You’ve had your new Christmas puppy about, what, a week now? His puppy breath still smells delicious and he’s small enough to pick up and carry around like a baby, for just a little while longer. But you can say it, to me, because I already know. Your puppy honeymoon is over. His adorableness is now measured with mild aggravation because he is essentially a 10-pound wrecking ball. I get it. I’ve been there many times. Read more
A lady in a bathing suit and a coverup trudged through the hot sand and brought him two huge plates of food. The first one had a mountain of steamed shrimp, fried snapper, mac-n-cheese, hushpuppies and cheese biscuits. A little bit after that she brought over a literal stack of grilled hotdogs, backyard burgers with all the fixins and potato salad. “Here you go, Shuga. I hope you hungry. You sure are a sweet boy.”
A little while before that, another woman had already walked over to him with her hands on her hips. “Sir!” she said. “YOUNG MAN! Can you please tell me what the animal regulations are on this beach?”
“There aren’t supposed to be any animals on the beach, ma’am.”
“Well! That’s precisely what I thought!” And then she asked that nice young lifeguard to march right over and tell those other people to remove their dog from the beach immediately.
He did. Sort of. Read more
My yellow dog, Scout, has kept me hopping this week as I surgically cured him of the bellyache he created for himself by eating a ball that was absolutely not meant for consumption. It was wickedly expensive. Carpets have needed to be cleaned, if you know what I mean. He must now wear the cone of shame and eat specially prepared chicken and rice for ten days (my God, the cooking I’ve had to do!). I can’t ground him or lecture him or anything because he has absolutely no recollection of eating that ball, and because, well, he is a dog.
Plus, he probably didn’t even notice it was a ball when he ate it because he only swallows. He never chews or savors or tastes anything.
Jeez. Labs. Read more
The app on my phone says I have 7 days, 8 hours, 54 minutes, and 4 seconds left before I go back to work for the new school year. I definitely have mixed emotions about this. On one hand, my favorite (ok, only) son is a freshman and will be with me every day all day at the same high school where I work now, and I never get tired of him being nearby. However, on the other hand, I’ve had a rather horrible summer [what with the dog deaths and dog bites that caused me straight-up heartache over the last two months].
Nevertheless, as I do every year during the months when I don’t have to report to work each day, I develop some really bad personal habits. By the time August rolls around, I begin to actively worry about the discomfort that 5:30 a.m. is going to bring me, so much so that now I’m not even sleeping well at all; the stress of my backwards and excessive sleeping habits weighing heavily on me. I mean, my circadian rhythms are on vacation, too. Don’t believe me? Here was my day yesterday: Read more