She Laughed At The End Of Old Yeller

One of the worst things you can be in our society is someone who isn’t a dog lover. This is one step above not supporting the military and one step below not buying cookies from the Future Drug Pushers of America (Girl Scouts).

I am not a dog lover. Surprise, surprise. If there’s something that one can do to be labeled weird as fuck, you can bet the house that I will fall in that camp.

Dogs make me very nervous. And besides that, I just don’t like them that much in general. I don’t like their wet noses, how they always want to lick you, how they jump on you, leave hair on you, all of that. You see a dog licking you as him showing love, I see him putting crotch germs on me. You think a dog panting in your face while showing he’s happy to see you is sweet and I see the dog breathing butthole breath. The only thing we will likely agree on is that the barking is annoying.

Little Man and Sam are dog lovers. They love all the dogs. And, even worse than making me nervous or grossed out, dogs invite heartbreak. I’ve watched LM experience pain that no six-year-old should ever go through when his dog died last year. That turned me off the whole having a dog thing even more, even though I found his current dog when he begged for another.

But, anyway–don’t tell people you don’t like dogs. They will look at you like this:

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And then they will hate you forever. Because who the fuck doesn’t like dogs? Disliking cats is socially acceptable, but dogs? Hell no.

“You don’t like dogs?” Person With Dog will ask as I recoil when their dog approaches me.

“Um…generally speaking, no. This one seems cool, though,” I’ll say as I try to inch further away.

Yeah, that’s not very convincing.

My best friend suggested that I start telling people that I’m allergic to dogs. “That won’t make you seem so….ya know.” Weird? Heartless? Stone cold bitch?

I tried that once at a mutual friend’s party.

“You don’t like dogs, E?” I was asked as the horse-sized dog looked at my throat. Probably because pizza was within the vicinity.

“I think I’m allergic. My doctor said I have some allergies.” Yes, I’m a shitty liar. Sort of liar anyway, as I do have allergies, just not ones related to animals that I’m aware of.

My brother, who is also at the party, started laughing. “When did you get allergic to dogs? You aren’t allergic to dogs, you just hate them!”

Sam confirmed my dislike for dogs. “She laughed at the end of Old Yeller,” he told our friends.

And, because someone who isn’t a dog lover is capable of all sorts of horrible things, they seemed to believe him. That’s not true, by the way–I just didn’t cry. The only animal movie that made me cry was White Fang.

So, no, don’t tell people you aren’t a dog lover. Start working on the “I have allergies” lie. It’s easier that way.

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We Don’t Collect Poop

So long Bob the Fish; we barely knew ye.

Little Man made the discovery that his 38-cent Walmart goldfish was dead yesterday morning when he found ol’ Bob floating belly up. Fortunately he wasn’t upset about it, as they hadn’t had much time to bond, plus I warned him that the likelihood of a pet fish–from Walmart, no less–living long was unlikely.

“How long do you give Bob?” I asked my hubby on Sunday.

“Maybe a week?”

“At least three days,” I said.

Obviously we were both wrong. Bob the Fish lasted less than 24 hours. And no, LM wasn’t neglectful; he fed the fish an appropriate amount and didn’t shake the bag Bob left the store in (the latter is because I carried the bag to make sure no shaking occurred).

“Mom, can we take this fish back and get our money back?” Little Man asked me.

“Let’s not do that,” I said, not wanting to tote around a dead fish. “It was only 38 cents.” Thirty-eight cents isn’t worth testing Walmart’s Moneyback Guarantee.

“Okay,” LM said and went outside with the fish. I assumed he was going to bury it.

I assumed wrong.

Last night, before Little Man went to bed, my husband told our son that he was “disgusted” by what he found on our porch.

“What is it?” I asked.

“His yellow bucket.” LM uses his yellow bucket to keep the frogs and other bugs he finds. “That dead fish and two dead frogs were in the bucket.”

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I, too, was disgusted.

“Just…why?” I asked. “Why didn’t you bury the fish? Why would you keep dead frogs?!”

Little Man looked at us like we were the crazy ones. “I wanted to see if they would come back alive, of course.”

“Once something’s dead, it doesn’t come back alive,” I said slowly.

“You said that Jesus was dead and came back alive,” Little Man said.

Sigh.

“Anyway, I was hoping that maybe they would turn into zombies. Or maybe vampires. There is a such thing as a vampire bat, you know. I could have a vampire frog or a vampire fish!”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“It could. You never know.”

Can you imagine that–a zombie frog and a vampire fish? What a pair that would make.

We told him to dump out the dead animals and that he is no longer to keep any frogs in his bucket. We found out why the frogs died–he put two very tiny frogs in his bucket and attempted to feed them grasshoppers that were as big as the damn frogs. Poor things.

“Look, you don’t need to keep using that bucket to play with since it’s had all that dead stuff in it. Let’s use a new bucket to play with,” Sam told LM. “You can use the bucket when you clean up your dog’s poop out of the yard. Just dump it in the trash can.”

“Okay,” LM said. “I’ll wait until it gets full to dump it.”

“What?” Sam asked.

“I’ll pick up the poop and put it in the bucket and when it gets all the way full, I’ll dump it.”

Jeezus.

“No…you are not keeping a bucket full of poop. Dump it out each time you clean up his area,” I said. I could just imagine–LM usually puts that bucket on a shelf on our front porch before he comes inside–bucket of poop on our front porch to greet our guests.

Sam looked equally horrified. “We don’t collect poop, son. Just put a Walmart bag in it and then throw it out each time.”

“You guys collect poop,” Little Man said. “You keep all of Baby Girl’s poopy diapers in that thing until it’s full and then you dump it in the trash can outside.” He is referring to our Diaper Genie. Not quite the same, but also not quite worth explaining.

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What nasty things have your kids (or any kids you’ve cared for or know) done?

Weekend Coffee Share: Soreness, A Really Lost Tooth, and New Pets

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Grab your beverages, caffeinated or not, coffeenated or not, and gather ’round. My husband has made some peanut butter chocolate fudge, which you are welcome to have. I won’t be partaking, as I don’t really like peanut butter in my food, mostly just on sandwiches. He pretended not to know, but I think he did this on purpose and is feigning ignorance. More for him. That just means I’ll have to bake a coconut cake or pie, maybe both, for myself. He doesn’t like coconut, so more for me. Ha.

While you’re enjoying your beverage and fudge, you’ll notice that I’m enjoying my beverage and ibuprofen. In case you weren’t already aware, I’m a bit of a walking disaster. I’m clumsy as hell. And thanks to weekend’s activities, I’m rather sore today.

We have a swimming pool and went for a swim yesterday. Fun times. Until I happened.

The first thing that happened is my shoulder dislocated for a moment. This happens once in a while–I used to be able to dislocate them both as a kid and would freak people out. With no pain. That hasn’t been the case for the past decade. Now they tend to slip out when I’m doing something like reaching for something on a shelf or reaching out to grab something or just in my sleep. And it hurts.

Yesterday I reached out to grab a towel from the hubby and slippage happened. Ouch. Today, it’s oh hell, I need meds! since I’m a whiny baby.

But, like one of those cheesy game show hosts would say, that’s not all! When I went to take Baby Girl in to dry her off, as she had enough of the pool, I fell down hard while carrying her. I walked into our bathroom, which has those godawful stone tiles that everyone else seems to like. We were dripping, as we beelined in there to remove our bathing suits, and I slipped.

If you’ve ever fallen while holding a baby, you know how horrifying that is. It’s fucking awful. I fell forward but was able to twist around so that only my knee and shoulder (yep, that shoulder) hit, protecting BG. She cried for a few seconds, likely because I yelled, but she was perfectly fine thankfully.

I hurt my knee (which is fine today, just bruised and tender) and I imagine that fall is contributing somewhat to my shoulder hurting like a little bitch today. Hooray for ibuprofen, the medicinal nectar of the gods.

I let Sam know that we are getting rid of the stone tile. When you get a little water on it, it becomes slippery as hell, not something you want in a bathroom, and falling on it is rougher than falling on regular old linoleum floor. Trust me, I’ve got loads of experience there. I don’t care if it’s a home upgrade, I hate that shit, and I certainly don’t need anything making me more of a fall hazard.

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I saw the ad for this medical alert thing last night. Perfect timing.

Now, on to less painful and scary parts of our weekend, Little Man lost a tooth yesterday. Which I lost. Shame on me–he wrapped it up in a napkin and I wasn’t thinking and threw it away. This is the second time this has happened, so I’m thinking maybe we go with a plastic baggie next time.

He got a few bucks off the Tooth Fairy last night and combined it with his other savings and we went out to wonderful old Wal-Mart to spend the money today. He had saved for long enough, according to him. LM didn’t find any cool toys for $12 or less, but he wandered over to the aquarium section and asked about getting a snail and a fish.

“Could you help me out with the tax if I don’t have enough?” he asked sweetly, which made a couple of women standing next to us melt.

I did the math, and the price of a small tank, snail, fish, gravel, food, and one decorative item was $14, not counting taxes, so we let him get it. Now to come up with a list of chores so he can work off the balance. 😉

LM was so happy about getting two new pets. “Do you think Bilbo (his dog) will get upset that I have two new pets? He might think I don’t want him anymore,” he asked me.

“Were you upset when we got your sister?”

“No,” LM answered.

“He’ll understand…there’s nothing wrong with expanding your family.”

He has named the fish Bob and the snail Qui. (Qui is for “quiet” since he says snails are quiet. Yay us, no midnight parties in the aquarium.)

So, how was your weekend? Hopefully there was no falling down involved! 

Pet Frogs and Friendly Ants

“Mommy, I can’t wait to get my pet frogs!” Little Man announced after coming inside from playing on Wednesday.

“Pet frogs?” I was confused.

“Yeah, you know, I dug two holes in the ground,” he said while pulling off his rain boots.

This didn’t tell me much of anything, aside from the fact that I now have two more obstacles to face in the yard that could potentially lead to a sprained/broken ankle.

“Go on…” I prodded.

“Well, one hole is for Bilbo (his dog) to poop in. I told him that’s where he poops from now on, so hopefully he listens. And I put water in the other hole.”

I was still confused.

“How does this get you pet frogs?”

LM gives me this look, like maybe I’m not as smart as he thought. “Mom, you know that flies like poop. And frogs like flies. So they’ve got food and they have water to swim in, and I’ll have pet frogs!”

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Little Man had to go to the doctor today. An ant bite on his foot caused it to get really swollen and warm to the touch, so I was worried that it might be infected.

“I don’t think the ants meant to hurt me, Mom. I think they were just being friendly,” LM said last night as I was eyeing his swollen foot.

“Friendly?”

“Yeah, you know, because of how I feed the ants all of the time.”

This is true. He thinks it’s his job to feed the ants. When he was four, he used to hide scraps of food around the house. We couldn’t figure out why we were getting those little sugar ants until I noticed him leaving his offerings one day, which is when he informed me that he regularly left food for the ants to make it easier for them.

At the time, I told him not to do that inside anymore, so he started putting food on the front porch. He was also told not to do this, and then he started leaving it on the driveway next to the car. So we got little ant piles in the driveway. Finally, he started making his sacrifices directly to the large ant piles.

(Yes, we’ve had the whole ‘it’s not your job’ talk, but he genuinely thinks the ants are going to die out if he doesn’t contribute, and he can’t understand why that is not a bad thing!)

Little Man told me yesterday that he had given the ants at school the leftover crusts from his sandwich. “So I guess this is when they bit my foot, my butt, and my leg. That was their way of saying ‘thanks for the food!'”

When the nurse from today commented on the mean ants biting LM, he informed her that they weren’t mean at all–they were just being nice. Of course, she didn’t have the background story to that and looked at him like he had sprouted a second head.

Fortunately, the little thank you gifts the ants left for Little Man didn’t cause an infection–it was just an allergic reaction.