Guess Who LOVES Peach Yogurt

The dog AND the cat. It's like a stand down at the OK Corral around here at snack time.

It reminds me of Mama J. and Papa T. when there's pie in the house. If they don't get the same sized serving somebody could lose a finger.

The One Where I Fib About Spoiling Our Pets

We bought this ottoman for the foyer because it had great storage. And we needed something in that empty space by the window. And it gives us extra seating if we have a crowd. Seriously. I promise.

It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that our dog likes to lay in the sunshine and bark at the UPS man.

Proof We Are Not Pretentious People

We really know how to make people feel welcome in our home. Friday night, janjanmom and her lovely youngin's came by to bring me a cake the eldest had made that day. Look! Isn't it cute?

Let's not talk about how fast it took me to eat it once I got over cutting into the lovely decorations. Thank goodness we got the TV hooked up in front of the treadmill. Otherwise, it would have been a weekend of staring at that Norman Rockwell print.

Anyway, I was giving janjanmom a tour of the new house, and I was all blah blah new lighting this and yak yak counter tops that. I walked into the dining room to show her the cute little Hula Girl napkins Teen Angel got me for Christmas when I stepped in the biggest dog turd ever. It appears the dog had NOT endured my marathon trip to the grocery store and the beauty shop Friday as well as I had thought and he had pooped in the dining room. To make matters worse, I accidentally sent some of it rolling underneath the hutch, where it now sits waiting for me to find the yardstick to fish it out from under there. Nice. I'm sure she failed to notice much of anything else on the tour because her head was probably screaming, "She had dog poop in her dining room!" the whole time.

Now, fortunately janjanmom is a down to earth, understanding person who has three children and a big dog, so she's dealt with a little poop in her time. However, that doesn't make me feel any less embarrassed about the whole thing. It will give us a good laugh in the coming years. When we're old, wearing gold shoes and playing Bingo, she can lean over to me and cackle, "Hey, remember that time the dog crapped in your dining room and you kicked that turd under the hutch?" We'll laugh and wheeze and wonder out loud why the kids don't come to see us more often.

In the meantime, please know dear readers that you are welcome in my home anytime and you definitely won't have to worry about using the right fork or a tea towel between dinner courses. You might however, want to watch where you step. Now, about that yardstick.......

We're Moved!

Well, except for the garage and attic contents which are sitting sadly at the old house like orphans during a potato famine, but basically we are moved. We have worked our fannies off during the last four days to get things hauled into the new house, and we’ve been sleeping there since Friday night. As I suspected the process of sifting through our belongings and leaving a home of fifteen years has put me in a sentimental mood this past week. I guess it has as much to do with my grief over Sissy’s death as anything. After all, her house is now our house. Our bed sits in the same position her bed did, and as I laid down Friday night I couldn’t help but imagine the thoughts that used to go through her head as she waded through her insomnia and depression each night. I didn’t dwell on it though. I’m past that in my grief now, and I rarely linger very long over what ifs. Being in her house does make me feel closer to her, in a good way.

I thought we had a day or two to breathe a little and catch up on our rest before we tackled the task of cleaning the old house, but the real estate agents like to play this little game called Bringing Over A Prospective Buyer When the Owners are Least Prepared. A call from an agent yesterday about a visit today sent us into major cleanup mode last night. While it still needs a little work, the house is presentable for today’s visitors whom I hope won’t notice that stain inside the cabinet that used to hold canned goods. While it’s not horrible, it’s…..okay, it’s kind of horrible. As I was scrubbing away my manicure on the kitchen cabinets last night I did have the thought that all of those days that I blew off deep cleaning the kitchen to lay by the pool with a book and a beverage were finally “coming home to roost” as mama says.

We have sold the old furniture to a lady we know, and she should pick it up any day now. That will leave the old house empty except for the attic and garage boxes, which we will likely deal with when they become urgent. If the house doesn’t sell soon, I’m just going to enjoy the holidays and not worry about those boxes until January. All in all, it’s been a fairly smooth transition. One of these days when I’ve learned where everything is and have time to go through my files, I’ll give you some before and after photos of the renovations, but for now I’ll just share a few tidbits:

-The dog and cat are a little perplexed by the change of scenery. While they haven’t wigged out on us, they silently follow us all over the house. All day. Every time we turn around they’re at our feet. It was a little disconcerting when I was taking my shower yesterday and looked through the glass to see both of them sitting in the bathroom floor watching me with great interest.
-I kept forgetting to bring my robe to the new house. Yesterday, when I walked the dog at 5:45am I had on Teen Angel’s pink crocs, baggy pajamas, a running jacket and a bandana in my hair. I figured none of the new neighbors would see me at 5:45 anyway. Just as I reached the curb and the dog hiked his leg, I heard, “tap, tap, tap”. “Oh, no”, I thought. Sure enough, there was a neighbor, jogging toward me in the dark. The neighbor I see at every 5K race I attend. I sheepishly said, “Mornin’” and picked up my robe last night.
-I didn’t have time to take many pictures during the moving process, but I did take a moment to snap this one. Look, eight bottles of lotion! What did I tell you?
-I’ve always wanted a pantry where I could store all of our food and the dozens of kitchen appliances and gizmos I own. I have one now, and it’s as good as I had hoped. Thank you, Jesus.
-We went three days without television, and we MISSED it. It was like the ice storm all over again, without the darkness. And the cold. And the exhaustion.
-While it’s still a house and not yet a home, it will soon feel like home. We know it will take a little time, but some of us have already found a place for our favorite things.

Tricks for Treats

Nothing cures a good case of boredom like dressing up your pets in Halloween costumes and laughing at them. Even when they give you disgusted looks.

Or try to yank off their ears and udders.Or howl in protest.

They're just so gosh darn cute that we can't help ourselves.

What can I say? We're easily amused.

The Outlaw Sometimes Wails

It’s like the OK Corral at our house, every day. There’s a standoff around every corner and sometimes there are multiple casualties. It’s a regular Clint Eastwood movie around here. Trying to make a traumatized cat and a spoiled middle aged dog get along is like trying to beat out Kanye West for the title of A** Hat of The Year. It’s just darn near impossible. And we may all die with our boots on trying.

When we adopted Sabrina, we knew it would be difficult. She’s a beautiful kitty, but she led a rather isolated life at Sissy’s house. She likes solitude and quiet. Our house is not quiet. Mostly because of Jack.
Our miniature schnauzer has a personality bigger than his body and makes his presence known. He barks at anything that comes near our yard, causing a rucus about six times a day. When I get home from work, he meets me at the door, barks a greeting and spends several minutes trying to talk to me and lap up all of my attention. He is noisy. He likes attention. Lots of it. He’s used to being top dog around the house and was not happy about Sabrina’s arrival.

She wasn’t too happy about it, either. I think she would have been content to roam around Sissy’s empty house for the rest of her life as long as we stopped by once a day to feed her. Which is what we did for the first few weeks after Sissy died, putting off a decision about Sabrina’s future while we focused on settling the estate and boxing up Sissy’s belongings. Sabrina’s fate was pretty much sealed though. At a cranky eight years old, she was not likely to be adopted if she went to a shelter, and we couldn’t stand the thought of her being put to sleep, so we brought her to our house. And braced ourselves.

For weeks it was easy because she didn’t come out of Teen Angel’s room. Ever. She literally stayed in there all day and night. She ate in there, used the litter box in there and hid from us. She simply didn’t know how to interact with people because Sissy never spent much time with her. We tried to coax her out, but she wanted no part of it. Or us. I don’t think she understood love and affection. Teen Angel kept working with her and eventually she buddied up to TA to the point that TA could bring her into another room of the house and sit with her. And that’s when the trouble started.

As soon as Jack realized she existed he started trying to get rid of her. He barked at her. He snarled at her. And chased her back into the bedroom. He literally attacked her a couple of times and we had a couple of close calls before we could rescue her. We couldn’t leave the house without shutting her behind the bedroom door for her own protection. We tried all kinds of positive behavior modifications with Jack but nothing worked. I finally had to wear out his bottom with a newspaper one night. That convinced him to quit chasing her, but it didn’t make him like her. He hates her.

About two weeks ago, Sabrina suddenly started leaving the bedroom on her own and began prowling around the house and seeking us out. It was if she finally decided that she liked us and wanted to stay. At first, she came out just a little and dashed back in whenever there was the least bit of excitement or noise. But gradually she started staying out longer, especially when she realized Jack would get into trouble if he chased her. A light bulb went off in that sneaky feline mind, and she started using his bad behavior to her advantage. She’s become…well, downright sassy in the last few days. Not only has she decided she likes us and wants to stay, now she’s staking out some territory of her own. She prowls the house nonstop, laying in Jack's favorite places like the sunny dining room.
She climbs into Hubby’s lap in the recliner which ticks Jack off to no end, and Saturday Teen Angel found her lounging in Jack’s bed in his crate. That kitty is on a suicide mission, I tell ya’.

Several times a day, Sabrina waltzes right in front of Jack, just daring him to chase her. Sometimes she hides and waits for him to notice her.
All of this posturing leads to one standoff after another. He’s all bark.
And she’s all hiss.
Literally, she’s all hiss.
Any day now I expect a dirty blonde woman and her grandmother to show up at the front door. If we close our eyes while all of this is going on we can almost hear that cheesy spaghetti western music. Figuring they need to work through this jealousy territory thing on their own, we have backed off disciplining Jack somewhat. We closely monitor these little showdowns, letting the fur fall where it flies. Our only hope is that they learn to tolerate each other before they kill each other. For now, they’re free to shoot it out, but the day one of them spits tobacco juice at the other is the day somebody’s getting my boot up their butt.

Because Nothing Makes You A Pet Owner Faster Than A Little Guilt

We have a new pet. I hadn’t planned on a new pet, but I got one anyway. And it’s a cat. I’m not a cat person. I’m a dog person. Don’t get me wrong, I love most all critters, but I prefer the kind that love you unconditionally, beg for your attention and live for the opportunity to please you. Not the kind that are aloof and want things on their own terms, which is how most cats strike me. However, I just couldn’t say no to this one. It’s Sissy’s cat, Sabrina.She is without a master, and Teen Angel is terribly attached to her. She is the kitty Sissy got not too long after my nephew died, so there is some emotional history with this cat. I didn’t have a chance did I? I might as well have “sap” tattooed on my forehead. From the day Sissy died, I suspected Sabrina would end up in our home. We left her at Sissy’s house, visiting and feeding her every night on her territory so as not to traumatize her any more than she already is by Sissy’s absence and all of the packing and moving going on in the house. I kept saying we would eventually figure out what to do with her when everything settled down, but my gut was shouting, “Ooh, pants on fire.”

Sabrina’s about eight years old. The odds of her being adopted from a shelter are slim since she’s not a kitten and is definitely set in her ways. I feel an obligation to Sissy to make sure Sabrina is taken care of, and I couldn’t stand it if kitty was euthanized. And she just wants to be loved and yadda, yadda, yadda and blah, blah, blah and isn’t she sweet and can’t we please keep her mom I promise I’ll take care of her and on and on and on with the kitty talk until I relented. Hubby tried to resist, too, but he’s a bigger sap than I am when it comes to animals, and he actually likes cats. So here we are, adding another critter to the fold which already includes a dog and a dozen fish, but I have to admit she is lovely. Teen Angel got Sabrina a new tag with our address the other day and took her to the vet for a well check up, which I guess means she is officially ours now. She is warming up to us fine with the exception of the loudest member of the house.And she wants no part of him. In fact, she smacked him hard Saturday night when I took him to Sissy’s house and was prepared to do some real damage to his head until I put him back in the truck. It’s going to be a slow process, introducing those two. He wants to be friends. She wants to kill him. We’ll keep trying, dragging him down there each night….while we feed the neighbors’ two dogs and cat because they’re on vacation. And because I couldn't say no to them either. Sigh. Have I showed you my new tattoo?

Ears Lookin' At You

When we got our miniature schnauzer six years ago we made a conscious decision to keep his big floppy ears. Hubby made an appointment at the vet’s to have them cut, because everyone said that’s what you’re supposed to do with a schnauzer. But Teen Angel and I pitched a hissy, whined, moaned and pleaded with him to cancel that appointment because we loved Jack’s big ol’ ears. They give him character we said. And they’re cute and blah, blah, blah and yadda, yadda, yadda and wha, wha, wha until Hubby relented. Not that it took much convincing since Hubby’s kind of a wienie about lopping off body parts and kind of a pushover when it comes to the women in his life. Boy, are we glad we saved those ears. They make us smile on a daily basis, especially when Jack goes for a ride and let’s his hair down. That dog loves to ride in the golf cart. Nothing makes him happier than zipping down the street on the golf cart with the breeze blowing in his face. And his ears flapping in the wind. That’s how I snapped this picture Friday:This photo captures the true essence of his little canine spirit. In fact, it’s so accurate, it’s ear-ee. Ha! I crack myself up.

Anyone care to give this one a caption?

Pin Up Pooch

Our dog is officially on a diet, Weight Woofers they call it at the vet's office. I'm not naming any names but someone in our house with gray curly hair and size 13 shoes keeps feeding that pampered pooch too many treats...and bananas..and green beans. And let's not even get into the whole licking the ice cream bowl debacle. At age 7, Jumpin' Jack Flash has entered the senior citizens club with about seven pounds too many on his miniature schnauzer frame. He's not so miniature anymore. He's had one too many trips through the drive-thru. The bank drive-thru, where he gets a treat. The drug store drive-thru where he gets a treat. AND the liquor store drive-thru where he gets TWO treats. His eating is out of control, and it's time to nip it in the bud as Barney Fife says. Oh, and he's going to get more exercise, too. After sifting through pictures of him for a local pet calendar contest, I noticed something. That dog has gotten lazy. In every picture I have of him he's lying down. See?Look at this.And this. He takes more naps than a kindergarten class. By golly, he's getting up and out of the house more these days. He doesn't really care for his new food, but he likes being outside more. He was fine with the new program to improve his appearance until we pushed the envelope and did this.

And this.

Do you think he'll forgive us if he's chosen as Mr. October?

Lucy Bell

Because I have no shame about stooping to use gratuitous puppy pictures to lure in readers let me show you the newest member of the Hula-gen's, Miss Lucy.This is Sissy's new puppy, and this little three pound ball of sass is so stinkin' cute we can't keep our hands off of her. We will likely rub her bald before she's three months old. See how tiny she is.We'll have her spoiled rotten in no time. Just like this one. Further proof that we are crazy dog people.

Doggone It

I’ve decided that having a dog is a lot like having a child. They cost almost as much to feed and keep healthy and take as many attitude adjustments. Take our dog, Jack. He’s six years old. That’s 42 years old in people years, but he acts like a three year old. I’ve already established that we’re crazy dog people. I’ll admit it. It’s our fault for spoiling him, but he is so gosh darn cute it’s hard not to. Just like a child. We have to spell the words “bone” and “bye-bye” because he knows what these mean and will have a barking, jumping, hissy fit if he hears them. He will then drive us crazy begging for a car ride or a bone. He’s LOVES to ride in the car, but he really loves Hubby’s old Ford truck. When it leaves the garage, he waits patiently for the return of that loud, rumbling motor.

He sits right here, by the window. (Note the throne.) He will sit for hours, hoping Old Blue will pull up and take him for a ride so he can hang his head out the window and sniff the smorgasbord of a million smells that populate the highway. He also knows that he gets treats when he goes through the drive-thrus of the bank, the drug store and the liquor store. He hit the treat trifecta one day last summer when Hubby stopped at all three places. It took two days for the rotten mutt to come down off that Milk Bone high. I thought we were going to have to stage an intervention.

If he doesn’t get a ride, he whimpers. Just like a kid. Then he pouts.

Like this. He sighs and sighs, showing us how annoyed he is that his peeps didn’t give in to his whims. And just like a child, he will ignore us if we try to talk to him.

See. I was inches away from his ear in this picture, and he wouldn’t even look at me. He wouldn’t acknowledge my existence. He banished me from his personal space, and refused to listen to anything I had to say. It made me want to pick him up by the scruff of the neck with my teeth and cart him off to the time out corner….and ground him from any treats. After all, I’m in charge, right? Right??