scooba diver

Dear Santa/Tooth Fairy/Potential Sugar Daddy,

Please bring me a Scooba. I will stay on the "Nice" list. I will start flossing. I will wear uncomfortable lace getups. I just really need a clean floor.

Everything in our house is covered with a layer of Vegas dirt. We're trapped in a wicked cycle of filth. I clean. She gets it dirty. I clean. She gets it dirty again. I get frustrated and stop cleaning. Take today for example. We went for a walk. She got full of mud from her belly down. Yuck. I tried to coax her into puddles to clean her off a little before going inside, but it did no good. She tracked wet mud (I sure hope it's mud) into the house before I could toss her in the shower. Now she's laying on our bed, giving it that nice wet dog smell.

If only I had a little floor-scrubbing robotic device to make my house shine. I urge you to consider my plea for help. Time Magazine said that it even scrubbed crusted food spots off the floor. Crusted food spots!! Can you believe it?

Please recall my promises if I receive a Scooba: nice list/floss/lace.

Maureen

what are you looking at?

This is Vegas giving me the evil eye even though she's on my side of the bed. Hmph. She is slowly usurping my role. Doesn't she know that I am the alpha female of the house? Obviously not. She lies next to Matt before I can get there. She hogs my half of the couch forcing me into a chair. Matt doesn't seem concerned, after all, she is "just a baby, Maureen." I think she has a darker motivation. Look at her eyes. She means business.

the warzone

Ahh...the dead of winter. I can't really complain since it's been relatively nice out, but I have a serious winter issue looming. We have no snow. Now I hate driving in snow. I hate snow sports. I hate when snow gets in my shoes. But I love its ability to cover up crap in the backyard.

With Vegas, I was determined to pick up the yard regularly. I wanted it to be clean so in the summer I could frolic barefoot in the green grass without worries. That just didn't happen. It was easy to ignore the growing disaster because it kept snowing and covering it up, but that just isn't happening anymore. Matt and I keep talking about it, keep throwing around the phrase "chisel them out," but we're still walking right past the yard every day trying to not too look.

Maybe I can find a good yard cleanup business in the Yellow Pages. I'm hoping to anyway because the idea of spending a cold afternoon with a garbage bag and shovel makes me want to move.

aim high

Vegas is deceptively small. She seems little but has an impressive reach. Anything we leave below three feet is fair game for her. While she likes plastic bottles, dirty dishes, and socks, her favorite thing is a roll of paper towels. Tonight, she was left alone for about two minutes and managed to snatch the roll of Bounty and chase it around the basement floor. Matt felt bad about wasting it, so as he ate his dinner, he just picked scraps off the floor. Let this be a little reminder for anyone who visits. Keep your socks high and your napkin higher.

vegas and her big stick

Vegas loves sticks. Last week, Matt took a giant branch from the boulevard and gave it to her. It was more like a small tree, really. It had to be five-feet long with many little branches on it. She has since stripped it bare and chewed it in half. You should see her put it in her mouth and plow through the yard. And to think I spent $10 on a multi-textured teething ring for her.

houseguest

After a crazy Saturday at the Mall of America, where we saw Santa (for real, it was him!), rode the Timberland Twister (it's surprisingly fun), and charged some Strawberry Julius's (I have a sad, empty wallet), Schyler put together her birthday present. It's a lego racer that has buzz cut saws and glows in the dark. They just don't make them simple like they used to.

peace pie

This ain't yo' momma's pasty pie. Yeah, so I got a little political today. Next I'll be burning my chewed up, holey underwear.

vegas may look innocent...

but she's a pistol. She pulled the curtain rod right out of the wall today.

vegas 7, matt 0

Ahh, another Super Bowl Sunday is upon us. Rather than have a party and, say, risk having some much-needed wildness ensue, we decided to stay in with Vegas. I made pizza, Matt pulled out the wine, and we settled in for the long, drawn-out game. We made it through the first 10 minutes without incident, and then Vegas struck. One of her favorite pastimes is jumping on the coffee table while we're eating and hunting for a quick bite. Tonight, she didn't get crumbs, but she did knock Matt's wine over. It created a nice, long arc of reddish dribble on the carpet. Now, I'm not a house cleaning wizard, but I seem to remember hearing that club soda is key to getting wine out. We have never had club soda in the house, so we settled for plain old water. After about 30 seconds of scrubbing, Matt decided that he couldn't tell if it had stained and went back to watching the commercials. His attention span was undoubtedly affected by the half-bottle he managed to drink before Vegas attacked.

grandma's in town

Vegas was on her best behavior when grandma came to visit.

oh, you're a pretty girl, aren't you veg?

I have realized that we are that kind of dog owner. You know the kind. They treat their dogs like people. They talk to them in public. They dress them in clothes (we haven't gone this far, but then again, Vegas is a bit big for yippie dog couture). I've come to this conclusion due to the following observations:

1. We call her things like "honey," "silly goose," and "cutey patootey."

2. We tell her things like, "You're so smart" and "Oh, I love you baby" and ask her how she's doing and what she thinks.

3. We're taking her to puppy kindergarten with a "Canine Coach."

4. We briefly considered taking her to doggy day care.

As long as she still sleeps in her kennel and poops outside, I think we're fine; however, I know there's a real danger that she'll take over the place. She's probably planning her coup on the back step as I write.