Not Again!

On Wednesday’s post, I promised more remodel posts. That will have to wait until next week. Change of plans, sorry. Let’s continue the saga of the dog search instead.

Last week, my husband and I fell in love with this black lab that ended up in a place 40 minutes away from us. My husband doesn’t get out of work until 5, so we could only go to any of the shelters on Thursday, when they are open until 7:30. When we called the shelter the dog we loved to make sure it was there before traveling out there, the lab was being adopted. We were sad but we kept up hope.

Wednesday, we found a pointer mix that was absolutely adorable if you recall my last post. Well, in the morning I discovered this dog was also sent to the other shelter 40 minutes away. Discouraged, we decided on an English Setter mix. Right before my husband called to say he was on the way home and to get everyone ready to head to our local shelter, I checked to make sure she was still in our Springfield shelter, which is the next town over. I was relieved to see that she was. Until my gut told me to double-check, when I discovered she too was sent to the other shelter. Just our luck! My husband called to see if the setter was there, because the pointer mix wasn’t on the site at all anymore. She was, so off we all went to find our newest family member.

As soon as we walk in, a very nice but busy worker and the only on staff that day, told us to go right in. But that one of them was in the process of being adopted so not to fall in love with it. “Which one?” I inquired. “The English Setter” was the response. My husband looked completely done, every dog we liked was transferred here before we could see them and we always missed out. We made the trip, so we walked in anyways to see what they had. I almost thought that at this point, my husband was just going to pick one to make the trip worth it. I was half right.

We saw the setter my husband liked, and we didn’t feel that connected to it when we saw it. But in the case right next door, something caught my eye. It was our pointer mix that we had originally wanted all along. She laid there quietly, wagging her tail in the saddest but most hopeful way. I’m not going to lie; I fell instantly in love with her. I looked at my husband, not willing to get my hopes up and I saw the same look in his eyes. We both, in sync, knelt before this beautiful puppy. She immediately licked our hands and leaned against the cage where we were sitting. We didn’t take long to head back out to the staff member and say “let us meet her”. She was great with the kids, and while Zoey was Arya's first nightreserved with her, Zoey seemed fond of her new friend. Well as fond as Zoey is of any dog that is near her, I suppose.

And that was it. We had this connection to the dog and it was like they wanted us to walk right in and grab her right up. Just like with our house, it was meant to be. And I shall introduce you to our little Arya. Well, as little as a 10 month old Pointer/Black Lab mix can be. I would love to thank the Dakin Adoption Center in Leverett as well as OPA,  the rescue organization in Texas that saved her and has seemed to train her so well. You guys do great work, and we love our newest family member.

Then There Was the Dog?

Monday’s postings have become hard to accomplish. I wish I could use the excuse of Monday fatigue, but my son’s developmental specialist comes over and that occupies much of when I would normally publish this. Friday, I will do the Remodel: Kitchen addition, which was my favorite since that is really “my room” of the house. Until then, let’s talk about dogs.


My “forever puppy”.

When we first bought this house and moved in, we took our precious princess Zoey away from her buddy Tank. She didn’t seem bothered by it at all, until she realized that all she had for a playmate was a toddler. She likes being the center of attention, so we were forced to make a decision: get her some puppy friends or adopt a new member of our family. Finally it was decided to add to our growing family. With a puppy or dog, I’m not quite ready for another child in diapers yet. So the discussion was “what are we looking for?”. I’m a sucker for the “forever puppies” (my phrase for small dogs), like my Maltese-Shih Tzu mix Zoey. My husband, who has a good foot on my petite frame, loves black labs. Since we already had a forever puppy, I caved and decided to start our hunt for a black lab which we found one we loved. Only with my husband’s work schedule, it was adopted the very day we were going to make the trek to get him.

We considered getting on a wait list for one of the many local lab rescues to find one for us, but we felt a little guilty at the idea of adopting from so far away when there are ones that could be killed up here. That was not something that we wanted on our conscious. We decided to be less picky. We wanted a family dog, having one to take on runs with me would be awesome. We have a very nice sized yard, so we have plenty of room for one to just run free if he or she wanted to. We have the room and love to give to another furbaby, we just need to find the right one.

Yesterday, a new one was added on the site of our local shelter. She was younger than we wanted, but she looks so sad and adorable. She is a pointer mix. We’re hoping she doesn’t get nabbed us as quick, because we would love to meet her so we don’t miss another opportunity. We will continue this search and hope for being able to find the perfect dog to welcome into our new home. What better way to celebrate getting a new home than going broke for a puppy in need, right?

Remember that for your next furbaby addition. Shelters are full of sad little dogs that need love too. If you can’t find a specific breed and  you go elsewhere, don’t forget about them and donate your time or other things they might need so that they can continue to do the good service they give those dogs.

Two Dogs and Three Kids

After coming up with the title, I realized that I’ll probably need to clarify: the third kid is not me expecting, it’s me counting my husband as a child. Sometimes I loving refer to him as my third child, as I’m sure a lot of wives also are guilty of. In my case it isn’t because I think my husband is juvenile or immature, in fact he’s basically the opposite of either scenario. He’s a great father because he’s able to tap into the minds of the boys and entertain them a lot better than I can. He knows what it’s like to be a child. I never really enjoyed cartoons or Disney movies. I liked books, art, and writing. I suppose not much has changed.

The long weekend started on around Thursday, when the baby decided to be incredibly fussy and tired. (Image borrowed from funnyasduck,net) Last time we played this lovely game of “how can I make you happy today?”, I ended up with a painful surprise of his first set of teeth. Our assumption is that we’re ready for round 2 of “To Teethe or Not To Teethe”. I was just getting used to my angel getting back to a proper sleeping schedule. Now, I get evil glares from over the crib saying “excuse me, I would like you to pay attention to me now” at all hours of the night. And when there isn’t that, I get kept up because he has his father’s and brother’s skill of “sleep talking”. And he’s loud. I want to be mad and tired and cranky, but he smiles his “two teeth” smile at me, and I can’t do anything but laugh. I also pretend to be awake the rest of the day, but if I keep one eye open I don’t doze off.

Then there are the sick puppies. Doggy number one comes down with mystery illness also on Friday, giving a fun weekend of “where is he going to get sick on now?” It was a thrilling game that I luckily didn’t have to play too much of, which was great because did I mention there might be a teething baby? He eats everything so we just assumed that he ate something that upset his stomach and he’ll work through it. Until doggy number two ended up sick as well this morning. Oh yes, always on my toes.

Then there is my husband. Let’s be honest: men are babies when they are sick. They whine, they whine some more, then they fall asleep. It’s ok though, at least in my case, I know he returns the favor. And by favor I mean ordering me to bed making me trust he’ll take care of everything. He does, in his sweet way of serving me tea and helping me feel better. He also makes sure the oldest son is kept in Slim Jims and Salt & Vinegar chips with a side of pepperoncinis, while they stay up late watching cartoons. Oh I love my boys.

Mothers thrive on this adrenaline of not sleeping. We want to sleep, but we keep going and we have the ability to not complain too much about it. The family is worth every sleepless night and every article of your clothing that ends up in the wash or trash due to something incredibly gross getting on it. We might end up with God knows what in our hair at the end of the day with a sick family and we can honestly say we’re too tired to care. (I admit it.) But like everything else in life, you have to just take the bad with the good. Because the good is worth every second of the bad.

The Dogs and Me

I often admit here that I lack any sort of normal social abilities. I don’t know how to properly connect with people, and I certainly don’t understand how to properly converse with others. My friends are exceptions to this, because they often also share this lack of ability to behave “properly” on some level. Though I’ve known several people who’ve died, I only cried once at a funeral. I’ve always associated this with the fact I lack a sense of connection. People probably will judge me on this, or for being so blunt about it. Even on TV, I have a hard time getting upset over a death of a character. I get mad, but I quickly get over it. I sometimes think that I develop more connections with fictional characters than real ones, but even still I accept this as life.

Soon after having my son, I realized I couldn’t stand seeing a child killed on TV. I couldn’t look, even if it was implied. I don’t recall having this cringe effect prior, but afterwards I just couldn’t deal with it. Kill the adults, but leave the kids out of this. Their innocence, I just couldn’t accept that at all. I could sit through the goriest murder scene in movies if it involves an adult, but the minute a baby died on a House episode, I had to leave the room. At least that made me feel a little more human realizing I’m not a complete emotionless shell.


Princess Zoey loves Christmas.

Last night though, I had trouble sleeping and watched TV. When I couldn’t sleep at night while pregnant, I remember every time they showed an infomercial for The Humane Society I would cry hysterically over them. I had pregnancy hormones to blame, but there was something about those shivering dogs that pulled at my ice-cold little heart. Only the cute ones though, I’m ashamed to admit. Back to the point, last night I saw an episode of “Sister Wives” where they actually showed the father digging a hole in anticipation of putting his dog to sleep. Then they showed the dog on a blanket in the yard, while you see the vet filling a needle with what was obviously the medicine to put this dog to sleep. Then they made you watch as they pet and hugged the dog as it fell asleep. Then they showed the family burying the dog. I found it offensively graphic. I found it inappropriate to air on TV. Why would you want to have cameras tape a heartbreaking moment as putting your dog to sleep? I couldn’t deal with it.

Dog boy Tank

Dog boy Tank

After that, I immediate whispered little Zoey’s name and called her on the bed. She climbed up and cuddled with me, and I practically fell asleep next to her. Watching that had the same effect as watching a kid on TV get hurt. I wanted to hug her and pretend she was an immortal little puppy dog, my little princess Mal-shi. Tank, while not exactly as small as Zoey, is a lovable cuddly oaf of a small dog. He thinks he’s smaller than he is, and acts like our little baby of the house.

I love my puppy sized dogs. Don’t worry, we don’t put clothes on them every day, but for silly pictures to make people either hate us or go “awwww.” I wonder if I love them more than I love most people. I probably do. Dogs are loyal, always around to love you, and keep you entertained. I don’t like cats, they don’t quite love you in the same selfless way. Will a cat claw someone who tries to hurt me or my family? Nope. Will a cat cuddle up next to my baby son and pretend that he is the baby in their litter and try to shower it with love? Nope. Plus, the advantage of having dogs over human friends is they don’t talk. They bark incessantly, they jump all over the place as if they are children. But in a way, they are my children. My furry little immortal puppy sized dogs.


Before I begin with the post, I’d like to tell my readers of a format change for next week. My usual attempts at a Monday, Wednesday, and Friday blog will not exist next week. However, I will be enjoying geekdom in Boston, as I attend Pax East as I have since it started 3 years ago. What does this mean to you, my readers? This means my 3 days will occur Friday-Sunday, (the 6-8). Even cooler than that, if you happen to be fans of everything geek as I am, I will be covering my weekend with videos, blogs, and live tweets from the event. I may even consider running live streams for certain events, but I’ll revisit this before my leaving. I hope that you enjoy it, because I know I’ll enjoy sharing it with you.

Now, the post. The embarrassingly and true story of Reeses.

Shortly after graduating college, I had a bit of a battle of just not feeling right. I didn’t have a place, as I had decided I’d rather do anything but teach and I had a degree almost as useless as one in philosophy or liberal arts. I felt alone, out of place, and I didn’t feel good about myself or anything else. My boyfriend (now husband) had ignored me as I had a rule that no food was allowed in my room. I hate crumbs in the bed, and it ruined my disorganized “feng-shui”. He didn’t listen of course, they never do, and left the bag of Reese’s Cups opened and prime for mouse fodder. And mouse fodder it was.

At first, I was scared of the mouse. The OCD me only thought of the germs and bacteria this mouse and its feces probably carried, and I wanted nothing to do with it. Then, I named him Reeses, and refused to have him killed. I had grown attached to that diseased and disgusting little rodent, and he was my only friend. I talked to this mouse, this ugly little thing as if he were a person. I didn’t care he was a diseased little rodent, and I would probably scream if I saw it and refused to touch it if it came near me. But he was my closest and dearest friend… ok, I can’t be sure it was actually a he, but I’ll just go with it. I look back in shame though, I had actually gone so low in my sadness I had befriended and personified a house rodent. Either way, he was almost as comforting as the crazy little squirrel who threw acorns at my window to prevent me from sleeping the sad away.

Reeses’ story didn’t end well, he ended up in a mousetrap baited with a Reese’s Cup. I learned my lesson too, I don’t think I ever want to feel that alone that I befriend a diseased and ugly rodent. That’s why I’m glad I have dogs, Zoey might eat poop and Tank might have perpetual “derp face”, but at least they aren’t house mice. Somehow it’s more acceptable to become friends with poop eating dogs than peanut butter cup eating mice, but at least I can cuddle with one of my cat sized mooshy dogs when I feel like I’m about to make friends with a rodent. And remember readers…. People can be rodents to.