Happy 8th Birthday to my crazy little mutt.

My dog Lucy and I have been together for nearly 8 years now. That is longer than taking every crappy relationship (which is every single one up until the meeting of Mr. Hot Pilot) and rolling them into one steaming pile of relationship dog poo.

From the beginning, Lucy has adopted a role of being my unwavering life defender, protecting me against the likes of just about every other human being that walks on this earth. She has perfected the art of rigid tooth baring and deep internal growl that would scare any evil Mormon or Jehovah's Witness into submission.

Those kids walking by the house on their way home from school? They are secretly wielding machetes and other weapons of wrath that could potentially harm her mommy.

That nice lady from down the street who waves at everyone? According to my little dog, you can't trust anyone who is that friggin happy all the time.

Lucy's junkyard dog instincts don't only convey to those outside the home. While my dad thinks Lucy is the coolest dog that has ever walked the face of the planet, and tries as hard as possible to snuggle and cuddle and offer treats that any dog would roll over in submission for - Lucy just doesn't give a crap.

While sitting in his lap, she will growl at the slightest pat on the head from him. As he is showering her with words of adoration and apple slices, she will bare her teeth, all the while snuggled right up tight to him. Some may say my dog has borderline personality disorder. The only people she will show affection and sweetness to other than her treasured mommy are her granny, Mr. Hot Pilot and Munchkin. Try to come into my room with her either guarding the door or sitting on the bed however? Don't. Even. Go. There. Just avert your eyes and run to the safety of another room.

I love my little weirdo dog with all my being. I realize that her feelings of protection for me may just border on completely insane and slightly neurotic, but she is my dog. She has been through everything with me from divorce, to cross country moving, to living with two evil roommates to moving back in with granny and grandpa and adjusting to life with two other half-wit dogs with nothing more than walks and balls on the brain. I find Lucy to be eternally patient with all of the changes in her life.

So Lucy likes to show her dominance with a friendly ankle bite here and there? So what. She and I are a package deal. And I am lucky to have found a man who understands that.

Here's to you Lucy, aka - Looty Pie Jones, Poopy-head, Floofy, Loot Loot, Looty Lou.

Happy Birthday you crazy little loon.

What all women desire during nights...

I was clearing out my spam box today when I came across an email with the subject "Update Request" and the line "What all women desire during nights". Instead of risking the healthy (re - actually functioning) future of my computer and clicking on the attached site, I decided to ponder just what it is that I request and desire during nights. (Right about now my mother and father who both frequent this blog are probably doing one of two things : 1) hitting the back button as quickly as they possibly can or 2) turning bright red, looking around and reading further out of morbid curiosity).

No worries though. I have a cleaner perspective on what I desire out of my night. And here they are :

1) My dog is weird. I think we have established that here and here. On occasion in the middle of the night, Lucy will wake me from a dead sleep with high pitched crying and kicking (yes, KICKING) of the wall for a drink of water. Recently however she has been wanting more and more water so that after I have gotten myself back to sleep, she wakes me up again with both the kicking, crying AND tossing of water dish into the wall. What a baby.

So what do I desire on these nights? An automatic water dish for my spoiled little dog.

2) I like my bedroom cold at night when I sleep. I love to snuggle under my squishy down comforter and find all of those super cold spots in the sheets. There is a problem with this however. My boyfriend is a supremely hot (temperature and otherwise) Puerto Rican who likes to keep the temperature in the house near 80 degrees. On the weeks that I am down in the third world country he calls home, we tend to have thermostat wars - and by wars I mean I sneak the temp down to 74 and then he catches me and cranks it back up to the point where it is so hot I can barely breathe. In other words, he always wins. ALWAYS.

What is it I desire on these nights? A cold bed and warm man.

3) I have gotten myself used to sleeping with the white noise of a fan for quite some time now. It all began back when I lived in a noisier part of town and was used to all of the traffic driving by my bedroom window at night. Strangely enough, when I moved back in with my parents I had trouble sleeping in their extremely silent house. I remedied this problem by running a fan at night - giving me both a colder room and the white noise I needed.

Back to my super-hot Mr. Hot Pilot.

Mr. Hot Pilot is a pilot (hence his name). His sleep is obviously quite precious to him, especially on the eve of a day of flying. Mr. Hot Pilot has gotten quite used to a supremely silent room at night. So while he has no problem falling asleep, I have a huge problem doing so. And so here is our solution (seriously, I kid you not...here goes...)

What do I desire during these silent nights? My hot pilot to snore.

I know. I can't believe it either, but sometimes in relationships you must compromise.

I'm fairly certain that had I opened that saucy message that not only would I have been taken to a world of clothing challenged folks who know "just what I want" but I would have also infected my computer in the way that a freshman girl looking to make lots of "friends" infects her latest victim.



So what do you desire "during the nights"?

Really people....

It is certainly one of those days here in gloomy Baltimore. I have the next few days off and to be perfectly honest, I don't really know what to do with all of that free time. I know half of people out there would give their left kidney to have four days off in a row, but REALLY PEOPLE. When I don't go to Texas where I have plenty to do (clean, go to soccer with Munchkin and Mr. Hot Pilot, cook, chase the useless cat around the house in hopes she will run away..) I am often left bored out of my gourd.

I came downstairs this afternoon after doing a whole lot of nothing upstairs and found my dog Lucy staring rather listlessly out the front window. The picture above illustrates just how I feel.

Come back spring/summer...this fall crap is for the birds.

Going to the dogs

"Tom [As dog, with Japanese accent]: Rufforu! Bow-a-wow!"

Dogs by nature are really rather disgusting. Now don't get me wrong, I love dogs. Not so fond of cats, but dogs are definitely where its at.
Tonight I came home after my dog had done one of her disgusting dog things. As I walked through the door and saw her sitting patiently in the hall awaiting my arrival, I noticed the new hairstyle she was sporting. Grandpa Munster is all that comes to mind. The top of her head was slicked back in a way reminiscent of this picture:
I swear she was smiling like this too. And I'll tell you why.
My parents decided to grill steaks this evening. Now on most gas grills, there is a can that catches any grease drippings. This very important can is missing off of my parents grill. So instead, there is a cloth underneath of the grill, where grease drippings gather. My dog, being like most any dog, finds this little patch of deck to be complete nirvana. To her, licking at this spot is nothing short of sublime. And while she was under the grill licking at old grease, new grease was dripping upon her sweet little doggy head. And she was in heaven.
Well, my mom tried to clean her up the best she could, which left me with Grandpa Munster for a dog. Only she smelled. BAD. She smelled like a minimum wage fry cook after a long hot day in the un airconditioned back of a cheap, greasy diner. And she thought she was the shizzle.
Well, I thought she smelled like poop, so she and I headed up to the dreaded bathtub. She hates baths. I stuck her in the bathroom while I dug up a towel, and changed into some ratty clothes. I came back, and could hear her growls of displeasure from the bottom of the stairs. I picked her up, legs splayed, and tossed her in. After three go arounds with various shampoos, and a dose of Dawn (cuts grease out of your way you know) she is about 75% better. Still smells a bit like a fry cook, but also has essence of papaya, with beautiful, shiny, voluminous locks. (According to the bottle, her style should hold up to humidity for up to 48hrs!)
After the final rinse, she took off running like a wild untamed beast, downstairs to pick fights with the other two dogs, and rub her wet, furry body all over my moms furniture.
Sweet. There is justice.