experiencing financial difficulties who could use a break and a few laughs.
It's about a girlfriend who just took her youngest child to college and needs some support.
It's about girlfriends who are taking care of aging parents and running ragged with work.
It's about me and the opportunity to gather on a sunny afternoon with some friends I don't see as often as I'd like.
It's a couple of hours where we get to escape and enjoy a few laughs.

It may be Gabby's birthday but it's really a tribute to friends -- hers and mine.

Big Daddy's Gone -- Let's Party!

In a moment of pure insanity, I decided to have a birthday party for my maniac dog. She has lots of friends, mostly fellow retrievers.

Her second birthday is Thursday. People don't really appreciate her because she is obnoxious but the other dogs seem to like her. She's a party animal.

When I first met her, she was the wild one in the litter. She hopped over her siblings and barked her little butt off. She has not changed. Some might have seen a maniac; I saw a kindred spirit.

For her party, we will have dog treats and people appetizers. If it doesn't rain, we will have a ball.

Last night, I explained this party to the husband. (Another Wild Bill moment -- I had the dates wrong.) I thought he was coming home on Friday. Wrong! He's coming home on Thursday.

So, I figure he has two choices:

He can go to the club or make himself scarce for a while, or
He can hang with the girls and watch 8 to 12 dogs frolic in our back yard.

Fretting and Futzing

Today I am on edge. I have many things on my mind and I'm wearing a new path in our already worn-out carpeting.

I know worrying solves nothing but someone needs to explain that to my brain. When I'm in overdrive, I start doing one thing, get distracted, and then start something else. I go to another room with a purpose in mind and then forget what I had in mind. I try to organize something (anything!) and end up with a bigger mess.

I'm going to try to channel some of this spastic energy into one of my writing projects. If that doesn't work, I will make lists. I will walk the maniac dog to burn off some energy. Then I might count something. That always makes my (self-diagnosed) slightly autistic self feel in control.

Everyone copes with worries and stress in different ways. I haven't figured out my best way.

Dogs and Cats

I have never owned a cat but I know lots of cat people. I have loved (from afar) some of my friends' cats. I am a dog person. My greatest act of defiance was to get my maniac dog even though the husband and Hangdog were firmly against it. I've never regretted it.

This is old but worth repeating. I have no idea who the author is or I would give him or her credit.

>DOG DIARY
>
> 8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!
> 9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
> 9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
> 10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
> 12:00 PM - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
> 1:00 PM - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
> 3:00 PM - Ran back and forth in the hall! My favorite thing!
> 5:00 PM - Milk bones! My favorite thing!
> 7:00 PM - Got to play tug! My favorite thing!
> 8:00 PM - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
> 11:00 PM - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
>
> CAT DIARY
>
> Day 983 of my captivity.
>
> My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.
> They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are
> fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the
> rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to
> keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of
> escape.
>
> In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.
>
> Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their
> feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it
> clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made
> condescending comments about what a 'good little hunter' I am.
> Bastards!
>
> They continue to pick me up and handle me, an obvious attempt to
> subvert me.
>
> There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was
> placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However,
> I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my
> confinement was due to the power of 'allergies.' I must learn what
> this means, and how to use it to my advantage.
>
> Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my
> tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try
> this again tomorrow -- but at the top of the stairs.
>
> I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and
> snitches.
>
> The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released -- and
> seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.
>
> Tonight I will again lie on their heads while they sleep and hope to
> smother them.

Give me a big ol' sloppy dog. I'll leave the litter box and the craftiness to the cat people.

Swim Walking

The husband and I have now owned two Labs. Both had to be taught to swim which is a skill that is supposed to be intuitive. Our current maniac could use the ladder with her first water experience but couldn't quite muster the courage to get in on her own.

It's a little like when a child is potty trained. As of this weekend, she can now do it on her own, although she uses the ladder. She's a wuss. She doesn't swim out very far; she likes it best when her feet can still touch the bottom. Her front paws are paddling and my friend has termed it "swim walking."

I remember faking stomach aches to get out of swim lessons and then I experienced the baby doing the same. Now we both swim like fish. My mother, who spent the bulk of her teenage years in Florida, still swears she can't swim. I think she's not giving herself enough credit.

We couldn't get maniac dog out of the water this weekend. She vacillated between swim walking and actual swimming. Maybe next year she'll learn to dive off the pier.

Independence Day

Today is the 4th of July. Along with the BBQs and parties, I try to respect the history of this holiday. I cry easily and patriotic songs can make me weep. It's therapeutic and it reminds me of the many things I should be grateful for. In case I'm not feeling mushy enough, I like to remind myself:

There are millions of people in this country, let alone the world, who do not have enough to eat.
There are women who give birth and watch their babies die due to lack of food or medicine.
People live under bridges and overpasses. I have a roof over my head.
Diseases can rum rampant and many millions of people have no access to health care. I have my doctor on speed dial.

There's an old saying: "You come into this world alone and you leave it alone." I don't find it true. If you're lucky, as I am, you get some pretty great parents who you meet right out of the birth canal. I've watched my mother hold lots of parents' hands when it was their time to go. They may have made the journey alone but someone was right there at the beginning and the end.

I used to think of myself as independent. I'm not. Oh, I could make it on my own but I like the dependence on my friends and family. I'm even dependent on the maniac dog -- I'm guaranteed a laugh.

I'm trying to find the balance.

Burying It and Digging it Up

Our maniac dog is obsessed with taking a bone or a treat and burying it. The backyard is her favorite but she also likes to hide things in a sofa or household plants. I have tried to explain to her that she is the only dog here and it's safe to leave it out. She's not buying it.

The husband thinks I adopted a dog with my personality. We do have some similar traits:

She's very vocal. She hates to hear "No."
She's affectionate. Probably more than necessary.
She loves music. Lying under the piano and playing her squeaky ball is big fun.
She's loyal.
She likes to bend the rules.

I'm also good at burying things. I bury them inside to fester. I convince myself that I have moved on. But sometimes someone will push me to the wall. I dig it up.

Sloppy Drinkers

We all know them. It's the guy who'll slosh you with red wine when you're wearing a white linen blouse. It's the woman who will tell you every dirty detail of her sex life and then will be mortified the next day. It's the teenager who swears he or she has never touched a drop but spends an inordinate amount of time cleaning the car the next morning.

I am not passing judgement. Wild Bill taught me that drunk dialing is one of the most fun activities. I have done it. I usually call my mother and she is mortified. Like all activities, drunk dialing has some rules:

You must call someone you love. You must tell them over and over again that you love them.
You must call at a weird time. Waking them is preferable.
You must pass the phone around so they can talk to total strangers.

I don't do this any more. My mother is probably relieved.

But, I still live with a sloppy drinker. She wears a collar and embodies destruction on steroids. You won't find her with a glass of red wine but I highly recommend not wearing white or anything linen if you come to my house.

Just Talking

I talk to the maniac dog a lot. Usually I'm reminding her that I am the only person in the world who likes her so she ought to behave.

Sometimes, I look at the caller ID on my phone and then I say, "I'm busy." I'm just talking to the phone. I did not answer.

Lately, I'm mumbling. I can be writing a proposal or doing the crossword. It's that under your breath kind of speaking. I suspect it's an oldies thing. The husband rolls his eyes. Wonder where he got that?

The old joke is that talking to yourself is okay but when you start answering, you're in trouble. Hmmmm ...

Turn About is Fair Spray

The spray bottle is still working wonders on the maniac dog's behavior. I keep it in reach most of the time. Sometimes my aim is off and both the dog and the husband get spritzed. Whenever that happens, I become a child. I giggle with a half-hearted apology.

Last night, the dog and I went into the garage. The door opened and it was Rambo with the squirt bottle. He opened fire.

I didn't write this title. The husband did. He wrote it in my notebook. (Which he is not allowed to touch!) For someone who feigns ignorance about this blog, he still likes to give me ideas or maybe it's just his obsession with being the boss of me.