Bernie Sanders came to my house, and he slept under the covers.

Every weekend I visit the rescue dogs at Pet Supermarket as a test of willpower. This is a secret, except sometimes I make one of the children come in case he/she so falls in love with a pup that I HAVE to take it home. This might sound familiar because this is exactly the way we acquired Yobe the Rescue Dog, and afterwards Hot Firefighter Husband made me promise to never ever do that again. I didn’t exactly promise but I conceded thatRead more

Buddy the Wonder Dog and I face off with a restaurant manager. We win.

When Buddy the Wonder Dog isn’t being a furry anxiety anecdote for my son, he and I are a team. We go everywhere together – grocery shopping, to the library, to the gym, and to Ulta in search of the Diva’s special brand of hair conditioner, sold for the price of a month’s worth of organic grass-fed beef. Buddy almost always wears his service vest when we’re out. By law it’s not required, but it helps business managers understand that Buddy is aRead more

The Canine State of Affairs around here

Damn Gem, our 13-year-old chocolate lab, left us on a cold December Saturday morning. She took her last breath while laying in my lap on the floor of the veterinarian exam room. I had been meaning to take her to the beach one last time. She loved the smell of the ocean; it never failed to fill her old body with the youthfulness we assumed was gone for good. But her illness crept up on us – two days after IRead more

Vacation Chronicles 2015, the prologue. Make some popcorn.

Guess what! We’re in Maine! The annual Vacation Odyssey has begun. But first: I owe you a confirmation that we have indeed added a third canine to the family. In my head right now I’m shouting the Tyrant’s favorite refrain: I’m sorry! It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t do anything wrong! although I’m only a teeny bit sorry, and it was totally my fault, and I guess I did something wrong. Here’s how it went down. Well. You know how I am.Read more

Buddy the Wonder Dog earns his keep, even at CrossFit. Also, shoes.

Today is National Cherry Turnover Day. There are 1,000 varieties of cherries in the U.S. If you can prove that you care less than I do, I will give you a grape. And yesterday was National “Just Because” Day,  which I am not making up. I have a whole list of stuff I want to do JUST BECAUSE – starting with hanging out solo for more than the time it takes to pee, which I hardly ever do by myself anyway. I’mRead more

Food, Inc., My-Left-Hook style. What we’re not eating this time.

When the Pterodactyl was a toddler, he’d often wake during the night screaming like his head was on fire. He sounded like – duh – a baby pterodactyl. Trying to soothe him was futile; he flailed and wailed, his brown hair slick with sweat as he tried to climb out of his mental pit of despair. Hot Firefighter Husband whispered sweet calming words that floated up into oblivion: It’s okay, darling, we’re here…It’s Mommy and Daddy….Shhh, shhh, we’ve got you…..and I heldRead more

Buddy’s sock fetish causes bodily harm.

Saturday morning dawned with a familiar sound. BLUCK. BLUCK. BLUCK. BLOOP. That is Buddy the Wonder Dog throwing up a sock. After the first BLUCK, I was at Buddy’s side, soothing him, moving cloth items out of BLUCKing range. I was already off in search of paper towels when Hot Firefighter Husband rolled over and said, “Honey? Buddy’s throwing up.” In the mess I found a pink ankle sock. The Tyrant! Damn her habit of stripping down wherever and throwingRead more

Buddy the Wonder Dog grows up, I think. Maybe.

You might recall that Damn Gem, our 10-year-old lab, had surgery a few weeks ago to remove a cancerous tumor. She has made a miraculous recovery, and no longer looks like Frankenweenie. In fact, she seems happier than she’s been in years. Maybe she feels better. Or maybe she’s celebrating because Buddy the Wonder Dog has gone to SERVICE DOG BOOT CAMP! I miss him. But it’s nice to have a respite from monitoring his terrible sock-eating addiction. And DamnRead more

Monday, (fucking) Monday….why you gotta be so lame?

Oh, dear. Where to begin. Friday night the kitchen sink clogged up. Apparently you are not supposed to pour bacon grease down the drain every day for six months. Where’s that in the manual? Huh? I swear, nobody tells me anything. I left all the dishes stacked up and went to bed, because what else was I supposed to do? The Diva had a sleepover buddy whose mother is Martha Damn Stewart of the South, except she’s cool and notRead more