When my daughter was little, everyone spoke about the “Terrible Twos”. I kept waiting for something bad to happen over the course of that year, but it never did. Three was the age that all the horror happened. She started to really “get it”, and with that she spent a fair amount of time in “time out”. Four showed up and she went back to being our lovable child, which was a good thing for everyone involved.
Over the last week or so, Clancy has suddenly been feeling his oats – which made me figure out his “human age”. He’s 6 months old in dog time, thus he is now 3 1/2 in human time…and he is acting no different than any 3 1/2 year old child I’ve ever met. If he could say “No!”, he’d be the complete package. Sigh.
In the past week, he has done the following:
* When he goes in the yard, he starts out docile and does his business. Then he makes a mad dash for the pool cover and goes berserk. (Don’t worry, it’s an Elephant cover – he can’t fall through). Anyway he thinks it is his own personal runway, especially when he knows I see him on there….and where does he stop? Right in the middle, of course…because it has some mesh there and if he hops up and down a little, some water will come through. He thinks it’s a giant water bowl and a dream come true…until I start yelling at him. I have to dash his little dream a few times a day. (I believe he thinks he’s a greyhound)
*His other great trick in the yard is smushing his nose against the ground and eating dirt. One would think we don’t feed him all day, with the way he acts. He looks like a pig searching for truffles.He loooooooves to eat dirt! I don’t get it.
*Speaking of the yard, I can have him out there for extended amounts of time…but when does he think he should poop? Somewhere in the 5 minute range of being back in the house…and right in front of the door. Whyyyyy does he do that? He must speed poop too because I can have my eyes on him the entire time, and he seems to do it in the 5 seconds I stop to look at something else. He’s like a magician.
* He has discovered that if the door to the master bath isn’t locked, that he can push the door open with his head, and make his way undetected into the back of the walk-in shower. It’s great when I’m rinsing the shampoo out of my hair, turn around, and see him happily wagging his tail enjoying the shower himself. (I believe he thinks he’s a lab.) I cringe at the thought of opening the pool because I know he is going to jump right in.
* He has discovered a million different ways to torture Rory, our 4 year old Dogue de Bordeaux. Rory can be a little grumpy when he wants to, and Clancy just waits for the tiniest chance to drive him nuts. Case in point: Clancy has to be the first one in the door so he can wait for Rory to come through – so he can do what can only be described as Ninja Slapping him in the face. Now Rory stands at the door and won’t come in unless I move Clancy aside. (My house is fun.) Clancy also uses Rory as a a springboard if he is sleeping in the hallway. Not for any specific reason, except that he can. He’s a gutsy little guy. (I believe he thinks he is Rory sized, which he isn’t…yet).
*He thinks that everyone’s shoes are fair game…especially mine. Luckily he doesn’t chew them. Rather he just likes to “move them” to a spot he thinks is better. That makes for good times when I am getting ready for work in the morning and am standing there with one shoe in my hand, wondering where the hell the other one went.
I have to tell you…I love Clancy. To me, he is the cutest little guy on Earth. I mean how could you not love this:
…But 4 in human time cannot get here soon enough. (I believe he’s trying to make me snap.)
I need to step away from my usual posts for a day to tell you about a new business venture my friend has started: Zenfish Dog Drawings. As you can see from the photo above, she did one for us of our dog Rory. When she presented it to us, we were stunned at the beauty and detail! She truly captured every wrinkle on his giant noggin!
It all started with a simple picture I took of Rory, laying at the top of our stairs, that she really liked. She created a drawing of it, and we are still amazed every time we look at it. Every single person who comes into our home, without fail, remarks on its beauty and unbelievable life-like quality. She also made the beautiful wood frame his drawing sits in, because she is multi-talented!
If you have a dog and would like a lifelong, one of a kind keepsake for your home follow the link to her site. You can either click on the highlighted one mentioned above, or go to my Blogroll on the main page of my blog and you will find it there too. There you will see some other work she has done that is equally striking.
I am thrilled that she has started this business venture, because she truly is talented!. I wish her the best, and know she will be quite a success!
Before I start my actual story, I need to make an introduction…
The most beautiful little pup you’ve ever seen, shown above, is our newest addition Clancy Blue. (Not Blue like Jay-Z stupidly named his child. Blue as in his color) We brought this little bundle of wrinkles home Monday night and are 100% in love, as is our other dog Rory. Now that you’ve been properly introduced, onto the story…
I have used the same vet for years. They have about 6 vets in the practice and every single one there has been wonderful. When I called to make Clancy’s first appointment, and my favorite vet was booked, I just agreed to let him be seen by “whoever” was open. Let’s just say this will not occur again.
Apparently they hired a new vet, “Dr. M.”, and are trying to drum up some customers for her. She was officially a one shot deal with my boy. It started out normal, by her coming in and introducing herself to my daughter and I. When she laid eyes on Clancy, it went haywire…
For the first few minutes she spoke to him in what I can only describe as baby talk to Clancy, complete with a lisp she apparently thought made her tone even cuter…it didn’t. I thought maybe it was a little odd. It became very odd when not only did she continue to speak to him that way for the entire visit, but would also answer for him in that same talk, but slightly changing her voice to make it more nasal.
Here is a snippet of what my daughter and I had to awkwardly listen to for about 20 minutes. Try to read this in the most ridiculous baby voice EVER so you get the full effect:(Don’t forget the fake lisp!)
Vet: Ooooh Sir Clancy, I have to give you shots!
Clancy:(As stated by Dr. M.): Shots? I don’t know what that is, but it sounds scary!
Vet: It’s not scary, just a little ouchy. (Is that even a word?)
Clancy: A little ouchy doesn’t sound bad. OK.
Now picture my daughter and I incredulously looking at one another, and me sternly making the “Don’t you dare!” face at my daughter. This is where my daughter made her great escape into the hallway (with a grin over her shoulder at me) saying she couldn’t watch the puppy get shots (LIAR!), thus leaving me with Dr. Loony. Luckily she came back within about 2 minutes, semi-composed.
Not only did this woman speak to Clancy in this tone the entire time, but when she would converse with me, she used THE SAME TONE! That’s right, I was forced to have a full conversation with this nut for the entire visit in baby talk…obviously from her end, not mine. My talk was much more in the range of sarcastic-please-speak-to-me-in-a-normal-tone voice, which did nothing to change her speech pattern.
Here’s a snippet of my conversation with her:
Vet: Sir Clancy, in a few visits we will give you the zip-zip.
Clancy: Dr M, what’s a zip-zip? That sounds fun.
Vet: Zip-zip is zip-zip. You’ll be fine. Mommy will explain zip-zip, right Mommy?
Me: What?!? Are you saying zip-zip? Are you saying neuter him? He’s not getting neutered, if that’s what you’re talking about here. (Wouldn’t you think my answer would snap her into adult speak? Well it didn’t!)
Without further torturing you from having to read anymore baby talk, let’s just say she gave me the tsk-tsk for that (Mind your business lady) and told Clancy that he would “Get lucky!” someday and said his Mommy would explain that too, when he’s a little bit bigger. FYI – Mommy will not be explaining that ever because, although I’m not a trained vet, he is a dog, and breeding is an innate behavior.
The only time this woman snapped into normal speaking voice was for a 30 second span when the receptionist came into the room to ask her a question. When she was finished answering her, she snapped right into that baby tone and introduced Clancy to her…to which the receptionist rolled her eyes at me. That was hands down the best part of the visit! Proof that this woman apparently does this all day long, and they think she needs a straight jacket in a size Medium too.
My daughter’s take on it when we got outside is proof that she is 100% genetically mine, even though I distinctly remember giving birth to her:
Alyssa: Mom, I know I am only 10, but I am certain that is the craziest thing I have ever seen and that woman wins the “Creep of the Week” award. She definitely lives in her Mom’s basement and has like 10 cats. Where did she get her Vet’s license? At a pre-school? If you ever book an appointment with Dr. M again, I’m not going. You’ll be on your own!
Needless to say, I will NOT be on my own, because Clancy will not be seeing Dr. M again EVER. Clancy didn’t like her anyway. He hid behind my legs 99% of the time because he was afraid of her high pitched crazy tone. See, he fits in with our family already!
Lesson learned here: When given a choice, never answer with “Whoever”, because that’s exactly what you’re going to get…”Whoever” is officially the code word for “A person you would never willingly choose on your own.”
I just hope Clancy doesn’t have flashbacks when we go back in 2 weeks.
This morning my daughter realized that her “beloved” pet Hermy was dead. I can’t say he died with much dignity. She found him naked in the middle of his cage, a few inches from his old shell, and nowhere near his spare, bigger shell that we thought maybe he would switch to someday.
Funny thing about this is I just asked her yesterday how her pal Hermy was doing, and her very paused response told me that yet again she forgot all about the poor bastard. This is the same child who literally begs us every single summer to get her a new hermit crab or two when we go to Fantasy Island in LBI. Every year I cringe when my husband and daughter happily stroll into the shop to make her yearly purchase. I know how it’ll end for the little innocent creature(s) she brings home, but nobody ever listens to me…I do need to mention that we did not buy her Hermy. She conned her grandparents into it one night when they were watching her. Mama didn’t raise no dummy.
Anyway, Hermy is officially the 12th hermit crab taken down by “The Hermit Crab Slayer” (What we affectionately call our daughter.) It always starts out great. She will give him (It’s always a him for some reason) some well thought out name, take fantastic care of him for about a week, and then it’s all downhill. The other 11 that she has owned didn’t make it very far past 2 weeks…maybe a month tops. This one went the distance in our house.
Thus today marked the end for our pal Hermy. (Technically he could have been dead for about a week, and my daughter just didn’t notice, but for all intents and purposes we will just stick with today.) I salute you Hermy…you almost made it a full 6 months…key word being almost. Unfortunately almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, so you will be joining the other 11 in our hermit crab cemetery, otherwise known as the spot to the right of the rose bushes in our yard. Ya did good kid. Well, ya did better than the other 11, at least…
In case you haven’t had the pleasure, this is my husband’s dog, Rory. I should say our dog, but if I did, I would be lying. He’s only mine by proxy or that 5% of the day that he needs something…otherwise, he’s my husband’s dog.
I have to say that it kind of pisses me off. Everyone always says “He has a face only a mother could love!”, and I suppose so…unfortunately, he saves all of his love for Daddy – and sometimes my daughter. It cracks me up, because who picked him out of the litter? Me! He was the biggest and cutest of the pups. I thought maybe this dog would be “mine”, unlike the last one, but noooo. He apparently does not remember that it was me who picked him up out of that crate of puppies and claimed him to be the newest member of our clan. It was me who went through baby books to find a name that suited him…Rory: Irish for “The Red King”. Yep, none of that matters…because I am a second class citizen, according to him.
Here’s a quick list of times I actually rate high on his scale in life:
1. When I put my fork down to signal I am done with dinner. Oh yeah, it is at that exact moment that I am aces. He jumps up, puts his head on my lap (or tries to crawl up) and stares at me with his “Mommy, you’re the best…please feed me” face. As soon as I put his bowl on the floor, he growls for me to get lost. Sigh…
2. When he needs to go out, who does he come to? That’s right, me! He strolls right past my husband (even if he is standing next to the door holding the handle) to find me. Apparently I am the only one magical enough to let him out back.
3. When he is sick, who’s his nurse-maid? If you said “Me“, you are right. Any little thing that’s off kilter with this giant hound and suddenly he has a flashback from the crate and his first hug and kiss. As soon as he is better though, it’s see ya sister! (I am also very good at extracting him out from under the bench at the vet…since it falls under being sick, I can list it here)
4. Short and sweet – if he needs his back scratched in a spot he can’t reach or his ears massaged, I’m his girl.
5. There is no number 5. I’ve obviously only got 4 good uses working in my favor.
Now, when it comes to my husband it’s nothing but love. Not just love…an obsessive love that actually leads to frequent panic attcks if he strays more than 2 feet from him. He cannot even go outside for a minute without Rory doing sprints through my house – door to door to door – trying to figure out how life can be so cruel and they could possibly be apart for more than 10 seconds. Then the crying starts…it’s unbelievable. One day when he went out somewhere, Rory vaulted his gigantic self up onto my kitchen counter (Yes, all 4 legs were up there) to see if his keys and phone were gone! I kid you not, and so wish I had gotten a picture of that move! This is the same dog that would help me pack my bags if I was leaving…and maybe even scrounge up a little extra gas money for me too.
When my husband watches TV, this 147 lb dog HAS TO have his giant self on the arm of his chair like a poodle. The 2 inch rule is in full effect..any more space than that would be unacceptable. Meanwhile, his giant body takes up the rest of the couch, leaving me about 1/4, if I’m lucky. If I try to move him, he turns into Sir Growls A Lot. He needs a lot of space to stare lovingly at my husband for hours.
…laying by the front door, awaiting the moment that Daddy returns and all is right in his world again. Actually he usually has his nose about an inch from the door, but as you can see we got a delivery that day and awful me couldn’t move those heavy boxes out of his way. I’m sure it was just another strike against me.
Oh, I do need to tell you the chaos that ensues when my husband does stroll back through that door. Rory will joyfully run in place for a good five minutes and emit sounds that can only be described as “scream whimpering”. Do you know what he does when I stroll through the door? He looks PAST me for my husband. If he isn’t with me, Rory looks back at me with visable disappointment and goes right back to staring past me as if trying to magically will his Daddy to appear. It does wonders for the ego.
So now you know. If you see us somewhere, please don’t say “Wow, your dog is cute!” because the correct phrase would be “Wow, your husband’s dog is cute!”. Just don’t use the phrase “Daddy” because it will lead to yet another panic attack.