Fur Children

So, I decided that our blog would not truly be complete until I included at least one post about our little furry friends. For those who don't know (look at me, writing as if my readership extends beyond the two people I know have read this already, and probably won't read it again...) we have two dogs, Lucy and Daisy.
Since we, as of yet, have no human children to call our own we have settled on referring to our pets as our "fur children". I have rationalized that calling them fur children (and treating them as such) is not pathetic for a couple of reasons:
a) Dan and I are married. If it were just me, living alone with a steadily increasing brood of dogs/cats etc. THAT would be pathetic. But it's not. I have a husband. See...the difference...see...?
b) we don't costume them. (Sorry Lisa) Okay, disclaimer: I once bought Lucy a sweater when we went to Utah and I was afraid she would be cold in the snow. I think she wore it once and then tried to chew it off.
So, our fur children. Actually, now that I think of it, it may just be me that calls them that. I don't recall Dan ever using the term. In fact, I am now remembering some indistinct mumbling coming from somewhere in his vicinity when I have referred to them as fur children in the past...hmm. Wonder what that's about...?
Anyway, Lucy and Daisy. We have had Lucy since she was about eight months old. We adopted her from the pound. She is, in my humble opinion, the smartest dog in the world. Not to mention the cutest. When I think about how we adopted her I realize now how lucky we are. We had been looking for a dog to adopt for about two weeks and had just lost out on a lottery at the Humane Society. We were on our way home and passed the pound, which we had checked at least a dozen times before, only to find cats and pit bulls. But for some reason that afternoon I begged Dan to stop there again.
As we were walking through I was beginning to think that our trip had been another waste of time. Then we came to her kennel. All I remember seeing was a brown and white blur that was jumping up to about eyebrow height (which was no small feat, considering she is less than two feet high!)
When I asked the volunteer if we could take her out of the kennel I saw Dan raise his eyebrows skeptically.
I, of course, chose to ignore him. (Even though we'd only been married a couple of years at that point, I was already pretty good at it!) The volunteer put her on a lead and we walked to the hallway which apparently served as the get-to-know-the-animal-you-may-take-home area. We spent about five minutes with her. I could tell that Dan's concerns were not put to rest, since most of the five minutes was spent like this: Lucy jumping around everywhere in an attempt to lick our foreheads, me trying to get her to calm down, and Dan watching it all from the corner.
"Can we take her home?" I asked. "I guess..." said Dan.


So, we took her home and, amazingly, she turned out to be an (almost) perfect dog!
That's the story of her pretend birth that I tell her every year on her pretend birthday.

Funnily enough, we got Daisy in a similar manner. Kind of...
One day last September I was walking into my classroom in the morning. I saw in the distance our janitor leading what appeared to be a dirty dust mop around on a lead. Now, mangy dogs showing up on our campus is not unusual. One of my fellow teachers ended up taking her to get groomed (she was a mess!) and taking her home.
It took me about one day to convince Dan that we should go see the dog. We thought that she might be a Lhasa Apso, and Dan just kept saying that he "didn't want a little dog". Whatever...
So, long story...less long, we saw her, decided that she was pretty cute, even though she looked a little like a pink and gray shaved rat (since all her matted fur had to be shaved off) and took her home.
We have learned a few things since bringing her home:
1: There is a HUGE difference between dog breeds. Lucy is made up of breeds that are almost exclusively interested in pleasing their people. She would rather die than disappoint us. Daisy is made up of breed(s) that don't really care very much about pleasing others. In fact, I am convinced that her main goal in life is to find as many ways as possible for her people to please HER! This aspect of Daisy's personality makes Lucy VERY uncomfortable. In fact, it is not uncommon in our house to see Dan or myself attempting to get Daisy to obey, while Lucy repeatedly does whatever command it is we are giving to Daisy. It's almost like she's trying to say "Look, here's how you do it, see! It's not that hard, just do it!"
2: Having one dog sleep on your bed with you is okay (as long as she stays on my side and doesn't touch Dan). Having two dogs sleep on your bed with you is...too much. Having one dog sleep in bed with you while the other dog is in her crate makes for a sleepless night. For some reason Daisy is perfectly content to sleep in HER crate, as long as Lucy is also sleeping in hers. However, Lucy being allowed to sleep on the bed while Daisy is relegated to her crate is, in Daisy's opinion, unacceptable.
3. Dan and I are, in reality, not the master dog trainers that Lucy let us believe that we were. Enough said...
4. Evolutionarily speaking: Lucy is running laps around Daisy. For example: Daisy wants any toy that Lucy has. She will not hesitate to come over and snatch it from her. For whatever reason, Lucy does not object to this. However, she has learned that all she needs to do is to get another toy, which Daisy will promptly snatch from her, leaving the original toy (the one that Lucy really wanted in the first place) available. To date, Daisy has not caught on to this ploy. Also, if Daisy is playing with a toy that Lucy wants, Lucy will go around behind her and pull on her tail (which Daisy HATES). Daisy will drop the toy and whip her head around. At this point Lucy will snatch the abandoned toy and run off with it. Poor Daisy...
5. Having two dogs that are young and energetic is not the same as having two dogs when one of them is 15 years old, one-eyed, deaf, and perfectly content to lay in the corner and sleep all day. This is especially true when going to Petsmart. Apparently, although they only have a combined weight of 45 lbs, when leashed and somehow working together, they can pull a small car.
Overall, I am very glad that we have these dogs in our lives. Their entertainment value alone is priceless. Not to mention their companionship and devotion. :)

"Mantrums"

I know I just started this blog, but I couldn't resist posting about this.
So, this weekend I bought a roast, and planned to cook it on Saturday. However, I ended up running more errands than I planned, and it didn't get cooked. Sunday came around and I intended to fix the roast on that day, but, well...it didn't happen either.
So by today I was fairly sure that I needed to fix this roast or risk some sort of food borne illness that comes from consuming overly ripe meat. The problem was that my dad was coming over for dinner at six, I had a meeting at school until 4:00, and the roast needed to braise for at least 3 hours. Solution: I texted Dan the directions to start the roast, figuring I would be home in time to repair any real damage and save dinner.
It should be noted: my husband, bless his heart, is not what I would call....culinarily inclined. He has no desire to be either. But after I explained to him that he either needed to start the roast at 2:30 or wait until 8:00 to eat dinner, he was willing to help.
I came home from school at about 4:30. The roast was happily braising in the pot, it smelled great, everything looks perfect. Dan even tells me that I can go clean out and organize the bathroom cabinet I have been wanting to get to and he'll finish up dinner. Wow, right!?
So, while I was in the bathroom organizing our extra toothpastes, and travel sized shampoos and conditioners, Dan comes in and, with his hands behind his back, tells me that in the process of preparing the roast he broke something. My heart sinks. I'm wracking my brain trying to remember if any of our valuables or breakables were missing from their normal spots when I came in the house.
To my relief and (to his chagrin) amusement, Dan pulls out a pair of tongs from behind his back. As the picture shows, they have been smooshed and bent beyond repair.
"How did you manage that?" I asked incredulously.
"I don't wanna talk about it..." he mumbles. It turns out the tongs made the grievous error of not holding on tightly to the roast as Dan was browning it, causing hot grease to splatter on him and burn him. In response to their failure he flung them across the room, where, given the appearance of them, I can only guess they met a force stronger and harder than them and crumpled to the floor.
This, ladies and gentleman, can only be described as a "mantrum". A tantrum thrown by a grown man.
Believe it or not, this is not my first experience with the "mantrum". Unfortunately, I have never witnessed one personally, but the aftermath is always spectacular.
Last year it was the crumpled and fizzing Squirt cans I found in the sink who I later learned had a brother who had the nerve to fall out of their cardboard container while Dan was carrying in the groceries. The other cans, although innocent, paid for their brother's mistake by being pummeled by Dan's fist (actually, Dan's fist came out the worst for it...but don't try pointing that out anytime within a month of the "mantrum" incident).
Before that it was the cardboard shake can that slipped from it's plastic bag while being carried from the grocery store to the car. None of the other cans even made it to the car, let alone home. I have also heard from eyewitness accounts that passerby actually stopped and stared slack-jawed as this "mantrum" progressed.
I guess, in the end, I'm just grateful that the "mantrum's" fury is usually expended on inanimate objects, and not me or my fur children.
We needed a new pair of tongs anyway. When I shop for new ones I will try to make sure they are up to demanding tasks they will be put through.

Our First (and maybe last....) Post Ever!

Okay, so hopefully it won't be our last.
It should be noted, however, that when I say we I am almost exclusively using the "royal we" and pretty much just mean...me.
Dan is, if not anti-blogging, at least playing the role of Switzerland. He doesn't want any part of it. But he has agreed not to try and stop me, and, given how he will probably be the subject of a good many of our posts I found that to be quite generous.
So, I don't know what I'm doing, but I figure I'll play around with it (in the copious amounts of spare time I have) and maybe post some pictures etc.
Hopefully I can call upon my friends and family who are veteran bloggers for help if needed!