Hello.

 

Hi, I'm Annie.

Mother of 3,
spouse to G,
writer of things,
former batgirl,
sister,
daughter,
lucky friend,
and American
living in Australia.

Basic Joy = my attempt to document all of this life stuff, stubbornly looking for the joy in dailiness. 

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Annie's bookshelf:

Mama, Ph.D.: Women Write About Motherhood and Academic LifeMountains Beyond Mountains: The Quest of Dr. Paul Farmer, a Man Who Would Cure the WorldThe Sweetness at the Bottom of the PieThe Island: A NovelThe PassageSecret Spaces of Childhood

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« The good and the not-so-good | Main | The Silly News »
Saturday
Aug302008

You don't bring me flowers anymore

Well, it had to happen.  The love had to tarnish a little.  Today I am officially a bit less in love with Louie the puppy.  And, honestly, I think the feeling is mutual.


True story:

Since we are heading into our last few days before school starts, I suggested we take a little field trip today to a farm/state park in a neighboring town.  It has trails, ponds, woods, a working dairy and ice cream stand.  Good mommy, right?  And since there was going to be so much to sniff, I thought we'd bring the puppy.  I was impressing myself with my awesomeness right about then.

Oh, pride. Why do you go before the fall?  Why not hang around a little longer? At least until we get home maybe?

We got there, traipsed all around, even let Louie off the leash for cute, playful running around the field with Sam. It was like a sunny 1970s movie, fuzzy around the edges and warming of the heart, with lots of humming and "la-la" music in the background.

Lauren hung onto the leash and Louie as the rest of us went and got drinks and ice cream at the dairy.  Then we all headed to the car.  Lauren says something about Louie squatting earlier and acting funny.  Huh.  That's weird, I think.  As we continue to the car Louie, bless him, keeps sitting down.  Over and over again.  We start noticing that he's leaving behind marks every time he sits down.  Skidmarks, if you will. Very smelly ones.

NO. nonononono. I lift up his tail.  Yes. Absolutely yes. Somehow he hadn't quite finished his business enough to leave a present.  The present has mushed into his fur and tail and legs.  A very big present. Cartoon-like, I look from Louie to our car, Louie--->car.  So here's a MacGyver situation: in the car, I have a pad of flipchart paper, a glass mug from our kitchen, my textbooks recently purchased for school, and two little plastic sandwich baggies.  No towel, no bathtub, no fireman's hose.

I take Louie and the mug and the baggies over to the pond.  Although he WILL NOT APPROACH THE POND.  He vehemently opposes the pond idea.  So I take little mug-fulls of water to his behind, over and over again, which frankly doesn't help much.  Now it's just a wetter mess than before.  With Lauren's help, I finally get him into the pond (and he manages to get me in, too) for a little dousing. It's a little better but still not up to the trip home.

We return to the car hoping that someone magically produced a crate and deodorizer while we were gone.  Still just the paper and the books...which (hello?) are in big plastic bags!  Yay, us! With one are-you-thinking-what-I'm-thinking glance, we craft a makeshift plastic diaper out of the bag, tearing two holes in the bottom for his legs and pulling it up around his tummy.  It works.  We spread the flipchart paper on the seats just in case. It doesn't take care of the stink but it protects the car, thereby protecting Louie from eternal shunning by the man of the house.

Poor boy, he's subdued and embarrassed all the way home.  We have definitely insulted his doghood. His expression says what the heck, people?! Is there no pleasing you humans? First the elizabethan collar and now this?  

Oh, but don't cry for Louie too long.   When we got home, he got cleaned off with the hose, escaped through our open gate and got back into the car all muddy.  Touche, Louie.

p.s. Have a great Labor Day weekend!  G and I are heading to Boston's North End tonight for a little pasta and cannoli, then tomorrow we're taking the kids to Fenway for a little Red Sox baseball  (hopefully not in the rain and lightning, please.) Goodbye, summer!

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Reader Comments (8)

So that's the poop, I mean scoop from Louie's world! I have to say I am impressed with your creative solution. Plastic bags are the new duct tape. In fact, I think we should all have plastic bags AND duct tape in our cars from now on.
Loved the story, though. T'wouldst it t'weren't true!

08.30.2008 | Unregistered Commentercbentley

My kids cry a little every time I hear a story like this. We just CANNOT have a dog around here. There is enough poop, noise and hyperness, thank you very much.

08.30.2008 | Unregistered Commentergab

Yes, I remember the day I chased my dog about 20 times around the legs of the stake president while he was trying to kick the dog of his pant cuff, talk on his cell phone, and walk up his driveway all at the same time. I wanted to scream at him (the S. Pres.) JUST HOLD STILL and I can catch him! Good luck!

08.31.2008 | Unregistered CommenterEmily

I am impressed with your resourcefulness. I can't imagine what you would have done if you didn't have the plastic bag and the flipchart paper! Full marks for your ingenuity.

08.31.2008 | Unregistered CommenterLindsay-ann

this was too good. too good. i don't know what i enjoyed more: the excellent writing, the visual of the doggie diaper, or the actual situation itself.

so much to choose from!
i love the north end. hope you enjoy(ed) the meal, and i'm very jealous of your sox tickets.

08.31.2008 | Unregistered Commenterandrea

Oh, Annie. You tell a great story. Sorry the story was about dog poop though. Not fun.

08.31.2008 | Unregistered CommenterBridget

Oh man.

You are a good mother.

I draw the line at human baby/toddler poop.

My poor deprived, dogless children...

08.31.2008 | Unregistered Commenterseven smiles

My favorite part about this is your coining of the phrase "Macguyver Moment." I laughed so loud that the kids came running to see what was so funny. Great story. Bad dog.

09.2.2008 | Unregistered CommenterChristie

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