When I Say "Pass the Hanger" I Really Mean "PASS" It!

I love dogs. I love all dogs, but, of course, I love mine in particular. However, there are those days when I consider that maybe there was something to that whole Pet Rock thing.

For example, your pet rock wouldn't bark, wouldn't leave you a deposit where and when it shouldn't (be it a deposit from the front end or the back end,) wouldn't run through your house with your bra in its' mouth, wouldn't steal underwear off the top of the dryer (is it just my dogs with the undergarment obsession?) and wouldn't eat strange things.

First-off it was young Aksel who recently decided to tear into and attempt to gut the big dog cushion. For years the only dog allowed to sleep in the bedroom at night has been Saber. He's a dog who doesn't like to sleep on the bed so he's no issue in the bedroom. The only time he will even consider getting on the bed is when you're trying to sleep-in on the weekend and he thinks it's high-time you got up. Then he jumps up and puts his face within a half-inch of your face, so that he's not touching you, but so that you get the full effect of his heavy breathing.  At about the same time, you start to feel the bed slightly shaking and that's from his tail wagging at full speed. If you even slightly crack your eyes to look, it's all over. You're getting up whether you want to or not. That's because his next move is to slap you in the face with his paw if you don't get up. Of course, on a weekday when you NEED to get up early and don't want to oversleep, he snores on the floor. He's a weekend-only alarm system.

All of the other dogs sleep in their own crates, however when Miss Paige had her pups last summer, I took pity on her afterwards and in a moment of spoiling-weakness, I asked her one night if she wanted to sleep on the bed, and she didn't need to be asked twice. Up she came, and when I put the big dog cushion on the bed, she just curled up on it and never moved. It was great. You don't even know she's there, and it made her happy so, yes, I spoiled her and let her sleep there most nights.

While she's off now having her puppies elsewhere, I got the crazy idea to see if young Aksel would want to sleep on the bed. Mainly I was just curious to see what the goofy 9-month old would do, but I was surprised that he handled himself pretty well. Of course, he takes no cue from his parents. He sleeps ON the bed, unlike his father, and basically on ME, unlike his mother. No, not the most comfortable for me, but darn cute, so I let him get away with it for a few nights. 

Of course, he had his moments of stepping on me, dropping the big beef bone on me, rolling on his back playing with his binky Kong toy in his mouth at 2 AM, and various other antics, but I continued to put up with it, knowing that when his mom returns, I would put him back in the crate, and he won't be a puppy forever, so what could it hurt, right?
Meanwhile, my Mom said, "You do realize, you're creating a monster." No matter how old I get, Mom still always has those moments when I KNOW she's right, and yet I'm thinking, "Oh yeah? I'll show you Mom!"
Mom is still always right.

Friday morning I heard the clock radio go off, and I took a moment to consider getting up. While I was still groggy, I was awake enough to kind of notice Aksel moving around. Then I noticed this sound: RIP.....RIP.....RIP.

Still in a waking-up-fog, I thought, "What's that......" then I bolted upright in bed. It looked like I was in the middle of a white puffy cloud. White stuffing was all around me. My first immediate panic was that he had ripped up the comforter on the bed. I checked but, no, that was all intact. Where was the stuffing coming from? The dog cushion appeared to be okay. Then I moved a corner of it, and sure enough, he had torn into the underside and ripped a huge hole in it, and then pulled the stuffing out from there.

Aksel has these markings over his eyes that make him look like he's always very alert and almost surprised, so when I asked, "WHAT IS THIS??!!" he gave me this goofy look and grin that said, "Look what I did! Isn't this great?!" I couldn't help but laugh, and say, "You not pose to do dat. Dis is a veddy bad seng you doooo!" (Yes, I confess: I have this weird, hybrid, nondescript accent that I often use on the dogs. I have no explanation for it. If you want to hear me do it sometime when you're with me, just ask.) My mother was right, yet again, and Aksel is back sleeping in his crate at night, before his own mother returns. Of course, Aksel has an excuse: He's 9 months old. He's a puppy. They eat many stupid things.

I don't know what excuse his father, Saber has for what he just did last night, however.

It was late in the evening and often times, when I'm not ready to go to bed, but Saber has gone outside one final time for the night and is ready to call it a day, he will go stand by the bedroom door, wanting me to let him in there. He stretches out, falls asleep, and is out like a light by the time I go in there.
We followed that same routine last night. When I went in the bedroom, however, he kind of nervously jumped up from around the other side of the bed with this odd look on his face, kind of like the look a kid gives you when they've been caught doing something they shouldn't be doing, or they've just broken something, etc. He was all smiling, wagging his tail, and I knew something was up, but I had no idea what it could be.

I had washed the bedding so I was getting ready to make the bed, and I glanced down on the floor and there was a lone metal hook on the floor. "What's that from?" I wondered. It looked like a metal hook that belongs to a hanger. You know, the kind of hanger they use in stores with the metal hook and then the rest of it's plastic.

But why was this lone hook on the floor all by itself? Upon closer examination, I saw what looked like...hmmm......kind of jagged plastic at the base of the hook. Then I looked closer at the floor. There was some bits of plastic.  
No way. He couldn't have. Wait, oh yes he could have.....

HE ATE THE ENTIRE HANGER!!!! I turned to him with the lone hook in my hand, and this time NOT using my special dog hybrid accent, I asked, "DID YOU DO THIS??!! DID YOU EAT AN ENTIRE HANGER???!!"

I kid you not: If he could have been able to whistle, he would have been, as he sheepishly looked away and tried to focus elsewhere, acting all nonchalant, periodically glancing back at me with a look that said, "Oh damn, I think she's mad!"

I'm holding the lone hook in my hand, waving it around kind of like a pirate, saying, "How could you eat an entire hanger? What were you thinking? You're an old dog! You have a Dental Dinosaur here on the floor, along with a giant beef bone, yet you ate a hanger!!!"

I don't know where he got it, either off the bed or he jumped up and stole it off the dresser where I had some stacked. I shouldn't be surprised, though, as this wasn't his first time to devour plastic products. When he was younger he ate an entire plastic crate cup right off the door of the crate where it was fastened. Then he's eaten at least 2 of the plastic snap-on handles that come with the collapsible wire crates. I'm reminded of that every time I'm heaving a wire crate up the stairs in a hotel, with it pinching my fingers, thinking, "Damn you Saber, I could have had it easier if you hadn't eaten the handle!" He's also downed his share of my nephew's Legos.

Having been around enough dogs that have eaten plastic items over the years, I wasn't too concerned that this hanger was going to cause him any problems. From the few bits of plastic left that I found chewed on the floor, he had chewed it down to small, soft, rubbery bits, so I was pretty sure this, too, shall pass.
And it did. I know this because, of course, I followed him around outside tonight, and when he left a deposit, like any good forensics expert, I investigated. "Houston, we have found the plastic hanger....or at least remnants of it."

I'll keep checking over the next several days, but I'm thinking we're in good shape. I can't say the same for the hanger, however.  
 
So while a Pet Rock wouldn't steal underwear, tear up cushions, and eat hangers, there's a reason why they never caught on as "Man's Best Friend."

I mean how much fun would it be to talk to a rock in your own very special unique accent? And you would never get to try out your investigative forensics skills!

"Take Your Time With That Door! I Have No Plans!"

Normally after not writing for 4 months, I would spend one entire installment talking about not writing for 4 months, then I wouldn't post for another 4 or 5 months only to return and talk, again, about how I haven't written. Riveting, huh?

Well, I'm breaking that cycle this time. Okay, who am I kidding? Let's put it this way: I won't talk about not writing for very long. I truly started the year out with every intention of sticking with it, then, as usual, my schedule showing the dogs, planning a dog show, working, life, you name, got so crazy that writing took a backseat to everything else. I recently made a comment to someone about how overwhelmed I've felt in recent months with everything I'm trying to keep going and how I wish writing didn't have to be what I sacrificed. Their response was, "When your life is so busy and all of this crazy stuff is going on, that's precisely the time you SHOULD be writing about everything because you have plenty of great material.

I laughed about how accurate that truly was, and it kept ringing in my head in the days that followed. At about the same time I attended another in a long line of workshops and training seminars I've went to for work on social networking, blogging, etc., and somebody asked about how frequently a blog should be written, and the answer was to shoot for 3 installments a week.

3 huh? I don't know why, but that number didn't seem overly intimidating. We'll see what happens.

Today was another of the type of days I've had in the last few months where I easily could have a panic attack thinking of everything I have to try and juggle and accomplish. For those who know me, that's saying a great deal because I can handle a lot and generally not get frazzled over it. But of late, it's been tough. Part of it is my own fault. I'm not good at saying "No" when somebody asks me to do something or take on a project. It's always been a knee-jerk response of "Sure! No problem!"

But I've found it sometimes really IS a problem. In recent months I've felt at times like I'm being pulled in every direction and everybody wants a piece of me. I started getting frustrated and resentful about it, and then that voice in my head said, "Wait a minute: YOU caused this. You couldn't say 'No' and that's why they all DO want a piece of you. You told them it was okay! You're going to have to make this work, but learn from it, idiot!"

Why does that voice always have to be right? It's true. I made the commitments and now I have to follow through. However, "No" is now in my vocabulary for anything new. Bit by bit, I'm going to finish up things I'm committed to, and then I'm going to be more selective about how many plates I want to keep spinning in the future, and you know what I've figured out? Sometimes it's okay to have no plates spinning or to only spin the ones YOU want to spin!! (Gasp!!) Who knew??!!

I know part of what causes the potential panic attack is I look at everything I have to get done way out into the future. It's kind of the nature of the beast. The ability to keep so much going is that ability to be organized, look out ahead, and plan everything. It's probably why I can do what I do for a living and I've been this way since I was a kid. I have a really good memory and things just stockpile in my head. For example, right now, I can pretty much tell you how the month of August is going to go for me, both at work and personally. I know what days I have free, what days I have stuff going on, the dog showing schedule is already calculated, you name it.

But at the same time, always looking out ahead, always planning how much I can get done and when, it CAN cause things to seem overwhelming at times. I know it's best to not fixate on the whole picture, and just chip away at it. It's not easy though, and a character flaw, I suppose. On a serious note, the wisdom that comes with old age has taught me you can get so swept up in living 3 months down the road, that you fail to enjoy the little things in the here-and-now, and you might not GET that tomorrow or that 3 months down the road you're so fixated on. Even though I KNOW that, sometimes I will be the first to admit that I DO need to be reminded....or kidnapped for a day and forced to just wing it once in awhile.

A prime example of getting MY mapped-out plans thrown out of whack came today when the contractor came to measure for a new patio door. I had to take 2 hours off from work to wait for him, and at this time of year, losing 2 hours is huge, so while I'm waiting for him, I'm thinking....and planning....."Okay, the door I want they told me is in stock, so that should mean a fast turnaround. He's measuring today. It would work great if the install could be done Friday as that works better with my work schedule." Oh, I thought I had it all figured out.

Well, I did in "Lisa's World."

The contractor had different ideas, or maybe more accurately, my old 1970's patio door had different ideas. He measured and went, "Oh!" (It's never good when a contractor utters that.) Apparently, unlike the general belief that everything was bigger and better in the old days, that theory doesn't apply to patio doors. They were smaller back then. He said, "We're going to have to order this one. It's no big deal. They can size it exactly, but it's going to take 2-1/2 weeks to get it here."

Wait..Is he not aware that 2-1/2 weeks doesn't fit my schedule?

I asked, "When will the install be?" to which he replied, "Well, 2-1/2 weeks to get the door in, then probably two weeks to schedule the install. Sooooooooo, I would say sometime within the next month?"

Ending "sometime-in-the-next-month" with a question mark? Uh, hmmm...that's not QUITE the accuracy I was hoping for, because, after all, I have a game-plan and a theory for how the month of June should go! Apparently he didn't know that.

(Deep breath) Oooooh-kay. Guess I'll wing it. Go with the flow. Take it as it comes...the door that is..whenever it comes.

There is a bright spot in all of this: For the first time EVER, I got a contractor who fits what we gals envision a contractor to be. How often does that happen?--NEVER! But it did this time: About 6' 3", big broad shoulders, arms to go with the shoulders, I'm betting money that a six-pack is there under that tight t-shirt, and then there were the jeans that went WITH the t-shirt. I actually caught myself doing what was probably an overly enthusiastic "Hi!" when I opened the door, and get this: We had a whole conversation about the dogs because his parents have Akitas.

So maybe it IS okay if it takes awhile to put in this door. Like, maybe if he could drag the job out over a week or so. Or maybe I just need to have more construction projects done on my house.

What was I saying my plans were for August? I may need to revisit that.