Our little Miss turned five this weekend! Our celebration was nothing short of spectacular as Roxy was finally able to return to the dog park. I’ve spent the last six months curbing her little outbursts by rewarding good behavior. Unfortunately, munching on too many homemade peanut butter doggie treats has resulted in a slight weight gain. While the extra pound makes Roxy all that much cuter, she now has to lose it to fly in the cabin when we travel this summer.
On another happy note, the Son graduated with a Bachelor of the Arts in Communication. And with Magna Cum Laude to boot! Like the Grinch, I felt my heart grew three sizes upon seeing my baby’s name on the graduation ceremony program. Indeed, it was the moment that finally allowed me to exhale.
I also want to take this opportunity to offer an apology for my absence. A shout out to MonicaandNan, whose support have helped me through these past ten months. Thank you, ladies! I love you! Much like Lemony Snicket, my life has been a series of unfortunate events, ranging all the way from surgeries to the unexpected death of a family member. It has not been easy, folks, but I’m still standing.
I have missed blogging, writing, and most of all, visiting your blogs. Please forgive my absence. It has not been intentional. However, with so much worry hanging in the air, my muse took to hiding. Nevertheless, things are looking up and guess what? Summer is just around the corner and you know what that means!
Yes, another summer of blogging from sunny Spain! I look forward to getting back in the writing saddle and catching up with your blogs. I have missed you!
It never seizes to amaze me how much we humans can learn simply by observing; by taking in our surroundings and more importantly, the dynamics that take place in them.
Today, after a week of captivity (or at least it feels this way), I finally left the house. I thought it was due time for Roxy, the Significant Other, and I to hit the dog park. I figured that after our long sabbatical, our furry friends and their humans would long have forgotten our “reputation.”
So off we went. Me, wobbling side to side but finally walking a bit, the Significant Other dutifully carrying my crutches should the need arise, and Roxy tugging on her leash, eager for the opportunity to socialize.
Sadly, there weren’t any furry friends in attendance at the dog park. I glanced at the position of the sun and concluded we had a short wait before we were joined by other visitors.
After a short while, an elderly man and his pup were seen on the horizon. Roxy spotted them easily. Eagerly wagging her tail, she awaited their arrival. I quickly reminded her that she was being given an opportunity to redeem herself; tabula rasa and what not.
The man and his dog came closer and closer. I could see Roxy starting to pant. Deciding it was a good idea that she play freely, I naively took her leash off. I briefed the Significant Other on how he should intercept our little Miss the second she showed any sign of returning to her wicked ways.
Roxy avidly greeted her new friend with a wag of her tail. However, he didn’t seem too interested in her comely appearance. Roxy, not one to admit defeat, danced around him enthusiastically. Yet, this wasn’t enough to illicit a response from the other canine.
Roxy did not give up. She barked, wagged her tail even faster, lifted a paw in greeting, and even tried to kiss him. Nada. Zilch. Nix. Our new furry friend seemed oblivious to little Roxy’s charms.
I turned to grab my camera but stopped midway when I heard an ominous growl. In less than 2.1 seconds, the transformation was complete. Roxy, teeth barred and claws at the ready, had metamorphosed into mini Cujo.
The man, in shock at what he was witnessing, tried to pull his dog away. Roxy wouldn’t have it. She circled both of them like a turbulent tornado intent on destroying whatever lay in its path.
The Significant Other, completely taken aback by Roxy’s reaction, stood rooted to the spot even while I screamed at him to take action. By this time, the old man spun around in circles and the small dog flew through the air like a super hero.
Roxy, intent on leaving no prisoners behind, circled voraciously. And then, the worst imaginable thing happened–the little dog got loose. He ran toward the cemetery which lay a hundred yards in front of us. Roxy took off in pursuit and the old man followed.
In the meantime, the Significant Other remained frozen in the same spot. Fortunately, my piercing screams brought him out of his catatonic state and allowed him to join the mad race. Horrified, I saw the other dog crawl under a hole in the fence and head into the cemetery. Cursing, panting, and groaning ensued.
A few minutes later, the Significant Other returned with our wayward friend. Roxy averted my gaze as I reprimanded her but then lifted her snout as if to say, “It wasn’t my fault.” My sharp, “Don’t even go there!” indicated I was not pleased with her actions. Just then, the Significant Other returned from helping the man capture his dog.
“Just a quiet, relaxing afternoon in the dog park, you said. I don’t get paid enough to do this job.”
“You don’t get paid at all.”
“And how would you classify the elevated spurts of blood pressure, tachycardia, and shortness of breath?”
“Marginal benefits to living with two colorful butterflies.”
“Don’t you mean, two lethal black widows?”
Chuckling, we turned to leave. We hadn’t taken but a few steps when we saw another dog and his human approaching. The breath caught in our throats.
“This time, you do the running and I do the screaming,” said the Significant Other.
You know, the one that made you smile as you reminisced about your favorite scents and aromas?
Well, today’s post is the antithesis of that post.
Today, I plan to wax poetic about poop.
Now before you click to the next blog, I ask that you bear with me.
Hopefully there’s a lesson to be learned here and you’ll walk away a bit more knowledgeable; a bit wiser.
This morning, at precisely the crack of dawn, I was awakened by the foulest stench I have ever smelled.
Anxiously opening my eyes to see what the source was, I saw Roxy standing at the foot of my bed sporting a look that said, “It wasn’t me.”
However, the evidence laying just a foot away said otherwise.
Cursing the “poorer than a church mouse” status that prevented me from calling out to a maid named Helga, who would swiftly take care of the problem, I forced myself out of bed.
My knee joint made a peculiar noise but I soldiered on, unwilling to give in to the pain that has forced me to be on house arrest for the past month.
Giving Roxy a sharp glance, I asked, did you poopy?
Roxy sheepishly hung her head and swiftly exited the room, leaving me alone with her “gift.”
I thought how wonderful it would be to have a butler, a maid, or robot I could program to take care of the smelly little pile.
But alas, such is not the case.
Grabbing the wet wipes, a bottle of bleach, rubber gloves, and a plastic bag, I took a deep breath and dug in.
The wave of nausea that assaulted me alerted me to the fact that a hazmat suit would have been better suited for the job.
Opening a window, I felt the cold make its way into the room, all 20 degrees of it.
I frowned as I realized that the delicious scent of strawberries and cream that had lingered for weeks had been replaced by the toxic smell of bleach.
Looking up to the ceiling, I quietly whispered to the powers that be, why do you hate me so much?
Roxy, this time drawn to the scene by the toxic fumes, made her way to where I stood.
Sitting on my foot, she rested her head against my leg–her way of apologizing for how the day had started.
So what’s the valuable lesson to be learned here?
It’s simple: The next time you find yourself standing by the kitchen sink at midnight, quietly scarfing down a piece of “turron” your aunt Paquita sent you from Spain and wonder if you should share some with your pleading furry friend, don’t.
Unless you have a maid named Helga.
Or a hazmat suit.
And now, a shot of turron so you know what started this ordeal.