Those of you who have been known to frequent the cul-de-sac and the twoladybugs know that we sort of had to "help our dear pooch find her way to doggie heaven" two weeks ago. It was tragic, in an everyday and almost everyone has to do it sort of way. I am shall we say...completely recovered. I am remiss to admit this in public but one less little being in the world who needs my attention right NOW has been fairly refreshing. There I said it. I'm ok with being evil. I find it interesting. I'm not the most patient human and doggie mama in the world. Six months after bringing home the cutiest of almost all cutiest kids in the world has put me in the position of fantisizing about a part time job at the book store up the street. I attended a funeral calling last Friday night and can I honestly tell you, it was ok since I got to go alone? I think all mother's sort of get to this space I'm in eventually so I'm not freaking out or anything....but I could use a about 24 hours all to myself since my head might spin off if I have empty the dishwasher again today while managing a 5 year old melt down and tackle blowout poop which includes full changes of clothes for her AND me. Do I sound like a woman who needs a puppy to take care of while her man is off on weekly business trips? Can I add that we have no family in town for all intents and purposes when he is off selling widgets and eating at McCormicks and Schmidts I am a single parent...eating chicken nuggets.
Spring will be good for me, that goes without saying.
Back to Mr. Wilson. Mr. Wilson is ironically the new dog who lives behind us. He barks incessantly and wakes me up almost every morning. It has helped the adjustment here at the twoladybug house, "well at least we don't have that barking here in OUR house, I tell myelf as I listen to Ava melt down over her perception of lack of Noggin time on the tv."
Last night the Muffin Man met Mr. Wilson. Apparently Mr. Wilson is a 10 month old designer mixed breed Golden Doodle. Mr. Wilson's owner, Mr. W brought him over to meet and greet. The Muffin Man is smitten, that's all I will say. With Mr. Wilson, not Mr. W. The Muffin Man wants a Mr. Wilson in a big way. "His coat was like silk, He sits on command, He shakes your hand....it is the cutest thing you've ever seen. You have to meet Mr. Wilson tomorrow."
"Ugh, huh?" I say pessimistically. "But what about that barking?" He says, "They are working on that." "Ugh, huh." I say. I casually work into the conversation that vet bills are astronomical these days. And muddy paws make both the Muffin Man and I skiddish. I tell him I listened to the Diane Ream show two weeks ago where the Westminster people totally dis' the designer puppy trade. Granted, the AKC people always seemed a bit like Thurston Howell The Third to me but whatever. He's not buying it, he has puppyitis. I offered a consolation prize, a fish. "A goldfish? You've got to be kidding." he says.
During the whole converstion I start to hear quiet chanting in the background. Of course it is Ava making up some chimy rhyme about how she likes Daddy's ideas and Mommy is a total scrooge or poopy head or something. I remind her that I hate the word poopy head. She stops in her tracks and yells that "We don't use the word hate in this house." This is a result of the over use of the word hate on her part earlier this week. "Fine", I say. "Please don't say poopy head, it is not endearing me to Mr. Wilson or the likelyhood of a canine neighborhood playmate that lives at our house." She scowls at me.
The Muffin Man at this point suggests that we just go look at some dogs. Not to buy or anything, just to look. Yeah, right I ride to the grocery store on a turnip truck buddy. Let's take our 5 year old out to "just look" at puppies. This is the man who also wants to "visit" the Harley Davidson dealership on a monthly basis as a family as well. Ava knows the difference between a Fat Boy and a Soft Tail at 30 paces. She also knows the unridden dirt bike sitting in our garage is no pimp'd ride.
Anyone want to give me the number of a $16,000 dollar puppy? That is the only one we are "considering".
Are you expecting this little tale to end with a darling picture of us, the family of 4 on the cul-de-sac snuggled up with our new puppy? Sorry, ain't happen'in.
In the end I told my family to zip it up about any further pooch talk. I said it in the nicest way possible, really I did. I offered to call Mr. Wilson for a playdate. How's that for sunshine and roses, snips and snails and puppy dog tails?