Tag Archives: Dog
My 22-year-old daughter moved out of our house and into an apartment with her girlfriend last November. It was very exciting to help her with this very first totally independent adult endeavor. Which makes the following even more understandable:
- Christina’s roommate likes to cook. Christina never graduated beyond grilled cheese sandwich at home. As an example to show just how much I have taught her about cooking, she came home on a weekend and said, “Mom! Did you know you could freeze meat?!”
- My husband was showing Christina how to work the fireplace in her living room. “But be careful the first time you use it,” he told her. “Oh, don’t worry,” she replied. “I would never use it without adult supervision.”
- “What? Use the laundry facilities at the apartment? Are you crazy? Strangers underwear have been in those machines. I am just going to come home every weekend and wash my clothes here, okay?”
- My husband emailed a link to my daughter on new iPhones. She immediately emailed him back fairly screeching “ARE YOU NOW TELLING ME YOU WON’T PAY FOR MY PHONE ON THE FAMILY PLAN AND I’M ON MY OWN??!!” My husband forwarded her email to me asking in confusion: “What did you say to her?” I replied about the little “I hate being an adult because I have to pay bills every single month, do all the cleaning myself, go to the grocery story and do you have any idea how much tampons cost?” rant she had last weekend. And THAT was the real issue. I totally understand that it sucks having to be responsible and grow up.
- No, Christina. I will not clean your bathtub. Even if you offer to pay me.
- Christina has given up on the custody battle for her dog, Casey. He lives with us. Mainly because every time he wants to go outside she has to put on his harness, use the leash and then take him down three flights of stairs outside. And he wants this done often. And it’s winter. We have the pet door. We win.
It is currently 7 degrees out. This morning is was -2 degrees out. Tonight it is supposed to -15 degrees. Now, don’t get me wrong, the sun is shining and it is beautiful to see all the shimmery dazzling white snow. I just want to see it from behind a window while sitting in front of an electric heater that is on its highest heat setting.
But enough is enough.
I can’t take this much longer. I have learned that once the weather is in single-digits or less, my car heater just can’t keep up with the level of heat that is expected. My car is so filthy dirty, I feel embarrassed to park it at work. (It reminds me of when my daughter was little and got head lice. To this day, she will say that she got head lice twice when she was little. I’ll agree with that, but it was two times that lasted about two years in duration trying to eradicate those damn things). Not to mention that just thinking about taking my car into the automated car wash gives me anxiety. Do you think my doctor would prescribe Xanax for car wash anxiety?
And then there is Boca. Bored Boca. Even with the cold and snow, Boca will still try to go outside. From 6 pm to 11 pm he is in and out the back door at least 20 times. The problem is that he has to come right back inside after two minutes. So he wanders around the house looking for someone to torment for his personal entertainment. Which usually means Casey is a great target. So on and off all night you hear Casey start to bark and growl and then someone yelling at Boca to leave him alone. Even Abbey, as big as she is, keeps a wary eye on the cat as he saunters past her.
We did buy Boca some new cat toys which amused him for about 45 seconds. I get that, I mean how can some plastic balls with bells inside compete against live vermin living outside that you can hunt and kill? And everyone has learned that you shut your bedroom door at night because if you don’t, you will wake up at 2:00 am with a cat sitting on your chest staring intently into your eyes.
Who am I kidding? Even though I may SAY this is my last whiny blog about the cold weather, it won’t be. Especially if the Farmer’s Almanac is correct and we do get a blizzard in February. Just don’t say you weren’t warned in advance.
It is REALLY cold outside.
HOW COLD IS IT?
- My car window was frozen and wouldn’t open when I tried to order Starbucks. Not that it stopped me; I had to open the door. And no, it isn’t ironic that I order a cold drink because the heat in my car is always on high.
- My electric blanket setting is getting higher and higher every night. One night I am going to wake up thinking I am having hot flashes.
- I tried for the very first time using active yeast in a recipe. Except the bread wouldn’t rise. Because it was too damn cold in the house. Next time it goes with me under the electric blanket.
- Even the cat stays in at night. He wakes us up playing with the kitchen cabinets. But he still refuses to use the inside cat litter box. Good kitty.
- Still fighting over the electric heater with Casey.
- I am forced to offer a monetary bonus incentive to the kids to get them to go to the store and buy stuff. Like firewood for the fireplace.
- I had a hissy fit this morning because I could only find one glove. I ended up wearing my bright red and yellow mittens. I really don’t think they project the overall professional look I was going for.
- I come home, put on cuddle-duds under my sweats, two pairs of socks and slippers. Then turn on my heated throw, move the small electric space heater so it blows directly on me and complain to my husband that he needs to turn up the heat. I know he doesn’t listen. He quit listening back in 1989.
- It is simply snot freezing cold
I finally gave in and plugged in my electric blanket this weekend. I have been hauling around a heated throw and it simply is not big enough and after one year of continual use, there are way too many non-heating cold spots. We have a dual electric blanket which means my side is on high while my husband’s side isn’t even plugged in. I am still working on the optimum heat setting. About roasted with the 9. Turned it down to 7 and then finally fell asleep at number 4.
My husband and I ended the long battle about the thermostat setting last winter. He doesn’t understand that 67 degrees means I use the oven as an ancillary heat source and I don’t understand having to pay a perpetual $500 electric bill every month (stupid uninsulated house). But in an effort to be understanding, he did purchase little portable electric heaters for the kids and me. They have an auto shut off and are energy-efficient plus a whole bunch of other safety related facts that I have no interest in. What I do have interest in is that it goes up to 85 degrees and has a fan with a high setting for blowing out lots of hot air.
When I tell him to stop it, he does this:
Sigh. it is going to be a long, cold winter.
We recently took all three pets to the vet for their annual visit. Yorkie-dog Casey was the worst, as usual. He actually made the vet inject himself in the hand with his rabies vaccination. The vet was nice about it but I still blame Christina who raised him. Previous groomers have called Casey “Wiggle Worm Squirmy” and “Full of Energy.” When our current groomer gave Casey his first haircut and bath, she told Christina “Your dog is a Brat.” I love honest people. (I think the only difference between the groomer and the vet is that we have to pay the vet a lot more so he feels like he has to be more politically pet correct).
And then there is the whole food issue.
Our Golden Retriever, Abbey cannot eat canned dog food. No, I take that back. She can eat canned dog food but you are also guaranteed she will have doggie diarrhea afterwards. So the only dog food she gets is dry dog food. But Abbey knows anything is better than her dry dog food. So she will eat the leftover canned cat food, Casey’s canned dog food, Boca’s dry cat food and any food left in the trash or counter (called counter-surfing in dog lingo). The only thing Abbey will not eat is Boca’s dead vermin that he brings into the house and leaves in the downstairs bathroom.
And when Abbey eats canned cat food, she farts. And they are stealthy and stinky. I can’t tell you how many arguments my husband and I had about who is farting in the bedroom at night until we finally realized it was the dog.
Now, Casey likes canned dog food or dry cat food or steak. But only the good steak; don’t try to give him the fat or gristle because he won’t eat it. He has been eating dry cat food for the past nine years. Our vet said it is okay for a dog to eat cat food, but it isn’t okay for the cat to eat dog food. Which is fine because our cat, Boca, will only eat cat food (well, except for the vermin that he catches and selectively eats). And Boca loves canned cat food early in the morning but only the gravy part of the food; he leaves the rest in his bowl. And if there isn’t dry cat food throughout the day you can count on being bitten in the ankles until his bowl is filled.
The other day Boca got into the food pantry and used Abbey’s bag of dry dog food as a scratching post to sharpen up his claws. All that was left was a shredded mess.
In order to save the remaining dog food, I took out a big plastic container that we had previously used to store cereal and put the salvageable dog food in it. And put it back in the pantry.
At first Abbey was excited because she thought she was getting fed dry cat food (also kept in a plastic container) but was disappointed to discover that it was her regular old boring dry dog food. Once my husband discovered I had put dog food in the cereal container, he said he will never use it again.
I’m thinking I can use that to my advantage for future reference.