Fun Times

When my uncle Randy came out a year ago and helped me build a roof over my back porch (and yes, the language grossly overstates my role), I saved a section of the old rain gutters with high hopes of saving money and reinstalling it later.  Predictably, it's still right where I left it, up against the back fence. 

Our dog Maggie is a self-entertainer, which is kind of fun.  She loves life, frequently takes naps flat on her back, legs in the air, and finds toys everywhere.  Well, tonight she found a mouse in the rain gutter and when I called her to come inside, she obediently collected her new toy and brought it inside with her. 

Now, when I say, "mouse," I probably need to clarify a bit. 

This was not a cute little small field mouse.  This thing was large.  Like "Secret of Nimh" large, complete with the whole long stringy tail and big toes.   

So - like I said: Maggie (with muddy feet, no less) happily brought her toy in the back door.  Kristin (with Allison on her lap) jumped up and screamed.  Allison wasn't sure what all the excitement was about, but she wasn't a big fan of all this stress and communicated this in no uncertain terms.  Maggie - curious as to the cause of all this sudden excitement and concerned there was fun to be had elsewhere - perked her ears up and spit the rat out on the floor.  I was torn between getting Maggie and her muddy feet off my carpet and also making sure the giant soggy rat didn't decide to move in or gnaw one of my bare feet off. 

We pulled it together.  Kristin ran Allison to her crib and grabbed a broom (this wasn't a spider, after all!).  I cornered the thing behind the couch and when Kristin - armed with the broom - was in position on one end, I opened the door, lifted the other and the soggy rat bolted for the door. 

Just another boring night at our place. 

BooBoo and the Goat

Since we're still introducing all the characters for this blog, here are two more.

We have two dogs - Alex and Maggie (aka BooBoo and The Goat) - and they are for the time being, our children.

Alex we got as a puppy from the pound in Bryan, TX. He got his nickname BooBoo from Kristin’s sister when he was about palm-sized. He's a cutie, but VERY sensitive. He gets his feelings hurt, and he pouts. Seriously. In the morning when we’re getting ready, he’ll feel ignored and sit in the doorway with his back to us and his ears folded all the way back so he looks extra pitiful.

Maggie is his polar opposite. We got her when we moved to the house from our one-bedroom apartment. Alex loved the apartment - it was small, he got walked at least twice a day, and he was an only child. Then we moved to the house (twice the space), and he hid in the bedroom all day, stopped eating, wouldn't go outside - you get the picture. So it was either get Alex a friend, or find him a new home.

Kristin - with her usual "anything worth doing is worth doing NOW" gusto - called me one day from the SPCA and said she had one picked out and wanted to get my thoughts. Now, please know that I'm not so dumb as to think my opinion was genuinely being solicited. Kristin had picked a dog and unless I had a major problem with it, we would soon be taking home a new family member.

She showed me Maggie. Maggie is - as best we can tell - part golden retriever, with maybe some chow (she has the scruffy neck and some black spots on her tongue). I think she's also part flea - her standing vertical is incredible, and you never know when she's going to decide she wants to fly. At this point, Maggie was pretty calm, laid back, and quiet. Great! Just what we need - a low-maintenance dog. So we got her.

She threw up three times in my back seat during the 45-minute drive back to Melissa. To carsickness was quickly added kennel cough, plus some badly infected sutures from her spaying (she had been found and turned in to the SPCA with the sutures in – who knows for how long). So the $50 adoption fee was quickly upped by a couple hundred in vet fees, plus beds, toys, etc. I can only imagine what dropping several hundred bucks a month on diapers must feel like.

Anyway, as Maggie started feeling better, we discovered a new side of her (the flea part finally came out). One morning, our previously-docile new dog decided she wanted to play. So she proceeded to more or less hurdle our bed. Imagine lying on your back in bed. It’s early on a Saturday, and just barely starting to get light outside. You’re vaguely aware the dogs are awake, but youhope they won’t make you get up just yet. You begin to sink back into dreamland, but then you hear the sound of a dog jumping. About the time some genetic self-preservation alarm goes off, alerting your sleepy mind that covering your – um - vulnerable - spots might be prudent (but before you have time to actually act on that), you see a large, dark shadow fly at low altitude over you, thankfully landing on the floor on the other side of the bed.

The real Maggie had finally shown up.

Maggie likes helping (the picture here is her helping me set up the Christmas Tree this past year). She also is quite resourceful at entertaining herself if we’re not doing anything interesting. This is never good. She got her nickname because – like a goat - she’ll eat just about anything. She especially likes chasing bugs (toys that move on their own!), but destroying socks, underwear, shoes, furniture and anything plastic are all fun, too.

Alex, of course, would never admit that he likes her, but it’s clear he’s much happier. He likes acting like he’s the alpha dog, and I’m sure it’s hard to be moody when you have a perpetually happy dog around you. So he’s doing much better, and now that we’ve more or less taught her to fight those urges to destroy stuff, we’re all one big happy family.