Well, as usual when I don’t blog for a while, so many things happen that I can’t possibly fit it all into one post and do each thing justice. I’ll have to settle for posting about one thing now and more to come. (hint: I need to make my husband a Superman cape!)
The Big News: We have added a new member to our family. He’s nine months old, short, blonde, brown-eyed and has a rather large nose. He eats practically anything and has a little BO problem. His name, I’m sorry to say, is Elvis. Yes, we’ve adopted a Muppet:
We’ve been kicking around the idea of getting a dog for a while. Well, actually, I’ve been campaigning for a dog and Val’s been saying no, no! no way, absolutely not, we just can’t do it right now, etc. Then one day he emailed me a blurry picture of a fuzzy, beige thing. A neighbor of a grad student had this dog and couldn’t keep it and would we like to take a look at it? For Val, it was love at first sight. Who am I to stand in the way of true love? Besides, he was really, really cute. Plus, have I mentioned? I wanted a dog. We told the kids we were maybe getting a dog. Maybe. Because if this dog didn’t seem like a good fit for our family, then we weren’t going to get this dog. But! We think we’re ready and, if this dog doesn’t work out, we will actively look for a dog that’s right for us. Just don’t get your hopes up, okay? The kids heard, “We’re getting a dog!” Much excitement and anticipation. Did I mention this all happened on April 1st? On our way to look at the dog, Val, in a not-so-great parenting moment said, “Hey guys? April Fool! We’re not getting a dog! Ha ha!” No one thought it was funny. No laughter from the back seat. There was actual crying, causing me call my husband an idiot and slug him in the bicep.
We arrived at the house and. before ringing the doorbell, cautioned the kids again not to get their hopes up–remember: this dog might not be the dog. He might not even like kids! The door opened and we were attacked by an orangey Tazmanian Devil, all tongue and wagging tail. So, okay! He likes kids! He likes everyone. He was definitely friendly and so stinkin’ cute! He was the right size: not too big, not small enough to equal one of those nasty, yappy dogs that conveniently fit into a microwave. According to his owner, he was well-behaved, was used to cats, and walked well on a leash. We all loved him instantly. This is the dog! Our dog! I asked what “kind” of dog he was. Turns out, he’s not the terrier/corgi mix he looked to be in the grainy cell-phone pic. He’s a purebred wheaten Scottish Terrier. My heart sank, because hello! Purebred? She’s not gonna just give him away. She’s gonna want some return on her investment, right? I tried not to look at my kids, rolling around on the floor with a licking, wagging mass of fur and asked casually, “So, how much are you asking for him?” The woman said, “Well, I would just give him to the right family, and he seems to like you guys. Do you think you’d want him?” Uh, yeah. Definitely yes.
We took him home that night and, because we were just looking and not prepared to bring home a dog right away, we headed straight to WalMart. The kids and Elvis stayed in the car while Val and I did some emergency dog shopping. (Btw? Dogs are expensive!)
And now, three weeks later, he has settled into our family. I expected him to be kind of freaked out the first couple of days–timid, nervous, whining for his old home. Nope. He walked in the door and it was like, “Ahhh. I’m home!” The cats aren’t quite so sure that he belongs here, especially Sophie, who seems permanently pissed off and reacts to his presence with dramatic hissy-fits, but I do think things are a tiny bit better. Indy seems okay with having a dog, until Elvis starts chasing him which, after all, he is a Scottie–he’s been bred to hunt small mammals, so, you know. I don’t think he actually wants to hurt the cats but he would dearly love a good chase. It can get pretty ugly. And he gets in trouble a lot because HE EATS EVERYTHING. Weekdays are rather hellish because, when the babies are here, it’s complete pandemonium. Elvis tries to eat baby toys, which Marie readily hands to him and then Marie tries to eat dog toys, which is disgusting. Ah, but Elvis does not stop at toys. He is absolutely undiscriminating in his choice of things to chew on. Travis’s chicken wing, Riley’s cereal, poopy diapers, shoes, socks, Star Wars action figures, it makes no difference. He mangled one stem of my prescription sunglasses and would have completely eaten them if I hadn’t caught him. Also? Yesterday? He ate yarn. A brand new ball of beautiful, Mini Mochi that I had just bought. It quickly went from a gorgeous, neat little cake to a soggy, sad tangled mass of yarn-barf. I heard him wetly chewing on something and nearly cried when I saw what it was. Really. I had had it less than twenty four hours. I got it away before he managed to ingest it. Just after it happened Steph came by to pick up Tyler and hang out for a bit and she spent quite a while working on untangling the mess. After she left, I spent the rest of the evening sorting it out and finally got it balled up about 8:00. There was really only one place where the yarn was wet and broken so I don’t think he ate too much of it. He apparently has a thing for wool because he keeps getting into my basket of wool felt and drags a piece into the middle of the floor to casually munch on. Bad dog! Overall, though, he seems to be learning pretty quickly and has (mostly) good manners. He isn’t jumping on people as much and follows most commands, unless he doesn’t want to, of course. I don’t know if we’re ever going to break the chewing/eating habit. The kids quickly learned to keep toys and shoes off of the floor, which is a major bonus. All these years of me asking, pleading, threatening and screaming did nothing, but the threat of a dog eating your stuff? That works. So, you know, it’s not ALL bad. Sigh.
[note: we didn’t choose the name Elvis–he was already named that. We talked about changing his name but decided it was sort of cool, in a nerdy kind of way. My request was that we pretend he is named after Elvis Costello, rather that the other one, ’cause, you know. Not a big fan. . . Due to his rather pungent odor, which wreaks havoc on my overly-sensitive sniffer, I have nicknamed him “Smellvis”. We also occasionally call him Elmo and Melvin.]
Wild Potatoes 