True Story

{August 3, 2011}   Mr. Bill

True Story:  Some years back Ex-Pump brought home a Weimaraner.

I know, right? WTF? That’s what I said too.

We lived in a 1000 square foot house with a 13 pound dog that wanted absolutely no other animals in her castle.

So, it would only make sense that Ex-Pump would show up with this giant dog. Not sure if you are familiar with the breed but the are very large, beautiful, and CRAZY. This one was only about a year old to boot. And had apparently tormented his way through many homes across the south before he found us. So, no real training whatsoever.

There were 3 major events that lead to Mr. Bill’s going to “a nice farm in the country where he could run”. I can not remember in what order they happened or even how long he lived with us. It was all a nightmare.

Event #1) This is really 2 character flaws I found with this giant dog. One, he demanded on sleeping in the bed with us and kicking us out of a queen size bed. This dog weighed 650 pounds and his giant paws were like bear claws hitting you in the back until you either submitted or were knocked unconscious and slept.

Second, he was tall enough to reach the kitchen counters and would eat anything sitting out on them, including about 40 Christmas cookies I had cooling on the counter.

Event #2) Our dining room table at the time had an iron base. At the bottom the iron rods came together. My dad and ma’am were over visiting when all of a sudden we heard the highest pitched dog yelping you have ever heard. You would have thought Michael Vick was over training in our back yard.

We discover the problem. The 700 lb. dog has 2 toes of his giant paw stuck between the iron table base support rods. He is thrashing around bleeding and screaming. The 4 of us jump in and try to help. It took about 7 minutes to free him. When it was all said and done. I was bleeding from a dog bite. Ex-Pump had 2 puncture wounds we considered having stitched, and everyone’s nerves were SHOT!

Event #3) Ex-Pump was out-of-town. I left Mr. Bill and The Demanding Paw at home for a couple of hours to run errands.

Upon my return I walk in the house to find dog diarrhea EVERYWHERE. When I say everywhere, I mean EVERYWHERE. It was sprayed up on the refrigerator, countertops, floors, walls, carpet, furniture, etc… 

I am not sure how or why this happened. I don’t believe that God punishes us, but I look back on this day as one of my “tests”. I am dry heaving as I type this.

I cry about twice a year. I think I have mentioned before that I am cold as ice. Well, I went outside, sat down, and cried like a baby.

I gathered myself, called Ex-Pump and freaked out for a while. I think he laughed. That might be why we are divorced.

Then, I went to the store and bought everything that they sell that will clean something.

I entered the house and put the dogs in the back yard (where they stayed for a LONG time, and I periodically went out there to kick them. Just kidding. Not really…)

I had a dew-rag on my head and one over my mouth. I dragged all rugs and furniture into the front drive. I scrubbed the house from top to bottom all the while tears running down my face. Why me?

I had to reach 2 feet above my head to cut down some blinds that were covered in poop. I repeat, 2 feet above my head. Did the dog stand on his front legs to spray his poop? I think he did it on purpose.

I scrubbed every piece of furniture outside and had a carpet cleaner I couldn’t afford come over and do the rugs. My neighbors would drive/walk by and ask what happened. I waved them on and told them to save themselves.

I finally got it all cleaned up and scheduled 3 appointments for interviews with Mr. Bill’s “new parents” for in the morning before I cracked a beer after the hardest labor day of my life.

True Story:  I don’t really know if it was the poop day or the high-pitched, slow building scream that the Demanding Paw would do every time Mr. Bill got within 6 feet of her. I just know that this suppressed memory just resurfaced, and I had to share.

{February 22, 2010}   My First Born

True Story:  When that human baby comes along you kick that dog to the curb.

Don’t get me wrong, Abby Singer is my first-born and I still love her. But where I used to fret over her every move and need, I will now leave her home alone for 2 days and not think twice about it.

True Story:  We left Abby Singer in a parking lot.

One of the first outings out with G Monkey after he was born, we stopped at a restaurant for a late lunch. Excited about putting him in the high-chair all flipped over like you had seen people do for years, we were enjoying our little family date. We go to get back in the car and apparently Abby Singer jumps out while we were strapping the car seat in (a feat that used to take hours to perfect, I now let G Monkey strap himself in).

We go on our merry way. About 45 minutes after we get to our destination, I look at Pump.

Me:  Where’s Abby Singer?

Pump:  I don’t know.

We go back to the restaurant to not only find her in the parking lot, but in our exact parking spot looking left and right for our car.

The point I’m getting at is this: You don’t have to like the way game is played, you just have to understand the rules.

Abby Singer has never “gotten on board” with G Monkey being around, but she gets that he is important to us. And when she feels threatened, she goes to be near him. She figures, if the house is being blown away we WILL grab the kid, and we just might see her and tell her to hop on  in the getaway car with us.

Example: Abby Singer will take on this biggest baddest dog there is. Her little scrappy 13 lbs (15lbs in the winter) will go straight for the jugular; but if a thunderstorm is raging, she is under G monkey’s bed or curled right up beside him, as I found her this early, storming morning.

True Story:  She’s no dummy.

{January 28, 2010}   The Demanding Paw

True Story: My Jack Russell, Abby Singer, rules the world. Yes, that’s right. All of your “free will” choices and decisions are not really up to you. Abby Singer and her right paw with the solid black middle nail is in charge of the universe.

She let’s us know how high to jump with this paw on a daily basis. She taps the door when she wants out, she taps her food or water bowl when she wants them filled. She taps the treat drawer and any where I’ve ever kept a treat when she wants one. She taps the couch when she wants us to lift it, yes I said lift it, up to see if she may have left a bone there.

When my mother gave her to us 6 1/2 years ago she said, “if you take care of her she’ll last you 15 years”.

Me:  Mom, she’s not a vacuum cleaner.

Her first summer at the beach with us she had some itchy skin, typical of small breeds, my mother-in-law said we should put her down.  She doesn’t stay with Gamaw (MIL) when we go out of town.

My sister says, “With that black nail it looks like Abby Singer is shooting everybody a bird”.

She is.

et cetera