Posts Tagged ‘dogs’

Today was one long series of unfortunate events of the sort that Jim Carrey would never survive. It began with last night’s craft project and concludes with the character Band-Aid on my ass…

Last night I took some old photo frames that were the same size and color, sanded down the sides until they all matched perfectly, and fitted them together into a frame collage. It was gorgeous, if I may say so myself, each frame was black with gold trim so together it looked pretty fancy.

In this new set of frames I placed some black and white prints of kittens in costumes that I had been saving for years that came from a calendar…many many years ago. I have not seen a calendar similar to this, ever. I was saving the prints for something special.

I proudly hung the completed piece of art in my bathroom on a blank wall that has been bugging me. As a freelance writer with two kids out on the Back 40 of Hell’s Half Acre, I don’t exactly have much money. Extra things like home decorating items and wall art are luxuries that we just can’t buy. So anytime something can be made cheap and still looks classy, we are quite delighted with it.

This morning, things went pretty much as usual, my son woke me up at the crack of dawn to dance to CMT (his favorite early-am activity). I drank coffee that took an hour to brew (Hard water = a coffee pot that drips water at the rate of a slowly leaking faucet). I fixed us all bowls of our favorite cereal (none of the three of us like the same kind on the same morning…it is apparently against some cosmic rule).

I subsequently dumped out a bowl each of Cookie Crisp, Cinnabon-Something-or-Other, and Fruity Pebbles when I discovered the milk was a little…sharp. Eggs were rejected for the fact that I had exactly two eggs, and three hungry people. The kids got Pop-Tarts, I got another cup of coffee.

After that it was back to CMT and Legos for the munchkins, and I went into the bathroom to put on makeup and do something with my hair. My son gave me two minutes to get good and into the application of my eyeliner (very black, btw), then came marching up behind me with a TV remote in hand, headed for the toilet.

I leapt across the room, screeching “Nooooo!” and saved the remote in the nick of time, while apparently drawing an impressive black stripe across my face. Unfortunately either the high-pitched noise, the sudden shudder of the room from me jumping, or karma from the last bug I squished, something managed to dislodge the nail holding up my pretty creation from last night.

The entire thing came crashing down into the bathtub, shattering into dozens of splinters of glass and wood (insult to injury: the places I glued were mostly intact). Even the photos tore just enough to render them mostly useless in the future.

My saving grace in that moment was that the entire mess was limited to the interior of the bathtub, so it was fairly easy to scoop it all out, then shake out the bath mat and rinse the tiny shards down the drain. Plus, I could do all this with the munchkins and their curious little fingers locked safely out of the room until the glass was cleared.

It also gave me a few minutes to bawl like a baby and mourn the loss of the cool wall art that I would have dragged all house-guests into the bathroom to look at for the next month.

Once all of that was done, and the rest of the morning passed without any bloodshed or major malfukulations (yea…….sound it out…..there ya go), we all trooped out to Plainview to pay a bill that was due today.

I took with me all the money I had, which was enough to pay the bill and buy the gas to get back home. I did not consider that we would be passing roughly 137 snow-cone stands and a dozen ice cream trucks on this journey in 103 degree heat (but it’s a DRY heat…ha). I couldn’t buy the treats; couldn’t even stop for my gimongous iced tea from Sonic as I had hoped. We got the bill paid and the truck back up to a quarter tank with about 17 cents to spare.

By this time, the kids were sweaty and mutinous…

The bribe I got them out of Plainview on was that it’s Tuesday…and Meemaw (my grandmother) ALWAYS goes to the pizza buffet night in Lockney, and we have a standing invitation to go eat with her each and every Tuesday. We have been doing this for over a year at least a couple times a month, and not once has she allowed us to pay for our meal. Therefore I felt fairly safe in the drive to Lockney.

Nope. This turned out to be the one Tuesday that she wasn’t home, wasn’t in town, wasn’t anywhere to be found. If looks could kill, the tiny lightning bolts flying at the back of my head from the backseat would have taken me out right there on Main Street, crashing the truck into the newly remodeled pizza place.

I pacified the kids with a trip to visit my parents (they LOVE Grandma and Papaw), and got lucky. Mom had some money she was saving for me from some of my storage stuff she’d sold for me.

Therefore, I got to feed the angry, hungry minions!

It wasn’t pizza, but Dairy Queen fries and chicken saved me from a sure overthrow of the throne tonight.

Getting back home was uneventful, as was most of the rest of the evening. The kids watched iCarly and George Lopez while I got a few things written for “work.”

My son drowned my favorite makeup brush in the bathtub and my daughter had a hissy fit because I wouldn’t let her wear a pageant dress and boots to bed. The cat scratched the smallest one for dragging him around by the tail, and the screeches that ensued scared the loopy cowdog outside. The dog howled for half an hour, and the kids went to bed mad at me…for some reason, it was all Momma’s fault, as always.

Finally…

Finally, the kids were in bed and I was alone (well, reasonably so, the kitten in the house doesn’t count). I poured a glass of bourbon and diet coke because I am NOT a glass of wine kind of girl, and I ran the bathtub full of bubbles and bath salts.

I sank into the tub and slid down…and immediately jumped back out, splashing water and bubbles all over the bathroom.

Yeah, there was a piece of glass in the bath mat that had evidently survived the cleanup efforts of the morning.

Yeah, I cut my ass cheek.

And yeah, considering that I am really not a Band-Aid kind of person, it is quite an admission for me to tell you that since the location of the cut was just so that shorts were uncomfortable, I decided to put a bandage on it.

There are dozens of bandages in my house, in every shape and size, in Tinkerbell, Hannah Montana, Cars, Toy Story, and more…lots to choose from.

I put SpongeBob on my buttcheek just for spite.

I am a terrible mom, apparently. If you look at some of the most popular and highly rated parenting websites, you will find oodles of articles and blogs about how to be the BEST parent you can be!

There are thousands of dollars worth of gadgets you HAVE TO HAVE to raise children safely. Every single cabinet and drawer must be locked down so tight that your husbands cannot get into them. The toilet must be so sealed shut that you have to decide to go to the bathroom BEFORE you really have to go, so that you have time to get into it. Cleaners must be organic and all natural, and there mustn’t be a single germ in the house anywhere! There are even articles that tell you how to sanitize sand for a sandbox!

Here are the reasons I am a BAD MOMMY:

  • My kids play outside in the dirt. I am sure that they have both eaten at least a couple of handfuls. Sure, I try to stop them…but have you ever seen those little shits move!?!
  • I call them little shits. Occasionally, I forget and call them that within earshot of their tiny ears.
  • The toilet lid is down, but not locked. My son has (more than once) came up and wiped suspiciously wet hands on my jeans. I cleaned his little hands off with a baby wipe, but I didn’t exactly freak out.
  • The kids know the best way to dry off hands is to wipe them off on jeans.
  • There is not a single cabinet lock in my house unless you count the one that was painted shut when I moved in…not sure what is back there.
  • My son kisses the cats. The cats live outside, and don’t take regular baths with antibacterial soap.
  • When my daughter was little and had a pacifier, she would occasionally drop it of the floor. In a pinch, when I was in a hurry, I popped it into my own mouth and then back into hers.
  • They have both had tea, soda, and tasted coffee.
  • They have both eaten a cracker that had been forgotten on the floor for a couple days.
  • They both fall down and get told “brush it off, you’re fine.”
  • They watch Spongebob Squarepants, Nick at Nite, and House MD.
  • My son has tried to open a bottle of Dos Equis…with a screwdriver.
  • My daughter knows that when we cross our own cattle-guard, that I don’t mind if she unbuckles her seat belt and sits up to look for animals.
  • They have both seen and heard a gun being fired.

Here are the reasons being a BAD MOMMY makes me a GOOD MOMMY:

  • Because of the dirt they play in…they have been exposed to germs. Meaning that yes, they have caught colds and the flu, but they won’t be hospitalized because their little bodies never developed an immune system.
  • They might pop out with the occasional s-word and get told that is a grown-up word…but they also hear and say “I love you.” every single day of their lives.
  • Because the cabinets and toilets aren’t locked, I don’t have to help them with every little thing they might need to get (or go)…and when we inevitably visit a place without cabinet locks, they won’t go crazy with newfound forbidden freedom.
  • My son is happy kissing the cats…and it hasn’t hurt him yet.
  • Because I don’t freak out and coddle them for every scraped knee…they are tough kids that can take a spill and get right back up. Don’t freak out…if there is blood, I fix it. I even kiss the boo-boo. Neither kid freaks out at a little blood, though…unlike those who watch their mother’s freak out at a little blood.
  • They know there are things on TV they cannot watch, and things they watch that they cannot repeat. My daughter also knows she wants to be a cop and a doctor when she grows up, instead of a fairy.
  • My son never did get that bottle open, but I was so proud of the fact that he knew to go get a tool out of the toolbox for a job he couldn’t handle. And yes…I stopped him before the bottle could hurt him in any way.
  • They will both grow up knowing gun safety, and never accidentally shoot themselves because they don’t know which end of the gun might fire.
  • My kids get hugs and kisses every day…from people, dogs, cats, and each other. The germs are probably spreading like wildfire…but so is the love.

Even though I am not a perfect parent…both my kids think I’m pretty damn cool for a mom (in fact my daughter told me that the other day…verbatim). Their sometimes snotty or drooly little kisses might have germs in them…but they’re the germs of some happy, well-rounded little kids who will grow up knowing how to take care of themselves.

I need to find someone who makes signs…someone who cuts them out of metal with the silhouettes of animals and other cool things, or maybe someone who can make a rustic wooden one. It needs to have “F-Stop Menagerie” on it, because if I rescue or adopt many more strays I’ll need to name the place as an animal shelter.

The loopy cowdog has made friends with, and brought home, a “greyote hound” who wiggled into our hearts, made a bed out of a lawn chair, and adopted us all. We call her Scamp (she scampers around like a puppy), and she looks like an interesting mix of some kind of cur, a greyhound, and a coyote. We aren’t sure where she came from, but she was someone’s abandoned or lost pet, she’s too tame not to be…

She is sweet to the cats, great with the kids, and doesn’t lick you in the face…all the requirements of setting up permanent residence out here. Any animal that is hostile to the kids or cats has to hit the road.

I have my eye on fish again…my daughter used to have a fishtank, and I love them. So we will probably venture back into that hobby again sometime soon. Anything but a beta…those depress me, in their tiny cage-like tanks with no company. They seem so lonely…

For brief moments, I think about getting a hamster again, that was fun…until he became a cage-escaping expert. There were no cages that Wal-Mart, K-Mart, PetSmart, or any other ‘Mart offered that could keep Rascal contained. He once chewed right through the wall of a plastic cage, and scaled a comforter to wake me up screaming in the middle of the night. He was a tough little guy…that night we tested the theory that hamsters might have the hidden ability to fly.

What I really want, though, is a ferret. I begged my parents for one, once upon a time, but I think it might have been too soon after the screaming hissy fit in the night with the wayward creeping hamster. That is one whim that I never really let go of, and it’s been brought back to the forefront of my mind by a quick video I saw on TV of a ferret stealing socks out of a dresser drawer. Hey, I already have sock gremlins that steal them on a regular basis…at least a klepto-ferret would be a more entertaining way to lose them.

My ultimate goal is to someday own a tiny giraffe (a la DirecTV commercials)…I’m pretty sure that science will create them one of these days. I want the tiny treadmill and the velvet pillow, too.

I really do need to start looking into that sign, though…

I have known and owned cow-dogs before, and have had friends with Blue and Red Heelers and Australian Shepherds. They are typically smart, trainable, and courageous dogs…all but one.

I happen to have the loopiest freaking cow-dog in Texas.

She barks at noises, at plastic bags flying by on the West Texas wind, and at a beetle that happened across her path one day.

When I drive up, especially after a long day away from home, she is happy to see the truck like any other dog would be. Most dogs bound out to meet the truck, maybe even run alongside it for a bit…not this one. She leaps off the porch, crashes and burns in a tumbling pile of fur and grass, makes two circles around the yard, then rushes to get in front of the truck and precede it into the driveway.

Her favorite game is cat-toss. She doesn’t use her mouth…she uses her snout, rooting under a cats belly until she gets under there, then tossing the cat out in front of her. She has some battle scars from trying this out on Racer the tomcat, but it hasn’t deterred her.

She eats cat food. Which works out well, most of the cats eat her dog food. Another quirk of the loopy cow-dog is an aversion to meats, especially if it isn’t cooked well. She will, however, eat vegetables and Chex mix. My favorite tomcat prefers cinnamon rolls.

Guess if a person insists on only adopting strays, she can’t be too picky about her quirky menagerie, huh?