the stuff is working

So, I think the Smart Puppy food is doing the trick. Vegas figured out that all she had to do was move the towel that was covering her food bag and unroll the top. She chose to carry out her stealth operation when I was in the bathroom and unable to run to her room right away. Pretty darn clever, huh? She gorged for a few minutes before I could stop her.

gimme all your lovin'

If you walk by our house, you're likely to witness this scene. Vegas, with her irresistible gaze, urging you to stop and pet her. She has a distinct ritual for wooing passersby. First, there is playful barking. This is then followed by, or done in conjunction with, racing back and forth along the fence. When you're in petting range, she leaps onto the fence, pulling her hind legs off the ground to get just a little closer to ya. Then, if you pet her, she'll likely pee a little, lick your hand, and start chewing on your sleeve. Despite her tendency to chew, she does have quite the flock of admirers.

it's alive

Look! Something is actually growing on the side of our house. I have no idea what it is (and it looks like something is eating it), but I'm pretty excited. Everything I plant dies, so I was a bit leery of planting anything. This way, maybe we'll get a flower or two without having to risk me overwatering, underwatering, or just plain old killing it.

the queen of the house

somebody loves vegas

I can't tell you the last time Matt ate a porterhouse steak. It turns out our neighbors had them on Friday night, and lucky for Vegas, saved her both bones.

death of a shag

My new least-favorite sound is that of a dog about to throw up. That horrible heaving noise has been heard much too often in our house this week. Vegas is either sick or is making herself sick by eating too fast. I keep walking into the living room to find her sitting in front of a pile of puke, looking up at me with sweet, confused eyes. It always happens when Matt is at work, so I have cleaned up puke seven times since Monday. Yuck. Each time she gets sick, she runs for the red shag rug of course—the hardest rug to clean.

Vomit does not readily come out of shag. I did half-ass try to clean it but kept putting off lugging the carpet cleaner upstairs to do it right. Instead, we got it acceptably clean (acceptably clean meaning if it’s dark, you won’t notice it) and flipped the rug in half. Now she still runs to the rug…and pukes on the underside. The rug is a goner I’m afraid. I love it, but it has been through too much. It saw her through potty training successfully, but I think this week of vomit has killed it.

caught in the act

I thought dogs were scared of loud noises. Obviously Vegas is not one of them. Tonight, she knocked the pan right off the stove and proceeded to eat the leftover taco meat. We didn't exactly scold her for it. It was just too funny. At one point, Matt even flipped the pan over to show her where the rest of the meat was. I guess that was a bad idea. She probably thinks the stove is her own personal snack bar now. It's just hard to yell at her when she's so proud of herself. We're such softies.

so this is the real minnesota nice

Well, good old Mother Nature psyched us out today. On Saturday, I was out running in short sleeves. Today, I was out shoveling about 10 inches of snow. 10! My god. I got stuck in our driveway so I dug myself out and just kept digging. The amazing part of this story is that about halfway through the driveway, a van stopped by the house and two men got out. Get this-they offered to help me shovel. Whoa. It was a man named Dave and his son who live about a mile away. My next door neighbor also snowblowed a little for me. And while I regularly rip on Minnesota in favor of Wisconsin, I feel pretty darn lucky to be Minnesotan today.

three's company

We caved. We were good for a while, making Vegas sleep in the kennel every night. But she’s just so cute that every now and then we let her stay on the bed with us. Now it’s becoming more regular. It’s a pretty good thing. Matt isn’t much of a cuddler, but Vegas knows the way to my heart is to plop down right against my back, with her head in the crook of my knees. It’s the closest I’ve come to spooning in bed for a long time.

the art of negotiation

I've been eating my cereal and oatmeal out of mugs for two days now. The dishes situation is baaaad. It's so bad in fact that I made Matt a tempting offer. I'd do the dishes if he'd pick up the yard. The negotiations were short, and he quickly accepted. He's currently outside with Vegas, raking up the yard that she has managed to destroy in a few short months. I'm enjoying my side of the bargain. I'm clean, warm, and comfortable, sipping coffee in-between loads. My high school FBLA advisor always said I'd go into business. I guess she was right, because in my mind, I made one hell of a deal.

now that's feng shui

I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but we live in our basement. That's where the TV is, so most nights, we retreat underground for a few hours of old Friends episodes or other mindless drivel. In the rarely-used upstairs, we have a beautiful, untouched leather couch. This past weekend, Matt decided to move it to the other wall, and it was like some kind of weird, furniture-moving ephiphany. Over the past few days, we have sat on that couch more than in the last six months combined. Maybe it's because you see it right when you walk in the living room. Maybe it's because we're tired of freezing down in the basement. I guess it doesn't really matter. Now I'm no longer annoyed about spending money on a couch that is never used. And we have good family time upstairs without the TV. You know, real high quality time spent telling Vegas to get down and stop licking the dishes in the sink. It's precious.

the sweet sound of a flush

I just paid $326 to flush my toilet. After 2 1/2 hours of banging and clanging, the Roto Rooter man was done, and our pipes were clear. For how bad he made it seem when he eyed up our problem, the carpet remained dry, and the basement floor only took on a little water by the drain. Not bad. As soon as he left, I ran to the bathroom, and pushed the lever. Aaahhh. It's amazing how lovely a flush can sound after being off-limits.

the dentist x 1000

Okay. I'm sitting here with a giant pit in my stomach. We called Roto Rooter, and the guy is currently in our basement. He walked in, looked at our full utility sink and clogged floor drain, and said things like "Hmm" and sighed a lot. Then, he hauled this giant machine, presumably the Roto Rooter itself, into the basement. He is now making the absolute worst noise ever. It's like a dentist's drill-only much, much louder. And the water is on our floor now too. And the phrase "replace the carpet" has already been uttered a few times. I am sitting upstairs envisioning our basement covered with a foot of crappy water. It's very comforting. At least I'd finally get to throw out that sawn-in-half couch.

"there's shit in the sink" (or why my night was nicht sehr gut)

These are words you never want to hear: “Maureen, there’s shit in the sink.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. There’s shit in the sink!”

And that’s when the night started going downhill.

After work, I fought the urge to nap, and washed our bedspread instead. As I was stuffing it in, I noticed some Kleenex in the utility sink. I thought it was weird but started the washer anyway. When the cycle finished, I went down to find the sink completely filled with this icky, bluish, Kleenex-y water. I thought it was simply a clog, poured in some drain cleaner and waited.

By the time Matt got home, the water had receded quite a bit, to reveal the worst possible scenario: the Kleenex was really toilet paper, and indeed, there was shit in the sink. Now, I draw the line at human waste. That’s when I play the girl card. I didn't just sit there; I did what I do best. I googled things like “waste coming up out of sink” and “sewer backup” to try to tell Matt what to do. It turns out that plumbing DIY sites aren’t that helpful. They all say in a lackadaisical fashion, just stick a bucket under the plug, open the plug, and fish stuff out. Sure, I could do that, but that involves seeing things I just don’t want to see.

So Matt plunged, and I was faucet girl. I ran upstairs to flush or run the sink for him so he could attempt to figure out where the problem was. I was thankful for my cushy role. At midnight we gave up. This morning, we were actually able to take showers like normal, but flushing was banned. I am going to cross my fingers that another bottle of drain cleaner will do the trick, but I think we’ll have to call in a pro.

by appointment only

If you know me pretty well, you know that my Tuesday nights always include watching Gilmore Girls. Yes, I know it's a show geared towards pre-teens, but it's good-really. So, we were sitting in the basement completely engrossed in the latest Rory/Logan love scandal, when our dying door chime started it's annoying whine. We looked at each other in amazement. Aside from planned visitors and the after school fundraising crowd, no one comes to our door. And if they do, we don't answer it. Tonight, we played the you-do-it-no-you-do-it game, and a few minutes after the fact, Matt crept upstairs.

"What should I do?" he asked. (We obviously don't get a lot of company)

He waited, silently poking his head around the corner to see if he could determine the source of the invasion. Nothing. So, he walked towards the door, and spotted a guy standing on the corner with a clipboard. By this time he realized that all of the curtains were open, so the guy was probably looking in and wondering why the heck this yahoo wouldn't answer the door. That's simple. We will answer the door. But only if you call ahead. Especially on Tuesday nights.