Oh, Baby, Such Pressure!

Am I allowed to use the image of the award? IDK

Uh-oh. Did someone run out of other blogger friends? Did she notice that my posts have been rather sporadic & feel the need to urge me on? To what do I owe this stressor, er, honor?!

Robin, I'm baffled!!

You see, Robin Suttell, who writes Almost...But Not Quite & makes me laugh uncontrollably, giggle quietly, or cock my head to the side like a dog trying to understand the absurd, has given me the dubious title of the Versatile Blogger...In order to accept the award bestowed upon me, I must:

- Thank the person who gave you the award. Thank you, Robin!! I jest, but it's pretty cool that you would think of me.

- Share 7 things about yourself.

1.) I did not get my driver's license until I was 28 years old. My first car is dead in my garage. I don't really mind driving, but I don't really like it either. I don't seem to see well at night & well, I'll probably not go over 25 mph if I have to drive at night in the rain. Blind as a bat!! This, despite annual eye exams to the contrary. No corrective lenses of any type required. And I'm over 40. I also have an intense anxiety about driving on city streets & freeways with which I am unfamiliar. Having to actually think about rights & lefts has been my handicap since Kindergarten, when it was supposed to have become a 2nd natured thing. It didn't. I even have to think that I write with my right hand or L makes left...Being lost is a big major phobia. I don't have GPS on its own, in my car or on my cell phone. Woe is me.

2.) I love quotations, memorable lines other people speak. I have a 3-inch thick book of them. I have bookmarked websites for them. I cut them out of newspapers & magazines & use them in my scrapbooks & as facebook status updates. Sometimes someone else just beats me to what I'd want to say, or said what I was feeling but said it better than I was able.

3.) I wish I could sing. I love to do it & I will belt it out if the mood so strikes me, but I know I'm not very good. One thing I really just don't enjoy is listening to is a nasally singer & I know I have a nasally speaking voice so I conclude that I must be a nasally singer. My husband says that somehow, I sing with less nasal tones than I speak. And I score pretty well singing on Rock Band if the song is low. (My highest scores are Need You Tonight by INXS, Peace Frog by the Doors, Only the Good Die Young & Piano Man by Billy Joel...actually got 100% on the last one.) It would seem I sing like a man. It's true what you think, you do sing better a little louder & after a few drinks. ;)

4.) I like word games: Pathwords, Scramble, Upwords, Boggle, Scrabble, Word Rummy, Smart Mouth, Password, Taboo, word searches (less keen on crossword puzzles)... I was once playing with friends on vacation & I made the word 'puce' for the win, only I didn't really get my win because I was challenged & they had a measley little Webster's dictionary that didn't contain the word. When I got home, I got out my 2-volume World Book dictionary, found the word puce, took it to the copy shop & mailed the page with the word highlighted. This was pre- everyone has a smart phone/laptop/even a pc... I wasn't being a sore loser. I just knew I was right. (By the way, google puce. You'll be surprised.)

5.) I have found that who I am & what people remember of me or how they see me now when they meet me are often unrecognizable as the same person. I find it very funny that some people think I was a 'bad girl' who must have been in a lot of trouble or can't believe my luck that I wasn't caught more often, & others think I would never have been in trouble & can't imagine some of the crazy stories that have been told about me. (Only some are true...I swear.) But this was true even in the 'back then' days as I have never forgotten the Sociology class where we wrote our name on a sheet of paper & passed it around the classroom & then our classmates could comment or ask a question & someone asked me, "How can you be so quiet in class & so loud outside of it?" The answer is simple. I have a sense of duty & responsibility & I did what I was required to do, for the most part. I put more effort into it if I enjoyed it. I have a pretty decent work ethic, I think. And when my time was my own, I cut loose!

6.) I think my kids are pretty terrific. Being a parent isn't easy & I sure have my list of things they do that drive me crazy, but I'm pretty confident that they know how much I love them, how incredibly proud I am of them, how smart & funny & beautiful they are in my eyes, but also to their peers. They are kind & generous & full-on slobs, but they are the center of my world & I wouldn't want it any other way. I love that they talk to me about the things that bother them, things they care about & just little things they found interesting or funny through the day. Somehow, bus stories are always a hoot.

7.) I love my Dog. She's the doggiest dog of all. She revels in her dogdom, although she does speak Wookie to me. She does a mean Chewbacca impersonation. She's the mutt of all mutts, a real Heinz-57. She's 86 pounds of flying fur & I wouldn't trade her for anything. She's loving, oyal & a devoted companion. And she likes it when I sing to her.

- Pass the award to up to 10 versatile bloggers. This one can't be done. To my knowledge, I only know 3 others & they have all already been so honored. I travel in a small circle. Apologies!!

- Let those bloggers know that you gave them the award. Yeah, um, see the above.

So, thanks for a topic! I've been trying to figure out something to write when time permitted.

Maybe It's All in the Name

So I wrote my Ode to Doodle a few days ago. This one…this one isn’t that one. You see, this family has a 2nd dog. We agreed to take in our niece’s boxer when she couldn’t keep him. When I heard she was looking for a new home for the dog, I asked if we could have him because I knew it would thrill my husband & I thought I’d like the 2-dog experience. My husband was overjoyed. He grew up with a boxer & has often cited it as his favorite breed.

I knew very little about them.

So my mother in law delivers him one afternoon, only she failed to tell me she was delivering him that afternoon. I answer the door & there she is with the dog. He starts to come in to check me out & Doodle sees him & attacks. Seriously, how dare this creature enter her turf before a good sniffdown? Doodle actually likes other dogs, for the most part, but they have to be introduced properly. She’s actually quite a social canine. So my mother in law backs out the door with the boxer & tends to his wounds. She puts him back in the car. I suggest we re-introduce the dogs on neutral territory, so she drives down to the corner & waits while we leash Doodle for a walk. Upon meeting again, the 2 dogs do the ritual that dogs do when meeting & the boxer is clearly submissive. (She’d already drawn blood!) We have a nice stroll around the block, trying to come up with names for him. He came as Cody & but I’ve always heard you are supposed to change their name when you adopt them.

Boxers are good German engineering, er, breeding, so we thought it should be something strong. It’s a male, so nothing too ambiguous would do. I thought “Ace” was cool. We tried that out. Turns out, the dog is no Ace, so we scrap that idea. My husband is a Yankees fan, so it was suggested we call him Yankee so our 2 dogs would be Yankee & Doodle. Do I need to sing for you? But my husband didn’t like that. He’s trying out all sorts of crazy monikers. Senor Sanchez, for instance. I complained, he’s not a Spanish dog! Then he called him Superdog. Professor Awesome. Dawson from Awesomeville. He vetoed Fritz, Franz, Jurg, & all the German names I suggested. Mr. Sprinkles. Dr. Sparkles. I wondered why we didn’t just call him Wuss or Pansy. You see, Doodle kicked his butt (playfully) at least once a day, sometimes thrice, & she is 8 years older than him. I was under the impression boxers were supposed to be tough. They’re bear-hunters! So after a week, maybe even longer, my husband says, I know, he’s Gary! I’d been calling him Buster, but Gary did seem to stick.

As we all adapted to a 2nd dog, I learned some things about boxers I hadn’t known. They smell. Whew!! The dog has gas that could peel paint. That was the 1st & fastest lesson learned. I’ve since researched & found that all dogs with the smashed faces are flatulent. They swallow a lot of air due to the way their noses are shaped. EeeewwwwW! Not only does he have gas, he has the worst gas. It’s not like any of it is pleasant, but there’s certainly higher degrees of disgusting. I’ve woken from my sleep looking for a steaming pile because of this dog’s gas. (Doodle is such a lady-She’s never awakened me with the scent of burning, decaying feces.)

The 2nd thing I learned was that it isn’t just his gas that smells. The dog actually has body odor. I’ve heard of some hounds & water dogs carrying a scent or getting dirty because they have more oils in their coat, but I did not know this about boxers. Frequent baths are required.

And whether this is just Gary or whether all boxers do this, I don’t know, but he drips. Ick. It’s nasty! His eyes run. Sometimes his nose runs. Our niece said he has allergies, but other than the constant ooze, he seems unbothered, so we do nothing. Well, I cringe a little bit.

The dog knows he belongs to my husband. He’s pretty dumb, far as I can tell, but he figured that out. Generally Gary is a well behaved dog. He comes when he’s called. He sits, shakes, lies down when commanded. But he doesn’t seem to speak English. I mean, I talk to my dogs & this is the 1st dog that doesn’t get it. My husband says he wants a dog to play with, not hold a conversation. That’s all well & good, but I want the dog to learn that when I’m walking, he needs to get out of the way, not let me walk into him. I’ve never had a dog that stood like a brick wall in place as I was moving along & would let me kick* him. I never told any of my other dogs to move, but Shadow, Winston & Doodle were all smart dogs. That can’t be said for Gary.

I googled dog intelligence. Just so you know, boxers are #48 on the list- that’s at the low end of what they are calling average for dogs. (Side note- Shadow was ½ Border Collie #1 & ½ German Shepherd #3. Winston was ½ Cocker Spaniel #20 & ½ West Highland Terrier #47, clearly he took after the Cocker…. & Doodle, well, we really don’t know what Doodle is but veterinary ‘best guess’ believes she has Labrador Retriever #7, German Shepherd #3, & then it is generally impossible to determine….she’s a true mixing of breeds….which could be Darwinism in her favor!) But as Forrest Gump says, “Stupid is as Stupid does” & that Gary, he is. While it’s clear that he is a purebred boxer, he was a stray. There are no papers on him. Maybe he was inbred. He was dumb enough to get lost. We have no idea how long he was fending for himself. Our niece found him dirty & emaciated, covered in bites, ticks & burrs. Maybe malnutrition gave him brain damage. I suspect he may be retarded.** My husband says no, but I’m keeping that theory active.

I also tease that the dog is gay.*** He gazes with pure adoration at my husband from across the room. He cuddles with him to watch TV. My husband says he’s not. I don’t buy it. I’ve seen that look. He’s clearly gay. And retarded. He’s a Gay Retard, I mock relentlessly. My husband asks me how is Gary’s following him around or staring at him any different from Doodle doing the same with me. If he’s gay, then she’s a lesbian, he claims. No. That theory is all wrong. You see, Doodle doesn’t want me, she just loves me. She looks at me like I am her mommy. Gary, conversely, looks at my husband like he’s in love with him. There’s something totally different about it! LoL! My husband denies it, but I think I’ve discovered the truth.

You tell me: though my husband refuses to confirm it, I know he suspects I am right. He added Tard to the name… so the dog is now Gary Tard.

*I do not, nor have I ever, kicked or harmed a dog or any other animal in this lifetime. It's more like I tripped over him because he wasn't bright enough to get out of the way.

**I don’t harbor any ill-feelings toward the mentally challenged.

***I am not a homophobe. I’m a pretty liberal chick. Whatever floats your boat.

Maybe She Likes It- An Ode to Doodle

When my husband & I got married more than 11 years ago, we discussed getting a dog together. I convinced him, with my love of mutts, to save a dog. If we got a rescued dog, we wouldn’t contribute to irresponsible breeders or puppy mills. It would be cheaper & give us as much love, or more. I’m convinced that rescued dogs know they are rescued & are grateful.

We lived in a 2-bedroom townhouse at the time & were expecting our 1st child. I thought it was better to get any training & behavioral issues controlled before the baby came. We were looking for a medium-sized dog, around 40 lbs. We walked through the rows of cages with dog after dog excited to see us. The shelter employee noticed my 5 months pregnant belly & said they had a dog that was known to love being with children, but she was a little larger than what we were looking for….we asked how much larger. Turns out, she was only 55 pounds. They guessed her to be about a year old. She came out of the cage & promptly laid down on my husband’s feet, belly up. It was adorably pink & bald as she still had her stitches from being spayed. He says now that he thought she was being submissive but if only he’d known she was commanding him, “Rub my belly!” Ha!

We visited her once more before we were allowed to adopt her. She became our Doodledogg. I absolutely adore her. She was curious but gentle & loving toward our baby when she was born. She was patient with the toddler pulling hair & using her as a step stool. When we had our 2nd child, the dog looked at our new bundle of joy & with an abundance of attitude almost spoke aloud, “Oh, another one,“ as she turned away & largely ignored her until the child was walking & talking.

Doodle grew to almost 85 pounds through the years & is still pretty healthy at over 12 years. As I made up songs to sing to my children, because I sing when I'm happy (or maybe I just I warble out of tune words) Doodle always seemed to get a kick out of it. Somewhere along the years as my children appreciated my singing less, I started singing to my dog instead.

So maybe I'm a bit offbeat…. to the final Jeopardy tune- - Doo-dle, Doo-dle, Doo-dle, Doo-dle, Doo-dle, Doo-dle, Doo-doo-Doodledoggy…. & on & on…
I sing the circus theme- - Doo Doo Doodle Doodle Doodledoggy, Boo Boo Bootie Bootie Doodlebootie….
I sing My Darling Clementine- - Oh my Doodle, oh my Doodle, oh my darlin’ Doodledogg….
There’s All Around the Mulberry Bush, but it goes like this- - All around the living room, Doodle chased the laser, Doodle thought it was all in fun, ‘til she figured out where it was coming from…

I never said they all fit perfectly. I make them up as I go along… Dorkorama...& she sings to me too. It's kind of ridiculous. It's more of a yodel really. I mean there are no words! But just as a baby has different cries, Doodle sings different & distinct songs. There's the anxious, agitated one for the mail or any type of delivery. There is the soft, sweet one that begs, "Please may I have your dinner?" There is a slightly more persistent one to tell me that I haven't put away dinner left-overs yet & she would be happy to take care of that for me. There is another to let me know when another animal is in the vicinity...deer, cats & other dogs get much more attention than squirrels, chipmunks, geese or ducks. Bunnies may or may not get a free pass.

Doodle doesn't do a lot of barking, but the mail song can get pretty lively. I usually try to calm her down with a little Karen Carpenter: Sing, sing a song. Sing out loud. Sing out strong. Sing of good things not bad. Sing of happy not sad. Sing, sing a song. Make it simple to last your whole life long. Don't worry that it's not good enough for anyone else to hear... Just sing, sing a song. La la la la la La la la la la la... Sing, sing a song. Let the world sing along. Sing of love there could be. Sing for you and for me....

And that's my motto when it comes to singing. I know I'm not good, but Doodle doesn't care. It makes us happy, so we continue: What would you think if I sang out of tune? Would you stand up & walk out on me? Lend me your ears & I'll sing you a song, & I'll try not to sing out of key. Oh I get by with a little help from my Boo, Mmm, I get high with a little help from my Dood, Mmm, I'm gonna try with a little help from my daw-aw-aw-awg.... (All apologies to John, Paul, George & Ringo for the massacre of their song.)

While my children grow older & don’t want to sit on my lap & cuddle anymore, I’m grateful for Doodle, the oxymoron of perpetual puppy & crotchety old lady who still lies at my feet. I know she loves me. She tells me so every time she doggy-hugs me throughout the day. She leans into me, or more often than that, pushes her head into me. The harder she pushes her head, the tighter the hug would be if she were capable. Then she flops down & commands me, “Rub my belly!” & I never mind.

I tell ya, sometimes she’s so darn cute lying there that I look at her & burst into song. She opens her eyes & thumps the tip of her tail. If I stop, so does the tail. I suppose it could be wishful thinking on my part, but I also think maybe she likes it.


****Update****
On 2/26/2012, my beloved Doodledogg left this world. She took a bad fall & her ability to stand & walk decreased hourly & we had to hand feed her & carry her to the vet where the decision was made that she could not recover. They suspect it was a brain tumor & I'm happy to say that in nearly 14 years, she was playful right up 'til the end. She only had 2 hard days. I will miss her terribly.

Someone said to me, "That's the thing about dogs. They are awesome, but they are going to break your heart in 10-15 years."