We all have secrets. If you think you don’t, then you’re being secretive. Naturally, some secrets are juicier than others. Now don’t get too excited; my secrets aren’t all that juicy. You won’t learn that I’m in the Witness Protection Program from testifying at a mafia murder trial in Chicago. No, my secrets pale in comparison. Here, I’ll show you…
I have two words for you: LAKE TAHOE. That means I didn’t get any writing done this week. But here’s a post from 2012 that you won’t remember because, well, it was 6 years ago! Happy reading…
There are few things of which I’ve been certain. I’m the queen of indecisiveness. Mexican or Italian for dinner? Hmm…maybe Italian? Wear the beige or blue skirt? I guess the beige? What color should we paint the house? Don’t even go there.
In fact, one decision that actually came easy for me was to adopt our buff-colored Cocker Spaniel, Tequila. I suppose, to be truthful, it wasn’t actually my decision. Knowing my history and the fact that I would waver between dogs for days, my husband picked her and I nodded in agreement and relief. Good choice, Jim.
We had good intentions from the get-go and decided not to feed her fattening table scraps. We bought the best dog food we could find and congratulated ourselves on not giving in to those pleading brown eyes under the dinner table.
I promise this will be my last Wally blog entry for a while. Now don’t get me wrong; I didn’t return him to the humane society. I’m not that cold-hearted. Frankly I’m surprised the idea even crossed your mind because it’s never crossed mine. But let me tell ya, I’m beginning to think Wally’s previous owner neglected to divulge some of the Wallster’s less desirable behaviors.
As you read last Sunday, Wally is challenged in a few areas: peeing and pooping in the house, not coming when called, chewing anything he can fit into his mouth, barking at strangers, car sickness, fear of rain, stealing food from my plate…
Wally’s previous owner returned him saying his car sickness was a deal breaker since he planned to take Wally to work with him. To that I say phooey! And I never say phooey. My guess is he couldn’t handle the truth — Wally isn’t easy. These days I keep reminding myself nothing worthwhile ever is. Continue reading
So my friend Annette and I decided to take our mutts to the beach for a day of frolicking in the sand, surf and sun. I only took 2 of my 4 monsters because Nellie’s old and might not make it out of the car before needing a nap and Callie is fear aggressive, an affliction which doesn’t translate well around people. Or other dogs. Or pretty much anything that moves. So Skip, Wally and I joined Annette and her perfectly behaved German Shepard, Tess.
Let me just say there must be something wrong with me because my mutts have issues. I prefer to think they’re just flawed little creatures who zeroed in on my inclination for adopting not-so-perfect beings. Either that or I’m a crappy guardian.
Nellie, however, is nearly perfect. Emphasis on nearly. She does have a tendency to use table corners as appetizers so that’s a check in the flawed box. Good luck finding a piece of wooden furniture in my home lacking her teeth impressions.
It’s practically a miracle I posted at all this week. Now don’t get me wrong. It’s not like a parting of the Red Sea or anything, but still miraculous in its own way. You see, whenever I sit down to write my blog, someone insists on sitting across my lap and napping on my keyboard. That someone is my new mutt, Wally.
Don’t worry, I won’t bore you ad nauseam with continued Wally blogs…Wally did this, Wally did that, yada, yada Wally….I promise to bore you only when he does something exceptionally cute or particularly irritating. Wait. He does both those things. Guess I’ll be boring you more than I planned.