i didn't know we had a cat and other inspirations from my daughter

Somehow children can cut to the chase of complicated situations.

This past week has been a bit emotional for our family. On top of our busy circus escapades, we said goodbye to visiting family, which was really tough. We're also going through some family drama that I won't bore you with. Suffice it to say that I've been a bit emotional. There's also some tough stuff happening to some longtime friends that weighs heavily on us, which I'll choose not to exploit. Oh, and some disheartening news on another front. You don't want the details. Trust me.

It's been a rough week. 

My hubby, Big, who typically trudges through like a champion, shed a few tears as his brother drove away after a week-long visit. My attempts at comfort were appreciated, but only Campbell, our five-year-old daughter, could do the trick with her infinite wisdom.

If you want to see someone, just see them.

If you want to see someone, just see them.

Daddy, I know you're so sad about your brother leaving. What you should do is just pretend he's still here. Then you can see him whenever you want. Any time. That's what I do about the cat. Because Mommy won't let me get a cat, so I pretend I have a cat, and then I can see him any time. His name is Shadow, and he's really cute and I love him. So if you want to see someone, just see them. 

Duh. Why didn't we think of that?

So now I know we have a cat. But we don't, really, and if you've been following along for some time you know that there's a good reason why we don't have a cat. 

The moral of the story? Fake it 'til you make it. It's okay to feel sad for what you've lost. And sometimes it's okay to pretend it's there, if it makes you feel better. 

Thanks, Cam. 

the dog story i don't tell people

Doesn't every dog owner have a story they only tell to their closest friends? I have a friend whose dog ate a pair of pantyhose, and then she had to pull the whole darn long mess out of his arse. I have a client whose dog goes bonkers over crayons; so much so that they put them in drawers, but he still gets to them, so now they have to lock them up. I call him "circus poo." You know what I mean, right?

I have such a story. I've touched on it before.

Now that we've known each other for a while (haven't we?), I consider you a closest friend, and I will tell this tale.

When our dog, N.A.S.H.A., was a wee little puppy, she was not a terrier mix, she was a terror mix. She was literally an ankle-biter who drew blood, and she was a yapper. I'm proud to report that she has grown into the universe's most awesome being, but...in the beginning...

We were living in a fully-furnished rented apartment while we waited for our home to be built. She didn't chew the furniture, thankfully. She was easy to potty-train. Never messed on the floor even once. Yet there was this unmistakable smell of poo in our apartment. 

I accused my husband of letting too many fly. I accused my step son of being generally stinky and perhaps not properly wiping "down there." I accused the apartment complex of an improperly-routed ventilation system (like from the sewer to my apartment). This went on for weeks. Months. Our apartment STUNK. We pondered and searched and contemplated and discussed every single day. We considered moving, but it would just be "a little bit longer" on our house. It didn't make sense to move. We searched in every nook and cranny for the phantom poo. 

We were doing some house cleaning one day. I was scrubbing the kitchen and Big was vacuuming. I hear from the master bedroom. "What the BLEEP? Where did that come from? Oh my BLEEP. Bleeping Bleepity BLEEEEEEEEEEP the bleep and BLEEP. No WAY! BLEEEEEEP! Kristen, get in here! BLEEEEEEP! This is so bleeped up. I can't bleeping believe this. That DOG! THAT DOOOOOOOG! This is INSANE! I FIGURED IT OUT! I BLEEPING FIGURED IT OUT!"

I dried my hands and followed the bleeping and inquired further.

"I was vacuuming and bonked the vacuum on the edge of the bed frame, then suddenly a pile of dried up poo appeared on the floor. Kristen. There is a tiny hole in the bottom of the box spring. The BLEEPING DOG chewed a hole in the fabric and has been climbing up inside the box spring to take a BLEEP. Do you know how many BLEEPING piles of BLEEP are INSIDE OUR BOX SPRING?!?" he asked.

N.A.S.H.A. was climbing inside the box spring through a tiny hole toward the foot of the bed. That's where she was depositing the majority of her deposits. She only weighed about a pound and-a-half, so her weight was adequately supported by that thin fabric. 

I can't bleeping tell you what my response was. Because it's okay for me to bleeping tell you how much my bleeping husband swears, but I don't want you to think I'm bleeping like that. 

The dog was not physically or emotionally harmed. Let's just say that. 

So what happened in the end? 

We cut the entire bottom fabric out of the box spring. She became potty trained, for real. 

And we all lived happily ever after. 

And you have to pinky swear you won't tell a single soul. That is some embarrassing bleep. 



rocky resting

I regularly care for a pretty cool pooch named Rocky. He's fabulous. An oldster in so many ways (he's seventeen), but then he gets this fun spunk every so often in the form of a burst of youthful exuberance. He's sweet on the inside, but a grumpy old man on the outside. 

One of Rocky's favorite pastimes is a good, solid nap. I captured one of his famous siestas the last time he stayed with us. It's pretty good for a laugh, so I thought I'd share.

He's pretty lovable, isn't he?