dogs

Naughty Dog Road Trip

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This weekend, in a heroic act of immense bravery we took BOTH dogs, the boxer shark puppy, Ruby and the old girl, Dita, on a road trip up north to the Mountains of Santa Cruz.

Seems we were spurred on by a false sense of confidence, fueled by hope (and the need to get away, eat and drink too much and the lure of a good party) and by the fact that the couple who’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary we were road tripping to see, are dog lovers and had recently lost their old girl, and needed a dog fix.

Our friends usually have a room in their home with our name on it, except this time, since so many family members were coming into town and they had a full house.

No biggie, we’ve stayed at the local dog friendly hotels in the past, easy peasy – with one dog.

Now one mature dog and a seven month old boxer shark puppy isn’t two dogs; the number multiplies exponentially by the misbehaving, excess energy factor and the general havoc wreaked; making it seem in stress and aggravation as if there are nine wild, howling hounds.

I’d like to file a grievance right here and now with the Canine Powers that be.

I was misled to believe that the old dog would co-parent the puppy; giving us a helping paw with the potty training and pass along all the amazing traits that had made her such a well-behaved joy, and our home such a well oiled machine.

What a fucking lie.
The exact opposite has occurred.

The older girl now eyes with intrigue, all the raucous misbehavior that had never even occurred to her, like jumping up to the kitchen island to eat our dinner while our backs are turned.

She hits her forehead with her paw, like “Doh” and feels she has a lot of catching up to do.

Dita had the training of a service dog…..not anymore.

The puppy’s bad behavior has begun to rub off on her.
Ruby has cajoled my sweet old girl into barking (unheard of) ignoring orders to sit and stay, flipping us off and sticking out her tongue at us behind our backs, making long distance phone calls and smoking behind the garage.
They are both behaving like thirteen year old teenage bitches.

If this trip had a title, it would be called the “what’s the worst case scenario dog and pony show?”

“Well, what’s the worst thing that could happen?” was our default expectation.

Those two could assume the roles of furry terrorists. They could trash the room like a couple of drugged out, over sexed eighties rock stars, they could jump on party guests, muddying white pants, overturning lavishly decked out buffet tables and leave two big poops in the middle of the lawn. That was our worst case scenario  speculation. We wanted to steal ourselves for the worst, like soldiers preparing for battle, so we could be prepared.

We have a doggie door at home, which in my opinion is the best invention since sliced bread.
It is better than sliced bread. I will happily slice my own bread, if my dogs can take themselves out to shit in the middle of the night.

When we go away, we are privy to our dog’s bathroom habits, of which we are blissfully otherwise unaware.

In other words, we have to wake up, get dressed, get a leash, walk down a long corridor, traverse stairs, find a patch of grass, and indulge Ruby’s urge to go star-gazing and maybe relieve herself of a thimble full of pee at 3am.

Then, back at the room, the minute you get everyone settled, get undressed and climb back in bed, Dita, who had been feigning coma sleep, yawns loudly, shakes and lets you know in no uncertain terms: now she has to go out.

I know they hatched this plan when we left them alone in the car while we ate lunch on the way up. They are now laughing the uproarious laughter that only the naughtiest of dogs can hear.

I’m certain of it.

I’m telling you, Mean Girls.

The Worst Case Scenario Dog and Pony Show.

I knew I had to stop this madness.
I had to nip this thinking in the bud, or it would become a self-fulfilling prophesy.

As I always say, it’s all in the energy of our expectations.

Why couldn’t we hope for the best instead of expecting the worst?
We had to.

I decided to rename the trip to the BEST Case Scenario Tour, where every thing turns out BETTER than expected, where the girls are well-behaved, everyone sleeps through the night, there’s no crying (Raphael) and everyone has fun.

Once I suggested we change our expectations, the vibe shifted.
Although we were still hyper vigilant at the party, we let them run free without leashes, playing with the kids and even ended up abandoning our plan to put them in the van once the food was served.

Truth be told, they played so hard with all the kids and the other dogs, smiling their big toothy dog smiles, (including a one hundred pound, big lug of a Great Dane puppy) that they were far too exhausted by the time the food was served to cause any trouble.
They fell asleep in the car two seconds after we left to go back to the hotel, slept through the night without a whimper and had sweet dreams of the best dog day EVER.

Did they suddenly become the best behaved dogs in the world? Or did we just chill out and stop expecting mayhem?

Hmmmmmmm, hard to tell.

What was the Best case scenario?
Exactly what happened.

*You can substitute the word dogs with children, co-workers or in-laws, it’s all the same.

Tell me about your dog/kids road trips. I’m sure you’ve got some stories to share.
Remember when you share it helps the tribe!

Sending big, wet, dog kisses,
Xox

Irritating Teachers

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If you think you’re too small to make a difference, try sleeping with a mosquito
~The Dalai Lama~

It seems mosquitos are very effective teachers.
To some they teach tolerance and non violence.
They test your patience as they make their presence known.
They draw you into the present and make you pay attention.
Me? With me they bring out my deepest, darkest killer instinct. My inner Dexter.
At three in the morning, when I hear that high pitched whining in my ear,
I Want. Them. Dead.
So much for non violence.
And I’m the girl that carries spiders outside.
I’m a card carrying pacifist until the mosquito shows me otherwise.

Just when you’re certain of your enlightened state. At the moment you know who you are and what you stand for, you can leave it to one of God’s tiniest creatures to bitch slap you back to reality. Or leave crazy, itchy, welts on your ass.
She has a wicked sense of humor.
If THAT doesn’t get you off your high horse….

So……I’m a pacifist unless pushed. Good to know.
Can you be a conditional pacifist? What IS my breaking point?
Those are important questions that can lead to self discovery……..or not.

Here’s what I know for sure.
I know I can snap if my sleep is interrupted.
I have been known to scream obscenities at ignorant drivers.

Then there’s the little dog. The puppy. The boxer-shark puppy.
IT has been sent by God to torment; I mean test me.
I have swatted the puppy on the rump for numerous infractions. Not hard, don’t go all PETA on me. It’s a swat to get her to pay attention to my stern face. She has made a mockery of my stern face. My stern face is a joke to her. The older dog cowers, she points and laughs.
Forget about NO. NO has become useless. To her, it means HI and SURE. She thinks it’s her name. It is yelled so frequently it has lost all of its bite. 
Talking about bite; that one tests my patience with her incessant biting.
She bites when she’s playing. She bites when she’s tired. She bites to make a point. She bites AIR. 
She bites the older dog on her Achilles. Little bitch. I scold her. I forcefully push her away. I “time out” her. When all I really want to do is bite her back.
She wields an unbelievable amount of power in our house. She is small, but her presence is mighty. She is my teacher. She makes me question my parenting skills AND my pacifist membership.

OMMMMM…………Back to a loving place………..Between the Mosquitos and the boxer-shark puppy, I have some serious spiritual work to do.

Who or what is your trigger? I’d love to hear who tests your patience, tolerance and all around spiritual practice. Tell me about it in the comments.

Xox

Follow The Big Dog

Follow The Big Dog

The last few days I’ve witnessed something really interesting with the Boxer-shark puppy, that feels like a metaphor for life. 
I have to preface that by saying that my powers of observation have become incredibly keen. I’m not kidding…maybe just exaggerating….Bear with me here.

The human body is a miracle in regards to perpetuating our survival. It replaces the senses that have shut down due to lack of respect, with others that are freakishly heightened. 

I have no business out driving the streets, running errands, aka living my life, with the puppy screaming in her crate in the back, but somehow I am. My guardian angel will be getting her hearing checked and going into seclusion after this, leaving no forwarding address.

I have no sense of humor, can’t remember where anything is and could cry at the drop of a hat, but damnit if I can’t smell puppy poop that’s two days old, under the couch, in a room that’s had the door shut the whole time. WTH?

I can hear the tiniest whimper in a dead sleep at 3am. 
My husband, he can sleep through her wailing as if her foot is caught in a bear trap! How does he DO that?
Sleep deprivation has left me bleary minded and craving carbs…for survival, people!
Really?…I can hear you!

Anyway… We have a 6 inch step from the bedroom up into the bathroom.
If the Boxer-shark stands in front of it, she is the same height.
She struggles with the step.
Especially going down.
It’s from stone to a hard wood floor and she’s been launched, catapulted, flung and just plain rolled off of it this past week, many, many times, so I get the trepidation.
But she’s only cautious when she’s just sniffing and exploring and silently looking for havoc to wreak.

When the other dog is home and they’re running and growling and fighting/playing (I’m using the word playing when I really mean taunting.) She FLYS off that step with the grace and ease of one of the gymnasts from Cirque du Soleil. She doesn’t even look down, she’s a freakin’ professional, (she’s clearly gifted) Not a second’s hesitation!

If she STEPS off after much careful deliberation, when she’s alone, one paw timidly feeling for the floor, she inevitably falls, and then rolls…so it looks like she meant to do that.

Don’t we all do that? I do!
If I over think an obstacle, I can make it so scary that I inevitably falter.
Better to do a quick evaluation and sail right over it! Run then jump!
…Or follow the big dog.
I’m still deciding which metaphor I like better.

“She took a leap, and built her wings on the way down.” 
– Anon

Another week and the step will be a non-issue, she will have outgrown her fear.

What’s your bathroom step fear, and are YOU ready to follow the big dog and outgrow it?

XoxJanet

Scrambled Days

Scrambled Days

What the hell!? I’ve gone and committed another act of treason on my sane and reasonable life. Seems that’s just the way I roll these days!
We picked up our 8 week old Boxer puppy on Sunday, and I haven’t slept more than an hour at a time since. What was I thinking?!?!

This blog is about to get very raw and real for the next few days, because my self editing faculties left me somewhere around Tuesday at 3am, and I have helicopter hair, meaning it looks like it was styled by a helicopter at full throttle up.

Good thing you don’t have SmellPad.
I think I showered this week…all I remember is our senior dog literally walking into the running shower with me to escape the madness. 
Desperate times, require desperate measures!

Puppy madness is different than your garden variety madness. It comes in the form of a small furry demon, with tiny needle teeth and nails that can slice a tomatoe. It leave your hands bloody stumps, your neck look like Freddy Kruger gave you a massage, and all the while your heart is breaking from cuteness overload.
Yet, it’s hard to believe, that madness has left my life in a shambles.

It’s all I can do to write a blog post, but I treat this commitment like a job I actually love.
That being said, I have fallen asleep at this table, twice.
My feet are now torn to shreds, I’ve drunk more coffee than an Italian model consumes in a month, and I have written more about sex and chocolate than one woman has any right to.
I’m finding out that’s just where my mind goes when the going gets tough. 
Good to know…not really.
Delete….delete…delete.

It’s been a seasonal 80 degrees this January here in LA. 
That’s seasonal if you live south of the equator, which makes it all the more horrifying that I’ve taken to wearing Uggs, a thick scarf and gardening gloves for protection from the boxer-shark.
I can hear you haters on the East coast…wanna trade lives?

All this to pose a question: Why do we have babies, raise puppies, get bad break-up haircuts?? Why do we f**k up our lives like that? I’ll tell you why!
Because we forget the pain AND they grow and change faster than you can say “Shit, I’ll never do THAT again”!
The Universe, in all it’s wisdom, or as a cruel joke, I haven’t decided yet, gives us amnesia to perpetuate the species and keep us from sending the piranha-puppy packing. Say that fast three times!
Plus they’re just so damn cute!

So I guess after the whisk of sleepless nights stops scrambling my days and everything settles, I’ll actually miss these times. 
But if you see me on the street in a few years and I talk about wanting another puppy…run me over with your car!
You have my permission!
XoxJanet

Hi, I’m Janet

Mentor. Pirate. Dropper of F-bombs.

This is where I write about my version of life. My stories. Told in my own words.

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