Peaches turns six tomorrow. Yesterday was her party. She picked the theme—fashion fairy tale. She wanted a dress-up party. Dress by H&M. Juice and marker stains yet to come.
fashion fairy tale
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Tag Archives: dogs
it don’t take much
It’s official. I am in love. Nyla and I have made it over the preliminary hurdle of post-adoption angst, regret and mustardy diarrhea. Okay the diarrhea cleared up a while ago.
I’ve become one of those (hopefully) harmless weirdos who baby-talks in an insufferably high-pitched squeal to her dog, out loud, in public (as if I didn’t embarrass the children enough). To the tune of, “Who makes the very best poopy-doopy?” And, “Who’s the cutie-wootiest doggiest-woggiest?” And, when I unleash her after a walk at the foot of the driveway and she bounds toward the backyard like a greyhound-pomeranian mix, “Who runs like the wind?” And later, she licks my face, making sure like a doggie in the frenzied throes of OCD, to try and reach my brain through my left nostril. Repeatedly. (She’s almost there.)
the graduate
Well, we did it. She did it. Nyla graduated with honors from Petco training, Adult 1 class, taught by the inimitable James, celebrity trainer of the Main Line. Here is her certificate. Fancy, eh?
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dichotomy dog
Part of the reason I wanted a dog—why the house wanted a dog or so I like to clarify—was for the walks. I’d be forced to head outdoors and move the old bod, even when—especially when 99% of me wanted to sit like a lump reading The Hunger Games trilogy.
Shush the dog
So it happens that this update is a positive one. And I am still the hapless mental case you’ve come to know and tolerate.
Dog days
I thought I’d write while in a white foamy rage so you can see why I got so fucking rah-rah over the Primal diet. I still think it works, by the way. I have six months of good behavior and high self-esteem under my belt, and even though I was an arrogant prick to a handful of people regarding my newfound nutritional knowledge, it beat being an asshole to myself.
Slam your body down and wind it all around
Sometimes I just wanna escape into a movie. A good movie like Contact. Not a sucky movie like that Horrible Bosses I just saw. I watched that mother-sucker through to the end. What’s with that? I guess I wanted to see how Jennifer Aniston would meet her demise. Her eyes looked so blue in that movie. She sexing it all up in there. That’s all I’m saying.
Sometimes the new dog, the one we’ve had for oh, a week now, feels like more than I want, even though she’s perfect for us in so many ways—gentle, loves the kids, low-shedding, small, affectionate… Still, this furry blond bombshell needs her poopy outside time. At six AM! She needs her chicken necks. I worry about money. Swamp Chicken says don’t worry. I try to listen to him. Sometimes it works. Then it stops working.
Nyla
Last Saturday I couldn’t help visiting Petco again, this time with the whole family to see who was available to foster. First we met Bella, another chihuahua mix like Jessie, but much more like a fancy miniature German shepherd. She was beautiful. Swamp Chicken held her and fell in love, though later he admitted that she had the ‘chihuahua shake’ he’s not fond of.
The prospect of adopting Bella made me go giddy, forget about this fostering nonsense, and I talked with the Philly Paws staff about it. We all agreed it would be better to adopt since parting after bonding would be too painful, and SC realized this was probably true, especially as the adoption fee was so reasonable.
I turned to the kids. “What do you think of Bella? Isn’t she so pretty?” This was their response: Fffft. Nothing. Peaches and Spike were too busy playing on the cart-return rails to give Bella a passing glance. Maybe they didn’t even want a dog.
Dog person
As my eating revolution tempers into my just-the-way-it-is habit, my mind trolls the hills and valleys of this fine cold land for something new to chew over. There on a hill, peeing on a lone apple tree, is a pooch. A chihuahua mix named Jessie who needs a home.