Heart Like a Dog

The Good, the Bad, and the Oh My God of living with dogs!

I Feel Like Crap

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I feel like crap.

Today I lost it and yelled at Delilah.  I mean, I really yelled.  Hunched down, in her face pointing and yelling.  And now I feel like crap.

Let me set the scene.

It’s morning, just around breakfast time.  As usual I am feeding the dogs, preparing my lunch and washing up dishes.  Since Sampson requires a handful of supplements at the moment, we need to be inventive in how we get him to take his pills.

This morning I’m using American Cheese and wrapping it around the pills, holding them in my hand for a minute to help the cheese form around the pills.  As we usually do, Delilah will also get a small piece of cheese.

Since I’m doing dishes, I decided to dump a dip that had been in the fridge for a while.  I pulled the garbage pail out and it was full, so I removed the bag and set it in the corner of the kitchen while I gave Sampson his cheese.

The bag was in the corner, against the counter and I was standing in front of it.

I gave Sampson his pills, turned and gave Delilah a small slice of cheese and as she came in for the cheese, she swallowed it and kept right on going into the garbage, managing to grab a large mouthful of very old dip.

I lost my shit.

I grabbed her nose and dug as much of the dip out as I could, then I yelled, chasing her as she went.

I suck as a dog parent.

1-14-14

If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you 100 times.  If it’s on the floor, it’s mine.  If it’s unattended on the counter, it’s mine.  If it’s food of any kind that I can possibly reach, it’s mine.  This is not my fault at all, it’s totally yours.

Note to Self

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Most nights Sampson and Delilah sleep through the night, but there are those rare occasions when someone refused to potty before bed, or someone isn’t feeling well, or just gets a wild hair across their ass and wants to go outside.

Usually it’s Sampson.

He knows who will get up with him too.  Does he go over to the Daddy’s side of the bed?

Oh No.

Not the Daddy.  It’s always the Mama.

He starts by getting down off the bed and then putting a heavy paw (THUNK) on the mattress in front of me.  Usually that’s enough to wake me, if it’s not he changes tactics and puts his head on the bed and I wake up to him staring at me.

YO! Get yo' ass up, I gotta go!!

YO! Get yo’ ass up, I gotta go!!

 

Most nights when someone wants out, I get up open the door and stand huddled near the fireplace waiting for the wanderer to come back to the fold.

But not when it’s Sampson and he’s on restricted activity due to a partial ACL tear and isn’t allowed to be running or jumping.

No. The dedicated Mama gets up puts on coat and boots, grabs a flashlight and heads out into the cold.

Which is how I found myself wandering the hill in my backyard at 4:30 one morning a couple of weeks ago.

It’s amazing the things you think of when jolted from a sound sleep in a warm bed to a cold and snowy hilltop.

  • I guess I don’t know my yard as well as I thought I did.  (This as a bunch of small saplings slap me in the face because my head is down so I don’t step in dog shit.)  Note to self, start picking up after your dogs!
  • Why don’t we have a turnout pen like Mr. and Mrs. Taleteller?  Then I wouldn’t be stumbling around this yard at 4:30 in the morning.  What exactly IS a turnout pen?  How big is it?  I wonder if we could make one?  Note to self, figure out a way to make the dogs potty in one area of the yard.
  • Why didn’t I think to grab a poop bag (as we finally get to the reason WHY we’re outside at 4:30 in the morning.)  I’m never going to find this in the daylight.  Delilah will find it first.   Note to self, might be wise to keep a roll of poop bags in your coat pocket.
  • What would happen if I slipped and fell out here?  Who would know?  Would Hubby look outside if he got up and I wasn’t in the house?  Or would I simply lie here and freeze to death?  Like a frozen fucking Heat Miser.   Note to self, remember to grab your cell phone when you take the dog out in the middle of the night.
Frozen fucking Heat Miser image courtesy of basketball25 at Deviant Art.

Frozen fucking Heat Miser image courtesy of basketball25 at Deviant Art.

  • Crap!  Who planted that tree?  Note to self, it might be wise to clear some of these little trees out.
  • What would Sampson do if I fell out here?  Would he sit at the door and waiting for Hubby to get up, or would he bark and raise a ruckus?  Would I still be alive when Hubby finds me?  Note to self, it might be wise to tack a note somewhere that says, “check snow banks first.”
  • Are those eyes over there in those bushes?  Note to self, maybe your pepper blaster would be handy to bring with you.

Note to self, maybe it’s a good idea to make SURE the dogs potty before calling it a night.

You Make Me Smile – February 9, 2014

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You make me smile (or laugh) the silly, funny, loving things my dogs do that put a smile on my face or a laugh on my lips every day.

Delilah, the way you lay on the floor with your paws crossed, like you are some prim and proper dog….

CROSSED you make me smile.

Your turn.  Do your dogs do anything that would lead someone to believe they were something they’re not?

Sound off in the comments.

 

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